Page 22 of Steam

But of course, just as Rich begins to settle into the rhythm and think that he can anticipate the next stroke, Jonah changes what he’s doing, the tongue against Rich going softer and pliant, drawing shapes against his ass.

Rich whines against the comforter in spite of himself and pushes back against Jonah’s face. The kid responds by sliding a hand up his spine to his shoulder blades and pushing Rich firmly back down into the mattress. Rich gives in, letting it happen, twisting his hands against each other as Jonah continues to tease him. His legs are almost uncomfortably sprawled, spreading him and making him more exposed—but the hot tongue against him feels too good for him to care.

The whole entire world might as well be balanced on the tip of Jonah’s tongue as he continues to spread and lap, strong licks alternated with soft strokes, and Rich’s cock is aching. He’s completely strung out between the need for contact with his cock and the desire for Jonah to never stop worshipping his ass. Plus, another sensation seems to be joining the fray: the growing desire to be filled and fucked—because the tongue is great but it’s not nearly enough.

Rich stops keeping track of the noises he’s making—lets the whining pour out of himself unchecked as he goes boneless, supported by his chest against the bed and Jonah’s grip. As if reading his mind, the tongue at his ass begins to dip into him, and the whine breaks to an open moan.

Jonah hums against him in response to the new noise before pushing into him again, firmer, deeper. Rich moves again, helplessly needing more and rutting back against Jonah’s grip, against his mouth.

Jonah doesn’t bother pushing him down this time, instead building a rhythm that matches Rich’s straining hips, his broken moans. With a swell of strange panic, Rich thinks that he might not be able to keep himself from coming this way—that Jonah is going to drag it out of him without even the most cursory of strokes against his neglected cock, a half-ruined orgasm, untouched and fucking himself on Jonah’s face.

But just as he teeters at the edge, Jonah pulls away, leaving him empty.

Rich can’t bite down a whimper and Jonah’s weight shifts behind him on the bed, a warm hand coming to rest in the middle of his shoulders. He cranes his neck to peer up at Jonah, who is smiling fondly down at him, far too pleased with himself for Rich’s tastes.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” Jonah asks casually, as if he hadn’t just spent what felt like four goddamned hours playing around at the brink of Rich’s orgasm.

Rich doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the question because of fucking course.

“Yeah, yes, Christ, I —”

“Beg for it,” Jonah says, tone steely and only warped a little bit by the smile on his face.

“Please,” Rich says, wasting no time.

Some dormant part of his brain cries out I don’t beg—but it’s met with a resounding “shut the fuck up” by the 99% of him that’s ready to cum.

“Please, Jonah, I need you to —”

Jonah hips him forward a little so that Rich can’t see him anymore. There is the unmistakable click of a bottle of lube snapping open—and Rich can’t help but be a little impressed at this sleight of hand, because he hadn’t noticed the kid retrieving any—and then the pressure of a slicked finger against his ass.

“Oh God, please —”

It’s all Rich can do not to press back against the hand immediately, but Jonah has his other hand low on Rich’s back, keeping him still. He doesn’t make him wait long, though, sinking the finger easily into him. To say that Rich’s ready for it is the understatement of the year—he’s ready for more than this already. But Jonah holds him steady and strokes into him until he’s built a good rhythm, moving his hips softly in time as he finger-fucks him.

Jonah finally lets up and stops holding him still, and Rich rocks his hips back to meet Jonah’s hand.

“Come on,” he begs softly. “I’m ready.”

Jonah withdraws his hand but responds finally with more lube and a second finger. Rich hums at that, finally maybe approaching the satisfaction of being filled—if only by fingers. Jonah builds a slow rhythm again, fucking him open with two fingers until there’s less resistance—and Rich’s breath snags in his chest when a third finger presses into him.

“We chill?” Jonah asks, stopping.

“Yes, Christ, the chillest,” Rich says, snarling a little at the slow in progress. “For the love of God, don’t stop.” His body is already responding to the pressure, relaxing around Jonah’s fingers. As he finger- fucks Rich, Jonah lays his body across Rich’s back and the warmth is reassuring as he speaks low into Rich’s ear.

“Do you want me?”

Rich groans—he wants Jonah more than he thought possible, feels like the world might split open and swallow him if the man doesn’t fuck him soon.

“Want you doesn’t begin to cover it, kid.”

“Say it,” Jonah commands. He’s not exactly the most intimidating figure, but Rich can’t help the soft “fuck” that slips past his lips at the instruction.

“I want you,” Rich says, breathless and straining back against Jonah’s hand, resisting the urge to keep whining, in some state of arousal so beyond hardness, beyond blue balls that it ought to have its own new word. He needs pressure deeper—needs Jonah to quit fucking around and fill him. “I want you to fuck me. Please, Christ, Jonah?”

The hand and the weight across his back disappears and Rich does whine then, unprepared for the sudden emptiness. Rich hears the rustle of clothing and realizes that Jonah doesn’t even have his underwear off yet. His weight shifts, the garment falls to the floor, and Jonah is behind him again. With a dry hand, Jonah reaches around to stroke him softly—but the stimulation isn’t enough now. Jonah had won the bet and now he’s won the war and Rich is going to be even more of a sad, broken man if Jonah doesn’t take pity on him soon and fuck him properly.

“It need it—please,” Rich says, realizing how broken his voice sounds and not caring, listening to the way it wavers and hitches as Jonah strokes his cock. “Christ—not just—I want you in me, I need you to fuck me.”

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