Page 32 of Down in Flames

West’s heart gave a painful tug, and he hesitated, mouth hovering over the flickering beat beneath his skin. “Michael—” he began, but Michael interrupted him by cupping the back of his neck and hauling him up to meet his eyes.

“I guess I was just waiting for something special,” he murmured, reading the question in West’s eyes.

Suddenly, the world flipped on its axis, and when it righted itself, West realized he’d been dropped onto his back. Huge, rough hands were rucking his shirt up to his neck and stroking his body like they owned it. They were the sexiest hands he’d ever seen, sun-dark and callused, with heavy veins that twined up the thick muscle of his forearms. He could spend his whole life appreciating them, but looking down his own body to watch as one of those hands massaged his straining dick through his jeans was going to kill him on the spot.

“Jesus,” West gasped, curling into the delicious pressure. “Feels so good. I could come just from that—oh.”

His stomach twitched as Michael’s fingers delved beneath his waistband. It emboldened him to reach out and grab Michael by the belt loops, yanking his hips forward. Gripping him by the back of the thigh, West worked his buckle open and popped the button on his jeans one-handed. A sliver of taut skin appeared in the open V of his jeans, dusted with a shapely line of hair that disappeared into the trim thatch at his groin.

Lust made him clumsy. His fingers trembled, and he needed Michael’s help to shove the denim halfway down his thighs so he could get at the thick, flushed cock beneath. It bobbed against his cheek, and he nuzzled the length, tracing the veins and sculpted head with reverent lips before slipping it into his mouth.

Far above him, Michael bit out a rough curse.

He wasn’t exactly a blow job artist, and he doubted he ever would be. He’d given and received less than a handful in his life, most of them awkward and rushed, where climax felt more like an obligation than a pleasure. But this—he could devote the rest of his life to this.

Michael tasted of salt, and beneath that, the subtle, cool-water sweetness of clean skin. He filled West’s mouth perfectly, a luscious weight on the back of his tongue. West didn’t have any fancy techniques, but judging by the fine sweat that broke out over Michael’s stomach, sheer enthusiasm counted for something. He wanted as much of this man as he could get, any way he could get him, and right now that meant inhaling his cock like it was his last meal. He was gagging for it. It wasn’t long before he was a wet, sloppy mess. The slick, hot length of Michael’s girth slid inside his mouth, barely fitting, so that their mingled fluids dripped down his chin.

“Beautiful,” Michael groaned. His voice was completely shredded by lust, but he traced the curve of West’s jaw and said with easy confidence, “Look up at me. I want to see your eyes. No, keep those pretty lips stretched around my cock. Good boy.”

West let out a muffled whimper and squeezed his own dick so hard it hurt, using the ache to stave off the orgasm threatening to ruin his borrowed jeans. No matter what happened after this, that voice, saying those words, was going to have him waking in a cold sweat for the rest of his life.

Michael took over then, cradling West’s head between his hands and using his mouth in a lazy, rocking rhythm that took him to the edge but never pushed him too far. He watched West’s face like a hawk, perfectly tuned to what he needed and what he could take.

West grounded himself by clutching the denim bunched around Michael's thighs. His own erection begged for attention, weeping in its prison, but he was so lost in the song of Michael’s harsh breathing that it didn’t occur to him to free it until Michael ordered him.

“Unzip,” he commanded roughly. “I’m not going to last. I need to watch you come before I do.”

The strain was getting to him, tightening his voice like a rubber band ready to snap. His hips stuttered as West scrabbled at the snap of his jeans. West curled his fingers around the familiar weight of his own cock, closing his eyes in sweet relief.

Michael’s groan tangled in his throat, and he said appreciatively, “Damn, son. Taking that cock is going to qualify me for the Olympics. Oh…West. Pull back. Now. Now."

But West had been waiting for this his whole life, and he'd be damned if he missed the prize. Michael's thrusts had devolved into short, aborted jerks. Suddenly, he froze, body locking down hard. For an eternity, it felt like they hung there on the precipice of heaven, and then his quivering muscles spasmed and he spilled deep inside West's mouth.

Swallowing him felt like a vow, and West closed his eyes to savor it.

His eyes were still closed when Michael pulled gently from between his swollen lips. The world slid sideways as Michael pressed him back into the hay. Fabric rustled, and a brief chill swept over him as their bodies separated, but he kept his eyes shut tight as Michael got down on his knees.

It took an extra minute with his bad leg, but just when West was about to sit up and protest, those rough hands clutched at his thighs and pulled them wide open. Hot, gentle breath gusted over the damp head of his cock, and then came the velvet brush of lips far too soft to belong to such a hard man.

West threw one arm over his face and whimpered.

"You're not going to fit at this rate," Michael warned him. "I'm going to need some practice."

"You don't," West gasped, arching helplessly into the hum of his voice. "Just—just touch me. Talk to me. Anything. It hurts. God, Michael, it's hurt for so long. Make it stop, make it—"

"Shhhh," Michael murmured. "I've got you."

He smoothed his hands all the way up West's thighs, gripped him by the cage of his pelvis to stop his anxious thrashing, and slipped the tip of his cock into his mouth.

West's eyes flew open.

The man of his dreams was there between his thighs, dark head bent, lips stretched uncomfortably around his girth. As if he sensed West's gaze, those blue eyes flicked up, and the shimmering heat in them set West off like a rocket.

It happened so fast, he couldn't even stutter out a warning. He tried to pull back, but his body fought him, thighs clamping down on Michael's head, back arching, as every cell in his body simultaneously combusted. It was the most intense orgasm of his life, flashing white across his vision and freezing time. He swore for a second that his heart stopped beating as he hung there, helpless, before crashing back to earth with a thud.

"Good boy," Michael murmured approvingly, licking up the traces of his spend that had leaked down the base of his cock.

Whatever noises West was making, he wasn’t sure they were human. Just reverent, guttural whimpers.

---