Page 59 of For Real

“Show me how much you want me.”

“God, Toby,” he groans, “I want you. Isn’t it fucking obvious?”

Technically, that’s telling, not showing, but it turns out my sadism draws the line at pedantry. Nice to know. “Yeah, but I like when you go all, y’know, frantic and slutty.” His breath catches on this mortified little moan. Shit. Might have gone too far. “Slutty in…like a good way. For me.”

After a moment he nods. “For you.”

The truth is, he does look kind of slutty. Impossible for him not to, really, the way I’ve got him, and the way he can’t seem to stop twisting himself on my fingers. But it’s magnificently slutty, everything about him sweaty and straining, from the sinews on his neck to his hand on his cock, and not yielding in the slightest, despite the chains, except his eyes, and his mouth, and his arse, the places he lets me in.

“Want me to fuck you, Laurie?”

“Yes. God. Yes.” Now he sounds almost angry, like he’s reached a new level of desperate.

I’m honestly talking it up a bit because I’m nervous. I mean, it’s not rocket science, I know—locate arse, insert cock. But what if I’ve got him so wound up it’s a letdown?

What if I’ve overhyped my own wang?

I’m really glad I don’t have to faff with a condom. It’s one more thing to mess up. I tried to put one on backwards once. It rolled about halfway, so I thought it was fine, and then it went all weird and started squeezing my dick off like a latex bear trap. And I didn’t know what to do, because once you’ve put a condom on wrong, it’s hard to keep selling the idea that sex with you is going to be fab.

“Please,” he says again, somehow making my hesitation part of this whole experience, as if I’m deliberately doing it to torment him. “Fuck me. I’ll be your slut. Make me yours. I’ll do anything.”

I totally drench myself in lube, getting it on my thighs and onto the sheets.

I really, really don’t want to hurt him in a bad way. First few times I let someone do this to me, I was way less ready than I thought I was, and it’s kind of hard to stop once it’s started. I was fine, but I remember.

Maybe I should have stuck an extra finger in there. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? One, two, three, dick. I can’t remember how Laurie does me. By the time we reach that point, I’m so delirious, I probably wouldn’t notice if he used a cucumber.

“Toby.”

He’s not pleading now, not really. But there’s something in his voice—trust, maybe, and all this warmth, along with that sharp edge of need—and it gives me everything I need to stop dithering and remember I really fucking seriously want him.

So I grab myself, line up, and go for it, and I guess he’s good at this too, because it goes way better than I’m used to. I don’t miss, or slip, or have to apologise, and there’s no kind of tense negotiation about relaxing, so I’m not hanging around like a party guest who’s turned up at the wrong house.

Instead there’s a bit of resistance and then it’s gone. And what’s really weird is it’s that first moment that makes the next one—when his body yields to mine and takes me in—utterly fucking amazing.

It’s nothing like the other times I’ve tried to do this. It’s not just how insanely good he feels around me—tight, hot, silky-slick with lube, no condom in the way—it’s the fact it’s him. Laurie. My Laurie. So I’m just absolutely…complete. Completely held by him.

We both make slightly silly noises. I think I babble something stupid about loving him, because I do and when we’re like this I can’t not say it, and he just sighs out my name in that sweet, sweet way he sometimes does.

And I press into him until we’re… The word that comes to me again is joined. Because that’s how fucking ridiculously romantic I am right now, deep in his body, cradled between his thighs, my (pretty excited) balls kind of tucked against his arse, which is the weirdest, tenderest kind of intimacy, all these soft and secret places, all pressed together.

Fuck yes.

I tilt my hips a bit because it’s so fucking good, though it’s not like there’s any more of me going in, but suddenly Laurie flings back his head and cries out, his hand tightening on his cock and his whole body tightening around me.

And God, if I wasn’t about to come before, it’s a fucking miracle I don’t come now.

Watching him like that. Because of me.

I brace my hands on his pelvis and pull back, not fully out because I’m worried I’ll screw up reentry, but enough that it’s like I’m coming in again. So that there’s a sense of absence and then connection, all in the deepest places of his body. And I manage to do that thing with my hips again.

He tenses, his muscles snapping into alignment, and his eyes flutter in this weirdly vulnerable way, like he’s half dreaming. And then he’s coming, spilling wildly between his fingers, gasping out my name again, along with an incoherent rush of thank you thank you thank you and tears, actual tears, all for me.

And, wow, I feel everything. I feel him come. The build and the release of it, the way it takes him, everything I’ve done to him.

Like this perfect apotheo-wossname.

Which obviously makes me come too. Because I can’t not. Even though I’d like to stay like this forever or, y’know, a bit longer than two seconds. It’s a good orgasm though, drawn out of me by his, like we’re links on a chain. I let it roll through me and into Laurie, kind of vast and gentle and awesome. I don’t see stars, but I see the spaces between them, and all there is…is him.

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