(Jason POV)
The memory hits me as a full-sensory assault, pulled from the vault of my mind by Chris’s words, the scent of his clean skin on my pillow. Our pillow. It’s a warm afternoon from another life, before Max’s shadow ever fell across our bed.
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It was our third date. We’d met weeks before at a West Hollywood bar, a collision of bodies on the packed dance floor. He’d spilled his drink, I’d caught his elbow, and our eyes locked. Electric. A current so potent it short-circuited the loud music and the crowd around us.
For two weeks, we’d talked. Talked. Dinners where the food went cold because the conversation was too hot, debating sports rivalries, favorite authors, pizza toppings. He was sharp, quick-witted, and his laugh—a burst of joy—did things to my insides. I knew he was special. I knew I had to wait.
This date, a hike in Griffith Park, was my idea. The late afternoon sun painted everything in honeyed light, and the air smelled of dry earth and eucalyptus. Chris, ahead of me on the trail, was a vision of contained energy. His grey UCLA Swim t-shirt was darkened with a patch of sweat between his shoulder blades, clinging to the defined muscles of his back.
Chris reached the overlook first. The trail opened out, and the wind hit harder there, coming off the drop in forceful, unpredictable gusts. Chris stepped closer to the edge to look out. His movements looked easy and fluid, but they were controlled and precise, the way he is on a starting block before a race.
“This is where you have to start placing your feet,” I said. He nodded once.
I leaned into the wind, shoulders loose, footing deliberate. The force was invigorating. The resistance didn’t lessen, but once I worked with it instead of bracing against it, everything felt cleaner. More controlled, and also more intense.
Chris met my eyes for a second, then looked back out over the overlook.
“Let me guess,” he said. “You planned this for the view.”
“That was part of it,” I said.
The chemistry between us was a live wire, humming in the narrow space.
“The other part,” I added, “was I wanted to see how you move when you’re not in a pool.”
“And?”
My heart was a drum solo against my ribs. He’s it, Jason. This is it. I closed the final inch, my hand finding the small of his back, feeling the damp cotton and the solid heat of him beneath. “This expedition was insufficient,” I murmured, my voice dropping. “Requires a… hands-on evaluation.”
I leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn’t our first kiss, but it was the first one that felt like a promise. It started soft, an exploration of lips and shared breath, but it quickly deepened into something. His hands came up, tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me closer. I could taste the faint, clean hint of his water and the flavor that was just Chris.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing heavily. The air between us crackled.
“Your place or mine?” he asked, his voice husky.
“Mine. It’s closer.”
The half hour it took to get to my apartment was a blur of stolen kisses and impatient hands. The tension was a physical thing, a coiling spring in my gut. By the time I fumbled the key into the lock and pushed the door open, I felt like I was vibrating.
The door clicked shut behind us, sealing us in the quiet, sun-drenched stillness of my living room. And then we were on each other.
Our movements were urgent, all pretense stripped away. My hands were under his shirt, skating over the impossibly smooth, hot skin of his back, feeling the perfect architecture of muscle shaped by countless laps in the pool. He was doing the same to me, his fingers digging into the thick muscle of my shoulders, pulling my body flush against his.
We stumbled toward my bedroom, a clumsy, connected dance, our mouths never parting for more than a gasp. We fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, the old frame groaning in protest.
I rose above him, bracing myself on my arms, and just looked. The setting sun streamed through the window, catching the gold in his hair, highlighting the set of his jaw and the desire in his blue eyes. He was gorgeous.
“I’ve wanted this,” I breathed, lowering myself to kiss the column of his throat. “Since the second I saw you.”
“I know,” he gasped, his head tipping back, offering himself. “I could feel you waiting. The tension was driving me insane.”
My lips traveled lower, finding the neckline of his t-shirt. I hooked my fingers in the hem. “This shirt,” I said, my voice a growl against his skin, “is in the way.”
“Then do something about it,” he challenged, his own hands going to the bottom of my shirt.
In a frantic, laughing scramble, we helped each other undress. Fabric was tugged and pulled over heads, tossed carelessly to the floor. And then we were naked, skin to skin.
The sight of him, all of him, stretched out on my sheets, stole the air from my lungs. He was all lean, corded muscle and golden skin. His chest was smooth and tight, his stomach ridged, and trailing down from his navel was a thin blond line of hair that led my eyes to his erection, standing proud against his stomach. He was every bit as perfect as I’d imagined.
He was looking at me with the same raw hunger, his eyes dark as they roamed over my broader, hairier chest, my own arousal. “Fuck, Jason,” he whispered, all bravado gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated want.
I covered his body with mine, the feel of his skin against mine a shock. We kissed, deep and searching, as our bodies settled into a rhythm, grinding together in a friction that was already threatening to undo me. The room filled with the sounds of our breathing, the soft rustle of sheets, and the occasional groan.
I kissed my way down his chest, tracing the lines of his abs with my tongue, feeling his stomach muscles quiver under my mouth. I nuzzled the blond hair, breathing him in, the scent of his arousal making my head spin. I looked up the length of his body, meeting his gaze.
His hands were fisted in the sheets, his knuckles white. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen from our kisses. He was utterly surrendered, completely open. The trust in his eyes was the most potent aphrodisiac I’d ever experienced.
“Jason,” he breathed, his voice cracking. It wasn’t a question. It was a plea. A confession.
My own control was hanging by a thread. Every rational thought, every intention to go slow, evaporated under his gaze. I hovered over him, bracing my weight on one arm, my other hand sliding down the curve of his ass, pulling his hip up to meet mine. The tip of my erection nestled against him, a promise of what was to come.
His eyes flew wide, a gasp escaping his lips. His body went taut beneath me, every muscle.
“Is this okay?” I murmured, the words rough against his ear. “Tell me this is what you want.”
His answer was a moan, his hips pushing up against me in an answer. His fingers scrabbled at my back, pulling me down, trying to close the millimeter between us.
“Yes, Jason… please.”
The word is a key turning in a lock. That single, breathless “please…” shatters the last of my restraint.
My body answers his, a dam breaking. I lower my hips, and the world narrows to a single, searing point of contact. The slick, heated tip of my cock presses against his. A shudder wracks his entire frame, a tremor that I feel from his lips to his toes. His eyes are locked on mine, with a hunger that mirrors my own. His fingers dig into the muscles of my back, urging me on, begging for more.
This. This is what I’d been waiting for. This complete and total trust. This need. He was pulling me deeper, offering up every inch of himself.
I surge forward, burying my face in the hollow of his neck, breathing him in—chlorine, sunshine, and the scent of his skin. My lips find his pulse point, and I suck gently, feeling the beat of his heart against my tongue. He gasps and his hips arch up, seeking pressure.
“You feel that?” I grind against him, the friction of our cocks maddening. My voice is a ragged whisper in his ear. “That’s how much I want you, Chris.”
His answer is a cry as I rock against him again, the drag of my body against his sending another tremor through us both. I can feel the heat of him, the softness of his skin stretched taut over the muscle beneath. My hands roam his sides, memorizing the dip of his waist, the angle of his hip bones.
I kiss my way back to his mouth. My tongue tangles with his, mimicking the rhythm my hips are setting against his body. He meets me thrust for thrust, his own hips rising to meet my slow, grinding circles. This is primal.
I break away, trailing kisses down his chest. My tongue flicks over one of his nipples, and he jolts beneath me, a moan escaping his lips. I do it again, savoring the way the small bud tightens under my attention. I lavish the same care on its twin, licking and sucking until he’s writhing, his hands fistfuls of my hair, not sure whether to push me away or pull me closer.
“Jason… oh, fuck…” he whimpers, his head on the pillow.
I continue my journey south, kissing a trail down the plane of his stomach. I nuzzle the fine, blond hair that leads to his erection. His cock is beautiful and hard, leaking against his stomach. I breathe him in, the scent of his arousal making my own cock throb in response.
I look up at his body. His eyes are on me, his chest heaving. His lips are parted, and swollen. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
“I want to taste you,” I murmur, the words with desire.
His throat works as he tries to speak, but all that comes out is a gasp. His consent is written in every tense line of his body, in the look in his eyes.
I lower my head, my intention clear. My breath ghosts over the head of his cock and he cries out, his back bowing off the bed. I run my tongue along the length of him, savoring his scent, the weight of him on my tongue. My hands slide up his thighs, holding him steady. I suck gently, and feel him grow even harder, filling my mouth with a slow, inexorable heat. My tongue traces the ridge of his head, dips into the slit, coats him with my saliva. I take him deeper, my throat, and he groans, his hands finding my hair. I can feel every throb of his pulse.
My own cock is achingly hard, pressing against the mattress. My arousal is electric, and my grip tightens and my pace quickens on Chris’s cock. I can feel his balls growing tighter, and know I am bringing him close to the brink.
Suddenly, he pushes me off him. Confused, I look up, and see his devilish smile. “I want your cock,” he says, his voice husky and breathless.
I crawl onto the bed. He moves with a fluid, swimmer’s grace until he’s on all fours above me, his beautiful ass hovering over my face, his own head lowering between my legs.
The view is breathtaking. The tight, round globes of his ass. The dark blond hair at the base of his spine. And between them, his hole, pink and smooth, clenching nervously in the air.
Before he can take me in his mouth, I grip his hips, and pull his ass down onto my face. With gentle pressure, my thumb massages his perineum as he my tongue flicks its way around the rim of his waiting hole.
“Fuck, Jason!” He lets out a yelp that turns into a moan.
I bury my face between his cheeks, my tongue spearing into him. He cries out again, the vibration humming against my own cock, which lies throbbing just below his lips.
I eat his ass like a man starved. My tongue fucks into him, deep and relentless. I lick broad, wet stripes over his rim, then plunge back in, tasting the faint, clean salt of him, feeling the incredible tightness give way to my intrusion. My hands keep his ass cheeks spread, holding him open, a feast laid out just for me.
He’s shuddering, moaning incoherently. But he remembers his task. I feel his hot breath on me a second before his mouth closes over the head of my cock.
Oh, Christ.
His skill is devastating. He doesn’t just suck. He worships. His tongue swirls around the crown, lapping up the pre-come beading there. Then he takes me deeper, his throat opening for me, swallowing me down with a practiced, eager hunger that has my eyes rolling back in my head.
The dual sensations are overwhelming. The hot, wet, sucking pressure on my cock. The tight, quivering heat under my tongue. The sounds he makes, muffled around my length, send vibrations straight up my spine.
I redouble my efforts, my tongue fucking into him in a rough, steady rhythm that matches the bobbing of his head on my cock. I reach up with one hand, sliding it around his hip to find his own erection, hard and leaking. I stroke him in time, my grip firm.
He whimpers around me, his hips pushing back against my face, fucking himself on my tongue. He’s lost in it, surrendered to the sensations.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” I murmur against his skin, my voice rough with desire. My fingers gently spread him, the tips brushing over his entrance. “I want to make you feel good, Chris. I want to fuck you.”
“Yes, Jase, please.”
I glide up his body, our chests pressing together, skin against skin, as I claim his lips in a kiss. He opens his legs, offering himself to me. The tip of my cock brushes against his entrance, teasing, testing, the heat of him sending a jolt through me. I break the kiss just enough to murmur, “You are so ready for me,” I say, my voice with desire.
Moving slightly back, I reach for the lube, my fingers trembling with anticipation. I coat myself thoroughly, the cool slickness a stark contrast to the fire burning inside me. My hand returns to him, massaging gently at his rim, feeling the way he quivers beneath my touch. “Relax for me, baby,” I whisper, my breath hot against his ear.
I position myself at his entrance again, the head of my cock pressing against his tight, fluttering opening. A groan escapes my throat as I begin to push forward, inch by inch. The resistance is, exquisite, the way he gives for me, stretching to accommodate me, making me feel like I’m coming home. His breath hitches, his body arching toward me, and I know he’s feeling it too—the undeniable connection, the rightness of this moment.
“God, Chris,” I rasp, my forehead pressed to his, our breaths mingling as I sink deeper into him. “You feel… incredible.” Every thrust is deliberate, measured, savoring the tight, wet heat that clings to me, pulling me in further, until I’m fully sheathed inside him. He’s all around me, his body trembling, his eyes locked on mine with a trust that warms my heart.
His legs wrap around me, pulling me deeper, and he moans in, his sounds muffled against my shoulder, his fingers digging into my back. His hips tilt up, urging me deeper, and I fuck him slow and deep, my hand gripping his hip to keep him still. My breath is against his neck as I move, each drag of my cock inside him wringing another moan from his lips.
“Jase…” he gasps, his voice on the sound of my name.
I kiss him hard, my tongue plunging into his mouth as I drive into him, our bodies slamming together. His hands hold me tight, his legs tightening around my waist as I fuck him harder. “I want to see you,” I breathe, my words fanning across his lips. “I want to watch you fall apart right here.” I roll my hips, a slow, deep grind that has him seeing stars. “With me.”
His eyes flutter shut for a second, overwhelmed, before they snap open, locking onto mine with fierce intensity. “Yes,” he rasps. “Yes.”
His hands come up to frame my face, pulling me down into another searing kiss. It’s all tongue and heat and desperate, hungry sounds. Our bodies move together, finding a rhythm that is entirely our own. It’s not just fucking; it’s a conversation. A push and pull of muscle and breath and skin.
I can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in the base of my spine, a spring about to snap. His breaths are coming in short, sharp gasps against my mouth. His legs wrap around my waist, locking me to him, pulling me deeper into the cradle of his hips with every frantic thrust.
“I’m close,” he pants, the words a fractured mess. “Jase… so close…”
The use of the nickname, the vulnerability in his voice, sends a jolt straight through me. My control is a wire, sparking and sizzling. I bury my face in his neck, my own climax roaring up to meet his.
“Look at me,” I demand, my voice rough and unfamiliar.
His blue eyes, glazed with pleasure, find mine. I see it all there—the trust, the desire, the love, the need. It’s my undoing.
Our bodies slam together one final time, and I feel him shatter. A cry is torn from his throat as his release washes over him, his whole body seizing and convulsing beneath me. The sight, the sound, the feel of him coming undone is what pushes me over the edge. My own orgasm hits me like a wave of pleasure so intense it blots out everything else.
My name is a sob on his lips as I spill between us, my world narrowing to the sensation of his body milking mine and the overwhelming feeling of being joined with him like this.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of our ragged breathing and the pounding of our hearts slowing to a synchronized rhythm. The last of the sunset is a faint orange glow behind the curtains. I collapse onto him, my weight a welcome burden, and he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight.
We stay like that, tangled together, damp and sated and utterly spent. I press a soft, lingering kiss to his sweat-dampened temple.
His voice, when it comes, is a sleepy, contented murmur against my skin. “So… the hands-on evaluation…”
More to cum . . .
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