Page 21 of In Frame
Sam was laughing, holding onto him, kissing back: tongue teasing Leo’s mouth, hands roaming all along Leo’s body. Leo’s whole body thrilled to the exploration. “So liking your couch is a turn-on, huh? I like the chair, too, with the stripes.”
“We could have sex in it,” Leo encouraged. Arousal built and pooled in his stomach, in the weight of his cock and balls, which liked that idea.
“I’m not going to make your first time happen in a chair!”Sam nuzzled a kiss into the spot below Leo’s jaw; the scrape of stubble plus the tenderness made Leo’s knees nearly fold. He’d kissed people and been kissed before; this was different. This was Sam, undeniably masculine and strong and experienced; part of Leo’s brain was astonished at himself and how right this felt, and the rest was jumping up and down and shouting that itdidfeel right, Sam felt right, and more of all that rightness would be excellent in the very near future, please.
Sam’s hands were untucking his shirt, sneaking under, finding bare skin. Leo might’ve whimpered.
Sam pulled him closer, hips rocking into his. This time Leo gasped because the friction was glorious, their bodies and desires colliding and grinding against each other. Sam trailed fiery kisses along his throat, and inquired, “Where’s your bedroom? And…you’ve got supplies, right?”
“Supplies…oh, yes. Ihavehad sex before. With other people. With myself. With toys.”
“Might need to show me some of those, later.” Sam ran a hand over Leo’s hip, flirting with the waist of his trousers, then sliding between them. And gliding, torturously slow, over the line of Leo’s cock. “You like me touching you like this?”
Leo made a sound he’d not known he could make, inarticulate and pleading. His cock pulsed; the tip grew wet, he could feel it, and he knew he’d be getting it all over his suit, messy smears of desire staining expensive fabric, under Sam’s hand. The thought made him arch his hips into the caress, helplessly; he did not know why the idea felt so good, making a mess of himself as Sam teased him, but he craved more.
Sam stroked him again, then lifted the hand. Leo wobbled in place.
“Bedroom?”
“Oh…yes…right…” Stairs. His house had them. He and Sam tumbled up them in a tangle of bodies and hands and heat.The door swung partially open; Leo’s foot hit it, which might’ve hurt but didn’t because Sam was kissing him and unbuttoning his shirt and baring his skin, and Leo was touching too, hands wandering over Sam’s arms and chest and hips because he couldn’t not, fascinated and needing and wanting it all.
Sam backed him up toward the bed. Peeled away Leo’s shirt. “God. Look at you.”
“Thank you? I’m not Jason, but I—oh—” Sam had put a hand on his chest. Leo managed, “I like to think I do all right.”
He did go to the gym regularly, plus the random hobbies of any given year, which’d ranged from fencing to waltzing to snorkeling in exotic places. He’d never have the type of body that grew muscle like tree limbs, and he had the sort of paleness that resolutely refused to tan, but he also had decent abs and lean strength he was generally proud of. Sam, on the other hand, had broader shoulders, wider all round, built like oak and sailing-ships and those treasure-chests of gold, meant to last.
Sam had at the moment found Leo’s left nipple with a hand, and was playing, gently: rolling, pinching, tugging. A bedside lamp—Leo’d left the one on the right turned on accidentally, heading to the premiere—spilled amber sun over white floorboards, crimson rug, exposed bodies. “You’re perfect. These’re perfect. Tell me if you like this. Not every guy does, but some people get real into it. How’s this feel?”
“Nice but not terribly more than—oh dearGod.” Sam had done…something…with quite a bit more force, and Leo’s entire body suddenly got very confused indeed, hot and throbbing and aflame. Pleasure and a hint of pain streaked outward from his chest. His hands were clutching Sam’s shoulders.
“Ah,” Sam said, with some satisfaction. “Good sound?”
“Do that again!”
“You like things a little rough, then?” Sam did it again, a twist and tug of glittering sharpness. “Good to know.”
“I…I…how did you learn how to do that? I mean, I’ve had people touch them before but…” He tried to look down at his own chest. At the reddened pebble of need where Sam’s fingers remained, casually toying with him. The sight became overwhelming; he shut his eyes, bit a lip. His cock dripped more slickness all over his pants, all over himself. “Please.”
“Please what?” Sam took the hand away. Lifted Leo’s chin. “You want more, or you want to stop?” His own arousal jutted out, tenting trousers, clearly on the side of the former.
“More,” Leo murmured, not backing down. “Show me.”
“Did I say perfect? You are.” Sam swooped in for a kiss. Happiness bubbled up and overflowed, down Leo’s spine, into his toes; he had to laugh, amazed.
Sex with Sam. Sheer fun, along with the scorching heat. Who could’ve guessed?
He put a hand on Sam’s belt, and tugged until it came unfastened. The sprawl of his bed, at his back, cheered him on in low dark wood and a heap of indigo duvet-fluff.
“Yeah.” Sam’s voice was ragged; Leo had done that. “Yeah, go on—”
Leo did. Sam’s suit fell in a clumsy heap to the rug; he’d dealt with his shirt already, and he stood there in simple black boxer shorts, all tanned skin and power and just a hint of chest hair, a light dusting. Leo wanted to put fingers into it, and did; Sam tensed all over.
“Is that all right?”
“More than. Might be over pretty quick, if you keep wanting to try things.” Sam’s grin was crooked, ecstatic, intimate: for Leo, and Leo alone. “The way you touch me, the way you look at me…”
“Like I want you.”
