Page 16 of A Very Gay Halloween
He shrugs, completely unbothered by my incredulous tone. "Just in case."
I let out a strained laugh that sounds more like a cough. "In case of what, exactly?"
"In case I'd get lucky tonight." His eyes find mine in the dim light. "Guess I got luckier than I thought."
I stare at the supplies like they're going to bite me. This is happening. This is actually fucking happening, and I have no idea what I'm doing. The porn I've watched didn't exactly come with instructional guides, and the few fumbling encounters I've had with girls didn't prepare me for this.
Cooper gives himself a few long, slow strokes, and my mouth goes dry watching the way his hand moves along his length. His cock glistens with pre-come and whatever's left of my saliva, and I want to reach out and touch, but I'm frozen.
"You ever been with a guy?"
The question echoes in my brain. How can he even seriously ask that? Because right now I feel like I'm wearing a neon sign that says 'clueless virgin about to embarrass himself.'
I laugh, but it comes out harsh and brittle. "Do I look like I've been with a guy?"
"That's not an answer."
"No." The word feels heavy. "You?"
"No." He looks up at me, and there's something raw in his expression. "But I've thought about it. You have no idea how many times I jerked off thinking about your mouth, do you?"
Heat floods through me. "Jesus, Cooper."
"How many hours I've spent wondering what you'd sound like if I made you come."
My cock throbs at his words, but there's this sense of terror that dims my arousal. What if I'm terrible at this? What if I hurt him? What if—
Cooper reaches for the bottle of lube and hands it to me. I take it with fingers that shake like I'm having some kind of medical emergency.
The bottle is warm from being in his pocket, and the label is worn like it's been handled before. Which raises questions I don't want to think about right now.
"Are you sure? Because I have no fucking clue what I'm doing."
"Then we'll figure it out together."
Something in his voice makes me look up. He's watching me with this expression I can't quite read—patient but hungry, like he's willing to wait as long as it takes but he's also about to crawl out of his skin.
He steps closer and kisses me. Soft this time, different from the desperate devouring from before. His lips move against mine like he's trying to calm me down. And it works. Some of the panic recedes, replaced by that familiar heat that seems to live in my bones whenever he's near.
When he breaks the kiss, he spins us around so he's the one against the wall. The movement is so smooth I barely register it until his back hits stone and he's looking at me with that same patient hunger.
Then he turns around.
My breath catches in my throat. Cooper braces his hands against the wall, and the muscles in his back flex under smooth skin. I can see every line of him—the curve of his spine, the dimples just above his ass, the way his shoulders bunch as he settles into position.
"Use your fingers first," he says, and his voice carries easily in the basement's acoustics. "Stretch me open."
Stretch him open. Right. Like that's just a thing I do on Friday nights.
"What if I hurt you?"
He glances over his shoulder, and there's something wicked in his expression. "Then I'll tell you to stop. But August?" He pauses, making sure he has my full attention. "Don't be too gentle. I'm not made of glass."
The lube cap pops open under my clumsy fingers, and I squirt way too much onto my palm. It's slippery, and I nearly drop the bottle before managing to set it aside.
I spread the lube between both hands, trying to warm it up, and Cooper makes this soft sound that might be amusement.
"You're stalling," he observes.
