Page 14 of Small City Heart
“It’s real, though.” At least for the night. Tomorrow morning Patrick might decide he’d had enough time with a townie, but tonight it could be real.
“Then yes. I want this. I want to feel you on top of me. I want your sweat on my tongue. I want you to turn me out so spectacularly that neither of us knows our own name. I want to scratch and claw and come, and then do it over and over again until we can’t move.”
By the end of Patrick’s monologue, Charlie was up and walking with Patrick wrapped around him. Patrick’s legs tightened on Charlie’s waist, and Charlie pressed him into a wall by his bedroom door.
Their lips crashed together—their first real, full kiss—and it was messy and hurried and a bit uncomfortable. Charlie would have relived it a million times over if he could have.
Patrick managed to unbutton Charlie’s dress shirt, which was impressive since Charlie could hardly focus on anything besides the sleekness of Patrick’s tongue and the warmth of his mouth. Prickles of pain ripped Charlie out of his dazed kissing, and he glanced down at his chest where Patrick was scoring his pecs with blunt fingernails.
Charlie felt a pang of regret that Patrick’s nails weren’t the bright blue they had been yesterday, then, grateful Patrick was here with him, Charlie staggered off the wall, took a handful of steps into his bedroom, and flung Patrick onto his bed.
The smile Patrick sent him proved he was definitely here to play.
“Take your shirt off,” Charlie said as he finished unbuttoning his own. He slid it off, then glanced down at the small crescent-shaped marks on his chest.
“Too much?” Patrick asked, watching closely as Charlie admired the scratches.
“I like it.”
“Good.”
“Take your shirt off, Patrick.”
“You want it off? You can come and get it.”
Charlie huffed a laugh and launched himself at Patrick, tackling him flat on the bed. He managed to pin the squirming man and rip the shirt open. Patrick fought him a bit, but he was laughing, breathless, and obviously wanted Charlie to win this one.
They finished undressing this way, fighting to hold the other down, writhing to feel their bodies touching. Finally, they were mostly naked save a spare sock and Charlie’s underwear. He restrained Patrick’s hands by pressing them to the bed. Then he straddled Patrick’s thighs.
Patrick was lean but solid, no longer the wisp of a boy he’d once been. He didn’t have a six-pack, but his abdominal muscles were firm. His chest was hairless, but a line of soft blond hair trailed from his belly button to his cock. Patrick’s arms strained against Charlie’s hold, and Charlie couldn’t help but lean down and kiss the curve of his biceps.
Patrick’s hair was wild around his head and across his face, and he had to spit a lock out of his mouth. This close, Patrick’s plush, generous lips drew Charlie in like a magnet. Charlie stretched out over him until their bodies were pressed together everywhere and their mouths could touch.
They kissed and thrust, their cocks separated by the cotton of Charlie’s briefs. Patrick fought his hold but moaned each time he found resistance, so Charlie didn’t let go.
“Naked,” Patrick gasped, ripping his mouth away from Charlie’s. “Want you naked too. Want to see you.” Patrick’s mouth was dark red from their kisses, and he had stubble burn all over his throat and cheeks.
“But then I’d have to let you go.”
“Take your fucking panties off, Charles.”
“It’s Charlie,” he said, but he laughed. He released Patrick’s hands. Patrick left them limp above his head, so Charlie rushed through removing his briefs. Normally there was that moment of self-consciousness, that doubt or wariness when he got naked with a partner, but he only felt stark relief when they were skin-to-skin again. They both moaned when he lay back out over Patrick, and Patrick hooked his legs around Charlie’s thighs in a tight clinch.
After a moment’s hesitation, Charlie threaded their fingers together, then said, “I love the way you sayCharles, though.” He drove his hips forward, their cocks rubbing all over each other, and groaned.
Patrick chuckled breathlessly, then tried to get his hands free. Charlie didn’t let him, holding him down and frotting against him until static started to buzz in his ears. Their bodies slid together, all sweat and pre-come, and Charlie couldn’t keep his lips off Patrick’s skin.
“So good. I want to come this way,” Patrick breathed in his ear, and Charlie shuddered.
Patrick finally got a hand loose, and Charlie used the opportunity to grip Patrick’s hair in a fist. Patrick’s reaction was instantaneous. He cried out and grabbed Charlie’s ass, urging him into a faster rhythm. Charlie hadn’t come from frottage alone in ages, but a dim sparkle of pleasure was already building in the base of his spine, heat flooding his stomach and dick.
They clutched each other tighter, and it was heaven to grapple until their bodies were locked together, no space between them.
Patrick bit him hard, right on the side of the neck, and Charlie cried out. “God, you kinky fucker. You’re wild, you know that?” But Patrick didn’t let up, and Charlie didn’t want him to.
“Close,” Patrick whispered, his voice rough and dark before he nipped Charlie’s ear. “Harder.”
Charlie fucked him into the bed, their dicks sandwiched between their stomachs, and sweat slicking the way. Patrick’s body went taut, his neck arching, his head hitching back. He dug his hands, his fingernails, so hard into Charlie’s skin there would be evidence left tomorrow.
