Page 47 of Fresh Ice
“Just, another finger.Please.”
“Fuck,” Levy swore as he obliged.
Alonso whined as Levy fucked him deep with his hand, sucking him at the same time, the noises obscene. He was so fucking wet, pleasure spiralling, taking over.
He came with a low moan, spilling down Levy’s throat. Levy held Alonso in his throat as he kept pumping in.
“Okay,” Alonso cried out. “Okay, okay.” He squirmed away, oversensitive.
Levy crawled up, hand wet and mouth tasting like come. Alonso couldn’t stand it, he liked it so much.
Alonso ripped away from the kiss, desperate at the feel of Levy’s hard cock pressed against him. “Let me, come on,” he urged, flipping their positions.
He didn’t even have time to be intimidated, wrapping his lips around Levy and taking in as much as he could, too impatient for anything else.
“Fuck,” Levy shouted, his thighs trembling.
Alonso held him still, choking himself and not even caring.
“Fuck, Olive, I’m gonna—” Levy didn’t even get to complete his sentence, his spine arching as he came into Alonso’s mouth.
Alonso carried him through it and then sat back slightly, feeling unusually brave.
Levy inspired it.
“Wow. I think you made it, what? Thirty seconds?” he chirped.
Levy threw an arm over his eyes. “Shut up. That was so unfair.”
“Oh, sorry. Next time I’ll try to be worse at making you come.”
Levy peeked at him. “Good luck trying, honestly. Fucking yourself on my fingers like—”
Alonso lunged, slapping a hand over Levy’s mouth. “Okay, you can shut up.”
Levy laughed, grabbing his wrist and wrestling it away. “Oh, you get to chirp me, but I have to shut up?”
“Exactly. I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Okay…so I shouldn’t tell you I’m currently lying on the wet spot from how much slick you—”
Alonso jumped off the couch. “I’m going to take a shower.” He knew he was being a baby about it, but give him a break—it was an extreme change from thinking he’d never have fulfilling sex to staining his goddamn couch because he’d gotten so fucking wet for someone.
He stayed under the warm spray for a long time, his mind blank. He could feel the overthinking panic at the edges, but it was surprisingly easy to push it away. He felt good. Sore, tired, hungry, butgood.
He still wasn’t prepared to return to the living room and see Levy on his knees, hair wet from his own shower and scrubbing at the couch. “Oh, my God.”
“Can you use dish soap on fabric?” Levy asked.
“I mean, looks like it’s too late to ask that question,” Alonso pointed out.
“True,” Levy laughed.
Alonso took out some frozen meals, defrosting them in the microwave and setting them on the bar.
Levy appeared just in time. “No idea if that worked,” he said as he sat down. He shovelled a forkful of food into his mouth, followed immediately but a groan of pain. “Oof, sh’hot.”
Alonso snorted, banging their shoulders together instead of making fun of him.
