Page 61 of Dropping Like Flies

“I still don’t. Their set list was so eclectic that it was hard to know whether thrash metal or a lullaby was coming next.”

“They were experimental.”

Ben chuckled, the action producing an interesting sensation around my embedded cock and reminding me that this was a bizarre time to be having this conversation. Maybe all Ben needed was a distraction. I withdrew slowly and then pushed back in, angling my hips so that I brushed his prostate.

“Jesus! Wait… I had a point I was trying to make.”

I didn’t wait. That single thrust had made it impossible to, my hips taking on a life of their own to repeat the motion. Still slow, but no less enjoyable for it. “What was your point?” I thrust again, this time harder and deeper, the sight of my cock disappearing into Ben, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen—a sight I could never tire of. I was choosing not to think about the fact that I’d willingly given it up. Monks used to flay themselves as punishment. I’d cut Ben out of my life as cleanly and efficiently as a surgical amputation. But if I dwelled on it, we’d never get past it. And I knew that as devastated as he might have been by my actions that he understood. He might not have forgotten, but he had forgiven.

“My point was…” Ben was breathless now, his hips moving in tandem with mine and a sheen of sweat breaking out on his skin. “That… fuck… Yeah, that’s good. Harder. Really give it to me.”

I did, the wet slap of our bodies filling the room and our movements abrupt enough to shift the sofa forward a couple of inches. We went with it. If the sofa had ended up out in the garden with us still draped over it, I doubt either of us would have cared enough to stop. “Your point?”

Ben braced himself more firmly against the sofa, arching his back and turning his head so that our gazes met. “I don’t remember, you bastard. You’ve fucked it out of me.”

Hips still moving, I pulled him back against my chest and kissed him. It was a kiss of possession. One that said he was mine, and I was his, and that I wouldn’t be letting him go again while there was still breath left in my body. My hand found his cock while we kissed and I peeled his fingers away to take over, Ben gasping into my mouth as I stroked him in time with my thrusts.

It was an awkward position that didn’t satisfy either of us for long. Whether I pushed him back over the sofa or whether Ben dropped there of his own accord was up for debate. Given how in tune we were, it was entirely possible both things happened simultaneously.

“Harder,” he demanded.

For the next few minutes, there was only the slide of skin, harsh pants, and a race toward what we both wanted… what we both needed. Ben’s hand was almost a blur as he stroked his cock. My cock. I didn’t know anymore, the sensory perception as tangled as it always was. I felt his orgasm before mine, Ben going rigid beneath me as he cried out. I fought my climax, not ready for it to end yet, but nobody could stave off the impossible forever. When my orgasm came, it hit like a wrecking ball, heat consuming me from the inside. I came what felt like gallons, filling Ben up just as he’d wanted me to do when he’d rejected condoms. When I finally recovered enough to withdraw, there was a primal satisfaction in watching the drip of cum slowly make its way down his thigh. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Ben let out a breath, one so slow and prolonged that it seemed to go on for a lifetime. “I needed that,” he eventually said. “This case…”

“Yeah.” I knew how much of a toll it had taken on him, had felt his emotions churning beneath the surface even when he’d been at his most composed on the outside. I turned him around to face me, Ben laughing as I bent forward and heaved him over my shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you somewhere more comfortable.”

“You mean that bed you were so set against?”

I didn’t answer. My route to the bottom of the stairs was already confirmation enough. Ben was heavy as I maneuvered us up them, our previous relationship never having included me manhandling him to this extent. I had a feeling, though, that quite a few things would be different this time round. How could they not be when we were different people? No doubt there would be lots of new things to discover about the other, but rather than scaring me, I was looking forward to it.

“Thanks,” Ben said drily as I dumped him somewhat unceremoniously on the bed and he lay back with his hands behind his head, naked and on display. I gave myself a few seconds to admire the sight before going into the bathroom and coming back with a washcloth. “Such a gentleman,” Ben teased as I washed both him and myself, shedding my clothes as I did so.

Tempting as it was to join him and lose myself in him once more, the rumbling of Ben’s stomach reminded me we’d had other plans before we’d leaped on each other like a pair of randy teenagers. “Stay here. I’ll get the food and we can eat it in bed.”

I padded back downstairs naked, closing the curtains in the living room—which was very much like closing the stable door after the horse had bolted—before retrieving the bag of Chinese takeaway from where I’d thrown it and going into the kitchen to look for plates.

“Griff!”

I smiled at the shout. “Yeah?”

“Don’t be long.”

“We need plates.”

“I can be your plate.”

Despite the messiness that image conjured up, my cock still twitched. We’d never eaten food off each other. We’d never done a lot of things, so the possibilities were endless. I needed to make a list. One that made up for lost time.

When I returned to the bedroom with my plates full of goodies, Ben was still naked. He wore a cat that had got the cream expression as he lounged back against the pillows, his cock not quite flaccid against his thigh, like he was already contemplating round two.

I lay the plates between us before sitting cross-legged on the bed, Ben levering himself up and mirroring my position.

“I’m staying tonight,” I announced as he reached for the cutlery I’d brought and speared a piece of Peking Duck on the end of his fork.

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