Page 56 of Steam

“Next time you feel like you hate yourself,” Reese says, pressing his thumbs hard into Owen’s hips, “just tell me and I’ll blow you.”

“Think that’ll help?” Owen says, puffing a laugh.

“I don’t actually know—but at least somebody gets to come outta the deal.”

Owen laughs, shaking his head against the mattress, and Reese moves to unbuckle the belt at Owen’s waist.

“Maybe I should’ve saved the real talk and gone straight to this,” Reese says, snaking a hand into Owen’s jeans.

“The real talk was good,” Owen says. Reese grasps his hardening cock through the fabric of his boxer-briefs. “This is better.”

“Yeah, I read about this in Psychology Today,” Reese says, squeezing around Owen’s base. “Peer reviewed and everything.”

Owen moans at the pressure and Reese begins to drag Owen’s jeans down with his free hand.

“This is the part where you go ‘you can peer review my cock, Reese,’” Reese says in an exaggerated impression of Owen.

“Fuck,” Owen says as Reese mouths him through the garment, breathing hot against his erection. “You’re doing a fine job without any instruction from me.”

“Great, good,” Reese says, pretending to be annoyed even as he palms Owen. “I’ll just carry the burden of all this comedy across my own back. Typical Reese, picking up the slack.”

And Owen can’t even manage a comeback as Reese hooks fingertips into his boxers, sliding them down and off his hips.

They drop the jokes, then—or, at least Reese drops the jokes. He’s too occupied with Owen’s skin—the gentle give of his thighs, the skin that stretches tighter over his hips, the most sensitive parts of his cock—reaching every inch he can with lips and hot breath, enjoying every hum and quiet obscenity it earns him from Owen.

When he’s kissed everything he can reach—then and only then—Reese finally licks a wet stripe from Owen’s base to his tip, and Owen lets out a shuddering breath.

“Fuck, Reese. I did miss this.”

Reese continues on, running the tip of his tongue over everything now, dragging moans from Owen and sighing into his skin as Owen finally reaches down to run his fingers through Reese’s hair. Reese does everything he can think of—tracing patterns on Owen’s shaft, sucking marks into his hips, biting the skin of his thighs softly until Owen is no longer breathing right.

And finally—only after Reese is satisfied that he’s fully communicated to Owen how much he savors every minute of this—finally Reese holds him by the base and lowers his hot mouth onto the head of Owen’s cock.

“Jesus,” Owen says, breathless up on the bed. “Jesus Christ.”

Even now, Reese doesn’t establish a rhythm. He’s licking down Owen’s shaft with an obscene noise one minute and pulling off to lay a chaste, dry kiss against the underside of his base the next. Reese swirls his tongue over Owen’s slit, squeezes him with a slicked hand.

“Please, Reese—holy shit—”

He won’t make Owen whine for it—he’ll save that for another time. Instead, Reese presses his mouth down further onto Owen’s cock in response, willing his throat to relax as he swallows down. Reese takes his full length, grinding down, pressing his nose into the smooth skin of Owen’s belly, until finally his own body reacts, his throat spasming in the beginning of a gag around Owen’s cock. Reese holds Owen by the base as he pulls off, takes a breath, and sinks down again almost immediately.

“Christ that’s incredible,” Owen mumbles.

Reese sucks his entire length once—twice, three times, Owen loses count as the beginnings of an orgasm burn in the bottom of his stomach—before finally it’s too much for Reese to take without gagging hard, the hand coming back and slowly pumping his cock as Reese sits back to breathe. Owen almost whimpers at the loss of the hot mouth on him.

“Is this what you wanted, Owen?”

“Fuck yes,” Owen says, his hands returning to Reese’s scalp, curling into his close-cropped hair. Reese never misses a beat as he strokes and twists his wet palm against Owen’s cock.

“Are you ready to come?”

“Please,” Owen says, his voice lapsing just a little—the closest to a beg that Owen will allow himself to get. “Please, Reese.”

And Reese is ready for it too—ready to give Owen the release he needs, to give him a moment without stress and the burdens he’s been carrying—to show him with hands and mouth how much Owen means to him.

He sinks down around Owen’s cock again, stroking his base with one hand and the rest with a practiced mouth. The rhythm he builds is slow—but still, it is a rhythm—and Owen’s moans almost sound outraged now, going ragged and desperate—and as Reese sinks and strokes just a bit faster each time, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks softly, the man under him can’t resist the urge to thrust slightly-shaking hips up off the mattress—just a little, as if Owen’s body isn’t under his control anymore.

Reese doesn’t mind. He reaches his free hand to squeeze Owen’s ass, as if giving the man under him permission to move, and he hums as he continues to lick and pump.

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