A Two-Point Conversion
The light was on. I’d forgotten to turn it off. I could see everything: my sparse room, the missed water droplets still clinging to his skin, the faint freckles across his shoulders, the way he looked at me. I watched him crawl over to my bed, the towel off and tossed aside on the floor, forgotten, his naked body sprawling out across my bed, his sculpted body completely naked on display for me—not with fear or shyness but with a new sense of confidence and hunger.
And I felt the same hunger.
My heart wasn’t hammering anymore. It was a steady fucking drumbeat that was now throbbing in my erect dick. This was my room. My bed. And he was here. In the flesh. Finally.
I knelt over him, the mattress dipping under my weight. I covered him with my body, my hands on either side of his head. I just looked, drinking in the reality of him. Troy Jenkins. In my bed at last. Naked. Hard. Panting.
He reached up, his hand sliding along my jaw. "Ivan," he whispered. "You want me?"
I loved hearing him use my name. I turned my head, pressing a kiss to his palm. "Been dreaming of this for over a week."
“Yeah?” He purred back. “Me too.”
For the first time in my life, there was no voice in my head screaming that this was wrong. There was no need to rush and get it over with. I wanted to make this last, to remember every little detail about this night. I could feel his hot skin under my hands, I could hear the sound of his breathing, and I saw the trust in his eyes.
I lowered myself, crushing his body with mine. The feeling was electric. Skin to skin, heat to heat, dick to dick. He let out a soft, broken moan, his hands moving to my back, pulling me closer. He wasn't just allowing me. He was wanting me just as badly.
I kissed him; all of him. I pinned his wrists over his head onto the bed and moved. I kissed his mouth, his stubbled chin and jaw, the pulse point on his neck, one ear, then the other as he moaned under my weight. I tasted his body with my lips and tongue—the strong line of his collarbone, the flat planes of his stomach, the old, faded scar on his knee from a surgery long ago. I worshipped every part of him, the athlete and the mechanic, the man who had trusted me with his truth and allowed me to give him mine. His ass was so smooth and firm, so round and tempting, that without thinking my face went into between those muscled cheeks. He didn’t flinch, just groaned as I explored him, just like I pictured in my mind when I stroked my own cock late at night to this very image. I feasted on him, loving the sounds he was making, tasting the warmth of him, wetting his opening as if it was the most intimate moment of my life.
Then he moved and gave me a look. He flipped around and hooked his legs around my waist and used his own strength to flip me over, pushing my hands together over my head. I let him think he won, even though I could easily over power him. He grinned as if he knew I was giving in.
His hands and mouth were everywhere, learning me, tracing his tongue over my own broken body. He sucked my dick again, like a fucking pro before he moved his tongue up my abs. When his mouth closed over one of my nipples, I arched off the bed with a choked-off groan. It was too much. It wasn't enough. Holy fuck what a feeling.
"Troy," I gasped, my voice ragged. "I need…"
He understood. Of course he understood. He already seemed to know me better than anyone. He looked up at me, his eyes dark and blown with pleasure. "Yes," was all he said.
I sat up quickly, flipping him off me and stood up off the bed suddenly and I could see the confusion in his eyes. I looked at my nightstand, and flung open the drawer in a panic, pawing through to find a full bottle of lube but no condoms. Why would there be any? I never fuck anyone here.
“What?” was all he said. Then he gave me a look of realization. “You don’t need one. I trust you. I want to feel you.”
And just like that I was back on the bed as fast as I could to get over to him.
It wasn't like the others. It wasn't a fast and frantic sheathing of my tool in latex. This was different, carefully applying lube to my own cock in my calloused hand, watching it glisten in the light hovering like a hammer over his hard muscled ass, letting my fingers work some lube into him. It was slow, teasing and deliberate. I took my time, preparing him, one finger, then two, watching his face, learning what made him gasp, what made him clutch at the sheets using just my fingers. Every sound he made was a clue. Every shudder was a hint at what I could do to him. I was learning the depth and angles, memorizing it for what was to come, and what sounds I could make him moan when I got my cock inside of him.
He nodded, giving me the signal it was time. He flipped over on his back and spread his legs for me, moving into a comfortable position and pulling me down on him. I planted my big fists around him, holding myself over him, my legs spread on my knees. His own legs were open, and he grabbed my waist, wiggling into position under me, feeling the weight of my cock on his side as I hovered over him. I shifted my hips, and my cock, like a heat seeking missile found the opening to him. I teased him, moving my dick around that entrance I had just tasted, watching him groan and smile, close his eyes in pleasure as I poked without entering. I wanted him to know how badly I wanted to ram inside him, but at the same time tease the living shit out of him.
When I finally slid into him, it was like coming home to a place I never knew existed. He was tight and hot and perfect. Without a condom on I nearly burst right away. But with a few deep breaths, and a stillness I never knew I had when I fucked a guy, I just looked into his eyes, watching him struggle to adjust, to let himself relax.
He was a trooper; he wanted it bad and he wasn’t going to stop now. I saw the pain erode, and he let out a long breath as I held myself completely still, my dick throbbing inside him aching to dive in deeper. I had a fleeting thought of his coach, and wondered if he was bigger, or if I was bigger, if I was hurting him. Then he wrapped his legs around my waist, pulling me into him deeper, and his eyes locked on mine giving me a slight nod and I knew this was it and I stopped thinking about anyone other than Troy Jenkins.
His hands were all over me, running along the curves and bumps of my muscles that no one every touched. I let him. I groaned at his hands exploring. I grunted hard when his fingers dug into my ass.
My mouth found his over and over again. I couldn’t seem to stop kissing him, feeling his tongue search my mouth as mine searched his. I never considered myself a romantic guy, or even enjoyed the sensation of kissing another man. But this man, this naked former quarterback underneath made me WANT to kiss again. And I got lost in the feeling.
There were no more words. There was just this. The slick slide of our bodies moving together for the first time, the creak of the bed, our ragged breaths mixing into one. I watched his face, the play of pleasure and emotion, and remembered the feeling of my fingers digging into his hole. I angled, shifting, watching the same pleasure wash over him tenfold with my thicker piece. I didn’t just fuck him: I was making love to him. I wanted to know his very insides. I wanted to know how to make him moan and grunt and look at me with that fire in his eyes.
Fuck he was beautiful. So hot, handsome, toned. His body was still in perfect condition, so tight and lean, muscled still from years of hard work and training.
I wanted to know this man inside and out.
I felt something crack open inside my chest. Something I had kept locked away my whole life. It built, this feeling, this terrifying, wonderful pressure as I continued to steadily pump myself into him. It wasn't just physical. It was everything. The years of hiding, the loneliness, the lies—it all gathered and then seemed to burst inside me.
Our eyes were locked on one another. I could feel it surging inside me. Troy must have known too as he grabbed his own hard cock between us. My breath quickened. My hips moved faster. I started making sounds I never knew I could make. And then I exploded inside him with a broken cry, my body convulsing, my face falling into his neck, burying itself into his flesh. I held onto him so tight I thought I might break him.
A moment later, underneath me, I felt his own release, his hand working in between us, his body tightening around mine, his cry muffled against my shoulder as I stayed buried inside him.
The world slowly came back into focus. The hum of the fridge from the kitchen. The sound of our breathing. The feel of his heart hammering against my chest. The way his body clung to mine, as if we were both scared to let go.
I didn't move. I couldn't. I just collapsed on top of him, spent, my face still hidden in the crook of his neck. I was waiting for the shame to come, the regret, the need to pull out and run.
But it didn't come.
Instead, I felt his hand come up, his fingers gently running through my damp hair, no words, just the feeling of him touching me. I closed my eyes and breathed in the smell of him, the feeling of him underneath me, and how well our bodies seemed to fit together naturally.
We lay like that for a long time, tangled together in the light of my bedroom. And for the first time in thirty-eight years, I felt quiet inside. My dick had returned to its normal size, sliding out of him in a slick, slow, unwelcome escape. But we still didn’t move. We just lay there, naked, curled into each other, completely exposed, totally normal, just breathing on one another.
Like this was the most wonderful feeling in the world. And I didn’t want to move. Ever.
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