Page 79 of Felix

“As if I could look away.”

Emil blinks slowly before leaning forward and mouthing my dick, his exhalations hot through the fabric of my underwear. I suck in a breath and reach above his head to swipe the blinds shut, mindful of Emil’s request to keep these sorts of activities private when we’re outside the bounds of the studio. Emil quickly finds the zipper on the side of my skirt, and the fabric falls to my feet. His fingers curl in my skimpy briefs next, and he tugs them down.

“I haven’t had a chance to do this on my own terms,” he says before wrapping a hand around my cock and licking the head.

“I’m at your disposal,” I rasp out.

A smile curls his lips. “So selfless.”

My rebuttal is silenced by his mouth sliding forward. The heat of him surrounds me like an embrace, smooth and wet, the pressure exquisite.

“Would…” I huff out a breath as Emil’s cheeks hollow. “Would I sound like an asshole if I told you you’re the most beautiful cocksucker?”

His laughter is quite possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. Or seen. Because it’s accompanied by his lips wrapped around me tight and a sly gleam in his eye that tells me he knows exactly how good he looks while doing this.

“Gorgeous,” I say again. He deserves to hear it. “Can I fuck your throat, Specs?”

Emil goes still, looking up at me through thick lashes, his answer clear.

I thread my fingers through his hair, punching my hips forward slowly. The sight of my cock sinking between Emil’s lips has my gut tightening alarmingly fast. His hands flex on my hips, thumbs pressing against the sensitive skin near my hip bones. I jerk, seating myself fully inside his throat, and Emil gives me an encouraging moan.

“Fuck,” I mutter, setting a slow, steady pace as I fuck Emil’s mouth. His eyelashes flutter, and the reminder that he can deepthroat for two full minutes floats into my mind. But I don’t want to test the limits of Emil’s breathing. Not right now. Knowing what he’s capable of is heady enough. “You, Specs… You’re breathtaking.”

Brown eyes blink up at me, tear-filled and wanting. He gives my hips a squeeze, and I stop, letting Emil take over again. He grabs the base of my cock as his mouth sets to work, his head bobbing up and down, his tongue flicking over my slit on each pass. I grunt, my stomach clenching beneath his fingertips.

“Fuck, Specs.”

He moans, his eyes never leaving mine. When he starts sucking rhythmically and pressing my balls up against my body, rolling them as if encouraging them to tighten and release, I damn near shout. He sinks down on me again, strong suction as he pulls off, his tongue flicking, his hand squeezing and working my base, and—

“Coming,” I warn him.

He looks victorious, and a second later, I shoot down his throat. He swallows around me, gentling his suction once I’m spent but keeping his lips wrapped around me like the gift they are. As soon as I pull from his mouth, I drop down, taking those lips with my own. Emil’s tongue greets mine, and he shares my taste with me. I suck it down, wanting to imprint it on my memory: the combination of him and me. Us.

Sitting back, I crouch in front of the chair Emil is perched on. He’s still hard.

“Stroke yourself for me, Specs.”

It’s a request, not a demand, but he doesn’t hesitate. He unzips his pants, pulls out his cock, and starts working himself over furiously as I watch. I tug up his shirt and take his nipple into my mouth.

Emil cries out, his hand in my hair holding me in place. I flick his nipple in time to his strokes, and when Emil’s quick breaths let me know he’s about to come, I pop off, twist the bud between my fingers, and bend down to wrap my lips around the head of his cock.

It’s all over from there. Emil spurts into my mouth with a surprised gasp, his groan quickly following. His hips jerk off the chair, and I keep working his nipple between my fingers, my tongue soothing his dick until he slumps.

“Fucking fuck,” he mutters, breathing heavily, his glasses askew on his nose. The sight has something warm tumbling through my chest, and I smile to myself as I set them to rights. “Thanks.”

I huff a laugh. “Mhm. C’mon, Specs. Let’s wash up.”

Emil follows me to the bathroom, where we clean our hands, brush our teeth, and snort-giggle like schoolkids every time we catch each other’s eye in the mirror. There’s a blush on Emil’s cheeks that’s incredibly endearing, considering it wasn’t there while I was fucking his face. In the bedroom, Emil strips down to his briefs while I pull on my favorite silky pajamas. When he climbs onto my bed and sinks down against the rumpled comforter as if letting the weight of the world off his shoulders, I can only stop and stare.

I wouldn’t call Emil a high-strung person. But there’s often a tension lining his frame that seems to be a part of his everyday existence. I didn’t even notice it until after we first had sex, when that tension was entirely absent. But as soon as he got off that bed and wrapped a robe around his body, it returned.

I think there’s a pressure Emil lives with, something he’s maybe used to and doesn’t think much about. It’s a bookbag slung over his shoulder even when nothing is there. It’s the high expectations he’s set for himself and his attempt to always reach a little bit further. It’s the worry he’s falling short, perhaps, which I’m starting to think has to do with his family.

We’re all living with our own weights, measures we’ve set for ourselves or had placed upon us. But seeing Emil so relaxed on my bed, as if he’s able, at least for a little while, to let it all go… It rocks me to my core. I’m not sure what I did to deserve that.

“Hey,” I say softly.

Emil turns his head as I climb in next to him, his eyes remaining closed. I grab his glasses off the pillow, placing them on the nightstand so they won’t get crushed. Emil barely moves as I settle beside him and run my fingers through his hair, but he offers a soft, sleepy smile.

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