Page 70 of A Small Town Spring

“Let’s come back to that, shall we?”Kingston interjects.I may be jealous of the cat, but he’s definitely jealous of my ex.

“Toys,” I continue, “sixty-nining.Oh—and foreskin play.We should do that, since we can.”

I stop my little speech and drop my gaze to Kingston’s crotch and the distended fabric of his boxer briefs.As I watch, he slides the fabric over his hips, revealing the dark curls he keeps neatly trimmed, but not super short, and his mouthwatering package, not too small, not too big.Just exactly right.

“Not all at once, of course,” I say, my own cock filled and getting harder by the second as I shuck my boxers and get back into the still-warm sheets of our bed.“But just so you know what I’m looking forward to.”

“Good to know,” Kingston rasps, sliding in next to me, pulling the covers up over our shoulders.“I want to do all of that with you, honey.It’s tempting to clear my schedule for the next week and keep you in this bed.”

“Tied up?”I ask hopefully.

“For real?”he says skeptically.

“Well, like, for a little bit,” I say.“I honestly have never tried it, but I think I’d like it.You’d take care of me,” I add.“You always do.”

In answer, Kingston kisses me, pressing me down onto the mattress and his silky sheets.His hands are everywhere, his mouth hot and hard on mine, on my jaw, on my neck.“You are a surprise, Toby.I knew you had a lot going on underneath your pretty exterior.I didn’t realize it was so dirty.”He punctuates the last word by nipping my earlobe and sending a jolt of desire straight to my cock.

“I feel like I can be whoever I want to be with you,” I say breathlessly, as he licks the side of my neck.“Is that bad?”

He raises his head and looks at me, face serious.“It’s good.It’s very, very good.”

Kissing him is this blissful act that clears my head, puts me in touch with my body, in the way I want his weight on me, how his legs feel strong and muscular rubbing against mine, the undeniable eroticism of our dicks finding each other, the base pleasure of his skin touching mine.But not just anyone would make me feel like this.It’s Kingston, the way he caresses me like I’m something special, the way he knows his way around my body seemingly instinctively.He’s never pushy, driving me crazy with light grazes, ghosts of kisses, and I wriggle and squirm, so turned on I splay my legs open unashamedly, begging him to do something, anything, to make me come.

“You want me to make you come, honey?”he says, voice wickedly soft as he echoes my demands.His hand on my chest anchors me to the bed, otherwise I feel like I might float away on desire.

“Anything,” I whine.“Please, Kingston, I’m not kidding.I need?—”

“I know what you need,” he says, voice dark and low, and I shiver as he scoots down the bed, seals his mouth over the head of my cock.I let out a strangled shout, but he keeps me from bucking up with his hands on my hips, holding me down as he laves my erection, inching his way down the shaft.I can see his face, his mouth stretched around me, and I almost lose it at the gorgeously sexy picture that makes.

He cups my sac, tugging it the way I like it.How does he know to do that?Then he wriggles a hand beneath my balls, presses his thumb to my hole, and I’m gone, the merest suggestion of penetration making my eyes roll back in my head, come shooting out of me so hard I feel it in my abs.Maybe I should start working out more.

He stays on me, and I can’t tell if he’s swallowing or gathering my spend in his mouth.When I’m finally done and push at his shoulder, he releases me, turns, and spits into an empty water glass on his side table.

“Kingston, oh my fucking god.”My entire body feels like it’s been emptied out, wiped clean, like a fresh spring wind has come through and scoured me thoroughly.

“Is that what you needed?”he asks, somewhat smugly, as he settles back in the bed.He strokes his hard length almost lazily.

I turn on my side, touch his jaw to get him to look straight at me.“I needyou,” I say solemnly, willing him to understand.We’ve only been together for a short time, but even before he kissed me in the gallery, I never wanted to be anywhere but by his side.“I love you.”

Maybe it’s too soon, too spontaneous, too much.And maybe it’s not enough because those three words pale in comparison to the emotions bursting in my chest like overfull paint tubes.

He looks at me steadily, his calm friendly eyes reading me carefully.His mouth trembles and he stops touching himself.“How is that possible?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been waiting my entire life for someone to need me, to want me, to love me, the way I want to be needed, wanted.Loved.”He takes a shaky breath.“And I can’t understand how it’s possible that it’s you.How did I get so lucky?”

My heart feels so good it hurts.

“You think you’re lucky to be with me?I’m so lucky I found you, Kingston.You captivated me, and then you became my friend.And I would have been good with only that.I swear I would.”

He sniffs—he’s not crying, but close.“Me too,” he says.“I would have been your friend forever, even if that’s all I could be.”

“You still can.”And then we kiss, both of us moving at the same instant, and it feels like a promise to keep kissing each other for the rest of our lives.When we eventually separate, I tell him, “I’ll always be your friend.And I’ll always love you.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, sniffing again.“But it sounds convincing.”

“I do know it,” I argue.“I never thought all that much about the future.I always lost myself in the current painting, the current challenge.But since I met you, all I can think is that my future will be all right if I get to be with you.I don’t need anything else.”

---