Page 40 of Running Feral

It barely takes a minute to get him breathing heavily, holding me close in the cage of his arms. His erection brushes against my thigh and he doesn’t hide it from me, but it’s not insistent.

I keep waiting for him to freak out. To baby me and tell me that I don’t know what I’m doing, or the age gap between us is unethical, or whatever. Instead, he’s been quiet. Contemplative, maybe. But peaceful. Not fighting it for once.

It seems the obvious choice to seize the moment. At the same time as Gunnar’s big hand finds my face and pulls me into a filthy good morning kiss, I wrap my fingers around his length and stroke him. The moan he makes directly into my mouth is like crack.

After a little gentle groping, I let go of him so I can slide my hand into his pants and put my skin on his. He told me he was fine last night when he didn’t get off. Of course he was, because he’s just that self-sacrificing kind of guy. I was in too much of a daze to really worry about it, but it’s time to make that up to him now.

Immediately, I get down to work. The feeling of his cock in my hand is waking up more of my own arousal that I was beginning to think was desiccated beyond the possibility of restoration. It’s thick and weighty—solid, like the rest of him—but not so big that it’s intimidating. I know there are plenty of size queens in the world who pride themselves on being able to take a porn-star sized piece of equipment, but that’s not for me.

Shocking, I know.

The skin is velvety soft, and feeling the subtle changes in how he continues to firm up under my touch is making more heat pool low in my gut. I take a second to press my free hand to my crotch, because I need something to relieve the pressure, before I go back to stroking him in earnest.

Gunnar is fully on board. I wasn’t expecting it, but I’m here for it. He’s practically fucking my mouth with his tongue, his hands firm around my waist to hold me close. I can tell he’s holding back at least a little, probably not thrusting his hips against me the way his body is telling him to, but that’s alright.

I’ll get him to let go, eventually.

Gunnar breaks off the kiss, panting, and I worry that the stray thought about him potentially freaking out jinxed me. Instead of backing away, though, he slowly finds the waistband of my pants with his thumbs and tugs it down until my aching cock is freed. Then he pushes back the covers so we can both see each other fully and repeats the same action with his own pants.

Once we’re lined up next to each other, Gunnar readjusts my hand, so it’s wrapped around both of us, and then covers my hand with his larger one. He has us both completely enveloped, and the feeling of warmth and pressure when he gives a slow, firm stroke is almost overwhelming.

I groan, and he rolls his hips to fuck his cock into mine as he continues to stroke. He keeps going, his movements slow and sure, just like last night. His free arm circles my waist to hold me close, and also just like last night, I start to come apart in his hands. Occasionally, we exchange open-mouthed kisses, but neither of us can concentrate enough for more than that.

The pressure between us continues to grow until it feels like the room is filled with nothing but the sounds of bitten-off moans and Gunnar’s soft cursing. I’m close. I’m so close. It wasn’t the same battle as it was last night. More of a normal, slow build until I feel like the crest of an orgasm is almost within my reach.

Then Gunnar shifts. It’s not a lot, and I don’t think he’s even aware he’s doing it. He presses closer, but his larger bulk means that I fall back, and instead of lying on our sides facing each other, suddenly I’m mostly on my back, lying under his weight.

Lord help me, I freeze.

There’s no conscious thought of feeling afraid. Nothing connects in my brain fromatobtocthat makes me decide to feel this way. It’s like my brain is totally left out of the loop on the decision, and one minute my body is screaming at me on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm, then it’s completely still, waiting to see what will happen next.

I just want it to be over. It was amazing, but now I need it to be done before Gunnar notices so we can move on, and I can pretend this humiliating interlude never happened. These are the thoughts that circle my consciousness as I focus on not letting any of the sudden catatonic terror that slapped into me like a rogue wave show on my face.

But it’s Gunnar. Of course he has to fucking notice.

“Tobias?” His lips are a few inches from mine, and his hand is still wrapped around both our cocks, although he’s stopped moving it. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

I don’t say anything. I don’t know if I can say anything. But I can feel my lip trembling, and as much as I want to avoid being seen by him at all, not looking at him right now sounds so much worse. I stare into his eyes, focusing on that little chunk of blue, while his expression crumples and he searches my face for clues.

It’s probably not that hard to put together. I grasp the logic, but when he seems to understand and abruptly pushes away from me, it feels like he’s ripping some of my skin off with him. Like he was the thing holding me together and without him, I’m left even more raw and exposed.

“No!” My voice is louder than I expected, and I hold him when I say it, tugging at his t-shirt that’s already sweaty and stretched out from my grabby hands.

He freezes, then lets out a slow breath through his nose. His eyes are a little wider than they should be, but I can see the wheels turning as he tries to calculate his plan of attack.

He’s leaned back far enough, so he’s not on me anymore, which helps me take a full breath. I concentrate on doing that again and again, and then make myself blink. It’s a weird sensation, having to consciously decide to do something your body normally does without your input. Like all your human parts have been replaced with mechanical ones that technically work, but none of them know how to talk to each other, so you’re just a brain in a rust-bucket begging each body part to do its fucking job.

“Hey,” he says it in a whisper this time, but he isn’t moving farther away from me. “What’s wrong? What happened? Talk to me.”

“It’s, um. It’s okay.” My tongue feels like it’s too big for my mouth, and I’m hyper aware of the fact that my jaw is hanging open in an awkward, unnatural way. “It was just a weird moment. I’m not sure why. My brain went weird.”

Well, those are words. Some of them are kind of in the right order, I guess. It’s better than nothing.

But Gunnar is nodding solemnly, like everything I said makes total sense. Then I can almost see his thoughts turn inward again, like he’s chewing over the situation until he gets to the center.

“Did everything feel good until right at that last minute?” he asks, reaching out slowly to stroke his hand up my side. His touch gets firmer when I push into it instead of pulling away, and it settles some of the anxiety still fizzing inside me.

I nod, and he thinks for a few more seconds.

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