Page 17 of Nights Without Night
I’m helpless against him.
“Please,” I say eventually. “Please, let me suck you off,” I say against his lips.
“Jesus,” he groans, emboldening me.
“Don’t you want to come in my mouth?” I murmur in his ear.
“Fuck,” he says, and my hair and wrists are released. I’m on my knees in an instant. I’m not here to tease, and I swallow him down, dragging my tongue against the vein on the underside. I can feel the tension in his thighs as he tries not to jerk up, but I push at his hips.
I want him to fuck my mouth. I want tofeelit.
His hand holds the back of my neck as he lifts his hips. I gag immediately, but I don’t let him stop. I’m good at this, I just need to calm down.
He finds a pace quickly and thrusts in and out of my mouth, my throat, easy and deep. There’s always been a rhythm to us, even in bed when we were teenagers and just figuring this stuff out.
It’s always been so goddamn easy.
I feel it when his hips start to stutter a little and I moan, wanting it. I squeeze his thighs and then trail my hands up, stroking the tightness of his balls. A moment later, he comes. I’ve never been the biggest fan of guys coming in my mouth but, right now, it’s exactly what I want. I want to feel the twitch and the taste of it, how personal and inescapable it is. Feel him soften slightly, lapping at him and seeing his abs where his shirt has ridden up twitch with overstimulation.
“Come here,” he says as he pulls me up. My cock is wet with my own pre-come, and the moan I let out when he wraps his hand around it is long and dirty.
“Fuck,” he says, and kisses me, lapping at the come in my mouth.
His hand is quick and tight as he jerks me, his other arm coming around to press me close. He pulls away from the kiss and looks at me intently, as if he can see through to my core.
I close my eyes, but I can still feel him looking.
I come with his presence all around me, an arrow through my lungs.
When I come down, I’m slumped against him. I’m still wrapped up in him, one of his hands trailing through my hair. We shift slightly until we’re kissing, slow and languid.
“You,” he says quietly, a breath of air. I nuzzle against him, mind blank.
“Me, what?” I mumble.
“You,” he repeats simply and kisses me again.
**********
“Why do we even need these many options?” Isadoro grumbles, looking at the grocery shelves packed to the brim with food.
“Capitalist freedom,” I reply, following it with an eagle’s caw. Isadoro snorts, looking at me. “You can wait outside if you want,” I suggest, even though I know what his reaction will be.
“I can go grocery shopping, Iván,” he says, frowning. I shrug.
I’ve sent him to the smaller shop near our apartment a few times, but we’re currently in one of the bigger retailers. I know these environments stress him out, but he had insisted on coming. He stands like a steel pole, eyes trained ahead even as he seems to be aware of his surroundings. He’s so tense he’s makingmenervous.
I give him jobs to do, hoping to keep him distracted. I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do, or if I’m treating him like a child, or—the constant second-guessing is exhausting.
I’m used to worrying about Isadoro, but it’s different having him here. Before, my worries were both more solid and yet more abstract at the same time. Now, I’m constantly confronted with the evidence of whatever it is he’s holding inside, but no opportunity to help. I can’t seem to strike the balance between pushing too much or not enough, and the results leave me frustrated.
By the time we leave the supermarket we’re both exhausted and cranky. We load my car and get in, me behind the wheel.
I know things have changed, but I can’t gauge how much. Time and distance have distorted my perception. I wish he would just talk to me. Not about what happened during combat—not unless he wants that, which I’m sure he doesn’t—but about what he’s thinking about now. How he’s feeling and coping. How I fit into it all.
I’m lost in thought when a car cuts me off. We’re in the city, so it’s not an uncommon occurrence. I just sigh and slow down. Isadoro, though, reacts instantly. He yanks hard at the door, the handle making a loud noise as it hits the lock. I startle, looking over. Isadoro looks furious in a way I’ve rarely seen in my life.
“Open the door,” he says.
