Page 44 of Steam

Henry’s hips meet each stroke and together they’re working faster now, both of them breathing harder. Logan’s mind is a blank as his body moves in rhythm, wanting Henry to come first, if he can. He has no idea what the protocol for this situation is.

“Fuck I’m gonna—,” Henry says, struggling to form words. “Logan I might, I’m gonna—I’m going to come on your comforter if you don’t stop?”

Henry sounds suddenly young and for the first time since he stepped into the condo, unsure of himself.

“Ruin it, Henry,” Logan orders. “I want you to come now.”

And on cue, Henry’s breath goes funny, his muscles tensing around Logan—and Logan can feel the smaller man coming into his hand, shuddering through his own orgasm with surprisingly gentle moans, whispering Logan’s name.

After Henry is spent, Logan lets himself be present in the moment again. He’s extracted every molecule of pleasure that can be had without orgasm, been on the edge of the cliff for so long and been denied so much that he almost isn’t sure which muscles he needs to relax, which gates he needs to unbar in his mind, to finally allow a release.

But as soon as Henry is back to himself, the boy is happy to ease the plugs out of the dam. He grinds back onto Logan’s hips, huffing with exertion now and moaning again.

“Grab my hips, Logan,” he says. “Keep fucking me, baby. Keep giving me that big cock.”

Logan groans—there it is. His orgasm starts to kick loose somewhere in his body, sparked by the dirty talk. It doesn’t escape Henry’s attention and he keeps going.

“Are you gonna come in my ass, Logan?” Henry says, breathing hard. “I know it’s gonna feel so good to fill me up all the way after all that.”

The pleasure of an orgasm like Logan has never known begins the process of unfurling itself into his muscles. What he feels is beyond a release, the sensation seizing him from top to bottom, burning a brand of stimulation from the inside of his body outwards.

“Holy shit,” Logan says.

“Fuck yes,” Henry says. “Just like that. Fuck me, Logan.”

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

He knows very little beyond the immediate reality of fucking Henry, feels like he’s not controlling his body anymore as electricity fires between his muscles in a way that doesn’t make sense, as his perception of pleasure—so heightened for so long—seems to distort and amplify even further—his entire existence reduced for those moments to the deep contentment that settles into his chest—while, simultaneously, the nerves of his body are shattering into bliss.

He’s only tangentially aware of the sounds he makes, strangled and choked, as he comes into Henry, unable to parse out whether what he’s saying is English, whether or not the words make sense—if they even are words, now—barely hearing himself form Henry’s name over and over but knowing that he’s doing it nonetheless.

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

When Logan comes back from it—emerging like he’s lost a chunk of time and slowly piecing details together like an amnesiac—he’s still gripping Henry’s hips, sitting back on his own heels and pulling the smaller man to him. He sees with a pang of regret that he’s pressed hard, red marks into the boy, and he lets go immediately, stroking the bright marks.

“Fuck,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“You were holding on for dear life,” Henry says, puffing a laugh through his nose. “Don’t worry about it. It’s endearing.”

Henry slides forward gently, disengaging from Logan, and Logan strokes his hands lovingly up the pale, soft skin of his back. Henry moves to the far edge of the bed, frowning at the dark, wet spot he’s left on Logan’s comforter.

“I’m sorry about that,” Henry says.

Logan smiles at him, still sitting back on his heels.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” he says. “I would strip off the comforter so we could lay down but I’m 99% sure my legs don’t work anymore.”

* * *

There’splenty of room to lie down on the large bed without changing the bedding, and Henry pulls his client down to lay on his side facing him.

With all of his earlier posturing, Henry fully expects Logan to downplay the orgasm.

He doesn’t.

“Holy fucking hell, Henry,” Logan says, still catching his breath. “That was practically a religious experience.”

“So you’re glad you let me stay?”

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