Page 15 of A Very Gay Halloween
Hearing my name in his voice while I'm tasting him for the first time sends a bolt of pure electricity straight to my cock. I wrap my lips around his cockhead, sucking gently, and the flavor explodes across my tongue, salty and musky.
His hand finds my hair, fingers threading through the strands. Not pushing, not guiding, just holding on like I'm the only thing keeping him upright.
I take him deeper, using my tongue to explore every ridge and vein. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing—my only education comes from stolen glimpses of porn and drunken conversations with guys who probably didn't know what they were talking about either. But Cooper's reactions tell me I'm doing something right.
His breathing turns ragged, his grip on my hair tightening. Little sounds escape his throat every time I do something that hits just right—a flick of my tongue against his slit, the vibration when I moan around his length.
I start moving my head, taking him as deep as I can manage without choking. The weight of him on my tongue, the stretch of my lips around his girth, the way he fills my mouth—it's overwhelming in the best possible way.
My own cock throbs in my jeans, neglected and desperate, but I ignore it. This is about Cooper, about finally giving him what I've wanted to give him for so fucking long.
I pull off to catch my breath, strings of saliva connecting my lips to his cockhead, and Cooper makes a sound like he's dying.
"Don't stop," he pleads, and there's something raw in his voice that makes my chest tight.
Instead of answering, I take him back into my mouth, deeper this time, until he hits the back of my throat. I gag slightly, but push through it, determined to take as much of him as I can.
"Jesus Christ," Cooper pants. "Your mouth... fuck, August, your mouth is..."
He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to. I can feel his approval in the way his hips start to move, shallow thrusts that he tries to hold back but can't quite control.
I reach up with one hand to cup his balls, rolling them gently in my palm. They're heavy and warm, the skin soft and vulnerable, and when I squeeze just slightly, Cooper's knees nearly buckle.
My other hand finds the base of his cock, working the inches I can't fit in my mouth. I establish a rhythm—mouth and hand working together, slick with saliva and pre-come.
The sounds filling the basement are obscene. Wet sucking noises, Cooper's increasingly desperate moans, the way his breathing has turned to sharp pants. If anyone were to walk down here right now, there'd be no mistaking what we're doing.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it makes my cock pulse harder against my jeans.
Cooper's hand tightens in my hair, not painful but firm, guiding my movements now. His hips start to snap forward with more purpose, and I realize he's close.
I double my efforts, hollowing my cheeks, using my tongue to trace patterns along the sensitive underside of his cock. His moans turn into something that sounds almost like sobs, and his whole body starts to shake.
"August, I'm—fuck, I'm gonna—"
But instead of finishing, he uses his grip on my hair to pull me off his cock. I make a sound of protest as his length slips from my mouth, already missing the taste and weight of him.
He hauls me to my feet and crashes his mouth against mine before I can complain. The kiss is deep and dirty and desperate, his tongue seeking out the taste of himself in my mouth.
When we break apart, we're both shaking. Cooper's hands are everywhere—pushing at my shirt, working on my belt, mapping the planes of my chest like he's trying to memorize them through touch.
I mirror his desperation, my own hands eager to feel skin instead of fabric. We shed the rest of our clothes in a frenzy, tossing shirts and jackets aside without caring where they land.
When Cooper pushes me back against the stone wall, both of us finally, completely naked, the contrast edges on overwhelming. Cold stone against my back, Cooper's burning skin against my front. His chest is broader than I realized, defined muscles covered in smooth skin that begs to be touched.
There's a light dusting of hair across his pecs, trailing down to a thicker line that leads to his cock. His body is a fucking work of art, and I can't believe I get to touch it, taste it, claim it as mine.
His mouth finds my neck, teeth scraping against sensitive skin before he sucks hard enough to mark me. The thought of walking around tomorrow with Cooper's bruises painted across my throat makes my cock leak against his stomach.
"Mine," he growls against my neck, and the possessive edge in his voice makes something primal unfurl in my chest.
"Yours," I agree, and mean it in ways that probably should scare me.
Cooper steps back just enough to reach into the pocket of his discarded jacket. The loss of contact makes me want to grab him and pull him back. Then, I see what he's retrieving.
A small bottle and a condom packet land on top of an old wooden crate nearby.
"Jesus Christ, you just carry those around?"
