Page 23 of Steam

In the grand scheme of dirty talk, Rich is capable of so much more than this ragged begging—but it does the trick because Jonah ruts hard against his ass and groans—and finally someone in this situation is ready for some action other than Rich. He’d thank his lucky stars right now if Jonah hadn’t reduced him to nothing more than a bunch of helpless sexual synapses.

* * *

Jonah has always foundRich’s voice compelling. It’s one of the weird things he’ll find himself thinking about: the way his voice can be a dead-on imitation of a sleazy game show host in his commercials or a hard-edged don’t-fuck-with-me sound when he’s posturing or a fond, understated almost-whisper when he’s not trying to be anything but himself.

Spending more time with Rich means that he’s been granted access to even more variations: the gravelly way Rich sounds when he wakes up in the morning, the way his voice goes choppy after he’s laughed too hard, and the saccharine way he talks to old ladies.

But the sounds he’s been dragging out of Rich today are by far the most interesting versions of Rich’s voice that Jonah has come across. It’s all rasp and bass as Rich begs on hands and knees to be fucked and it makes Jonah think of creosote and asphalt and the desert. Rich—who always has a plan B, who thinks on his feet faster than anyone Jonah has ever met—is now reduced to whimpers and whines and this, Jonah thinks, is what made that disgusting bottle of Texas goddamn Tim’s go down as smooth as iced tea.

He’s hard as a diamond as he slicks up and positions himself behind Rich. Rich goes quiet in the moment of anticipation. Jonah takes him by the hips, trying to haul him up higher for a better angle but not strong enough to move him around. Even as he breathes out a low sound at the handling, Rich repositions himself under Jonah’s hands, hitching his hips and propping himself higher on his elbows. He holds Rich steady with one hand and lines himself up with the other.

As nice as it might be to fuck face to face, it’s hard to top the view from behind as Jonah sinks in, fighting Rich as he tries to grind back too fast. No way in hell is he rushing this part.

It’s Jonah’s turn to whine now as he watches his cock disappear into Rich. He’s all tight, slick warmth and eagerness—and he feels incredible like this, little manic movements as he takes Jonah, as he lets out a shuddering sigh at finally being filled. Jonah presses in until his hips are fitted against Rich’s ass—and then he lets him move a bit, still controlling his hips but indulging in the feeling of the larger man grinding back against him, desperate for more movement even as he’s still adjusting.

That first sweet stroke is as slow as either of them can take it but Jonah doesn’t worry about setting a torturous pace after that—not now that his own cock is involved. Instead, he barely guides Rich’s hips and lets him move, lets him work back to meet every thrust. It only takes a few beats before Rich is moaning and fucking back against him like it’s their last day on earth: deeply, thoroughly, not letting a single millimeter of Jonah’s cock go unstroked as he works back against him. His noises are raw and sound almost pained, but Jonah’s not stupid enough to try and check in now because they’re both too far gone.

* * *

Rich has never neededto come so badly in his entire goddamned life.

Not during long stretches of abstinence. Not during the painful and embarrassing arousals of high school. Never has Rich felt quite like this: so goddamned hard and needy that he feels like he’s discovering sex for the first time in his life.

He takes Jonah deep without a second thought of the discomfort through the first few hard strokes. Discomfort is a road sign disappearing behind him as he speeds towards orgasm. He hitches and rocks his hips with a flexibility and rhythm he didn’t think himself capable of anymore—but, hey, if there’s one lesson Rich has learned throughout his life, it’s that desperation leads to a lot of self-discovery.

The burn of need that Jonah has stoked through this whole terrible, wonderful session is blazing in the base of his stomach like a forge, intensifying with each stroke, even without any stimulation against his cock—and he has no idea what Jonah has planned for his eventual orgasm, but this is the first bit of real satisfaction he’s felt since the bindings went around his wrists and he’s not about to do anything but live in this one single moment as Jonah takes him hard by the hips again and lays into him with more force. The kid’s huffing with exertion but it’s only barely audible above the noise of their fucking, the creak of the abused bed frame.

The rhythm and pressure is exactly what he needed, Jonah hitting just the right spots, going at it with the youthful exuberance Rich has come to expect from him. He’s not holding back—and thank Christ because Rich worries that if he’d been forced to wait any longer, he’d expire right here on top of his ugly sale-rack comforter. His hard-on is still neglected but half-forgotten at the pleasure of being fucked, but wouldn’t even resent an orgasm from this thorough fucking alone. And God, who knew the kid had it in him?

“You ready to come?” Jonah asks, his voice breathy and punctuated by his quickening strokes into Rich.

“Naaah,” Rich says, apparently completely unable to resist sarcasm even in these trying times. Jonah snorts in between breaths.

“Don’t be a dick,” he snipes.

“Yes, Jonah, Christ, I’m gonna do it on my own if you don’t —”

But Jonah is already leaning over him, slowing a little to rock his entire length in and out in the way that he knows drives Rich a hundred kinds of crazy. And then there’s a hand on him—mercifully, finally, taking Rich’s somehow over- and under-stimulated cock in a firm, twisting grip—and his nerves are haywire, absolutely shot to shit from the first good pull. He’s torn in two between wanting to push back against Jonah and fuck forward into his hand—but in the end he doesn’t have to choose because Jonah has the entire situation covered, stroking him perfectly in time.

There’s an odd moment of disconnect, then, because Rich had assumed he was on the precipice of orgasm, that it would be one nice stroke before he’d be coming hard over Jonah’s hand—but the opposite is true. It’s like his wires are truly so scrambled that the information isn’t getting to the right place, and instead of coming he’s whimpering and fighting the feeling of post-orgasm over-stimulation without ever having had the relief in the first place. Jonah isn’t discouraged in the least by the delay, though, still twisting his slicked hand and laying those long strokes of his cock where he’s precariously close to pulling out before pressing back, impossibly deep. Even under the kid’s slight weight, Rich’s muscles are trembling and shot.

Jonah’s sounds are louder now, closer to his ears. He makes desperate, small moans as he works Rich, and his lips find the skin in between his shoulder blades, kissing him sloppy and maybe even a little sweet. It’s the same place he likes to kiss Jonah—just above the tattoo—when the roles are reversed, and it feels so good that Rich shudders a little and sucks a breath.

It knocks something loose inside Rich, finally, and his insides feel like a pinball machine. The pleasure of an orgasm like Rich has never known begins the process of unfurling itself into his cells, his muscles, his skin. It’s a release beyond release, the sensation seizing him from top to bottom, burning a brand of stimulation from the inside of his body outwards.

“Holy shit,” he says, almost awed.

“Fuck yes,” Jonah says. “Just like that—fuck, Rich.”

Time stretches out in front of him, the edges of Rich’s world going dark and far away, and he’s not even remotely aware of when his orgasm begins or cognizant of the fact that it will ever end.

He knows very little beyond the immediately reality of Jonah’s cock and his hand and his weight across Rich’s back, feels like he’s not controlling his body anymore as electricity fires between his muscle fibers in a way that doesn’t make sense, as if his perception of pleasure—so heightened for so long—is now distorting and amplifying even further—his entire existence reduced to the deep contentment that settles into his chest as he takes shaky breaths and the nerves of his body are shattered into bliss. He’s only tangentially aware of the sound he’s making, strangled and choked against the mattress.

It is undeniably the most incredible orgasm of Rich’s entire life.

When he comes back to himself like an amnesiac trying to piece his identity together, Jonah is still resting weight against his back but he’s gone still.

“You don’t have to stop,” Rich says, his voice sounding small. A laugh rolls through Jonah and Rich can feel it through his back.

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