Page 66 of In Frame
Leo made a sound. It was not a dignified sound, someplace between a gasp and a moan and pure wholehearted relief. “Yes—”
“When you come it’s because you deserve it,” Sam said. “You deserve to feel good, Leo. You want me to fuck you now?”
“Oh fuck,” Leo whispered back. His head spun for a moment; he shut his eyes, lying back amid pillows. He was, he recognized abruptly, crying: the corners of his eyes felt damp. And his cock was rock-hard, and his body felt shocked and shimmery and limp with quakes of pleasure and tight with ecstasy, a paradox that left him wordless and floating, carried on so many ceaseless waves. “Yes, please.”
“You okay?”
“Yes.” His voice came out a bit small, not broken but tiny and hopeful. “Please fuck me.”
“I will. My sweet Leo. I’ll always take care of you.” Sam shifted position again, groaned quietly, audibly bit his lip. “Can’t do much about it on this end, but I wish I could. Had to get a hand on myself, just touching for a sec, imagining you.”
Leo pictured that too: Sam sitting there with his glorious cock making a massive bulge under jeans or trousers, a bulge now loosely cupped by one hand, fingers long and tanned, the sight absolutely filthy and lewd and wicked there in an empty guest room with a closed door…
He whimpered. Sam laughed. “Okay, got it, you want more, I’ve got you, I promised, and I’ll give you what you need,right now, okay? Get your lube. Get a couple fingers nice and wet, and just give that hungry little hole a rub for me, not too much, but not too gentle, either. I know how you like feeling it.”
Leo nearly spilled lube all across himself. His hands were shaking. And when he slipped fingers back between his spread legs, finding the furl of muscle, he almost came on the spot; even his rim quivered, too sensitive the way all of him felt too sensitive, alight and awake and alive.
He rubbed at himself, as instructed. His hole fluttered, loosening and clutching at his fingers, growing wet with lube; he moaned.
“Other hand,” Sam said. “On your cock. Go ahead and stroke it for me. Tell me what you’re doing.”
“I…I’m…” Clumsy and sparkling, uncoordinated and enraptured, he wrapped a hand around himself. Rocked hips, thrusting up into his grip, loving the slide of his shaft through his fingers. No, Sam’s fingers. Because he belonged to Sam, body and heart and soul. His entire body tensed sweetly at that, a rhythmic pulsing that swelled and ebbed. “I’m…stroking my cock…rubbing my—my hole for you…’s your hole, it’s, I’m…yours, Sam, please…feels so good…”
“Mine.” Sam sounded both pleased and breathless; at least, his voice was ragged. “Yeah. All of you. Everything you want to give me, your hole and your cock and the way you say my name…I love the way you just dive right in, you don’t hold back, you just give and give and offer up all of yourself, and you’re so fucking incredible, Leo. You just let me—you want me to see you.”
“Very much,” Leo murmured hazily, “right now…”
Sam laughed again, though the sound had an odd catch in the middle. Leo couldn’t think enough to figure out what that’d been. “Quick, we said. And you like it a little rough, you like finding out what you can feel, so…harder. Faster. I’m makingyou come, you got that, baby? No stopping, no slowing down, just my hand on that sweet hard cock, rubbing you all over, and there’s nothing you can do about it, you’re gonna come for me, with my hand wrapped around your cock and my fingers teasing that pretty pink hole…”
Leo outright sobbed, writhing dazedly atop his bed. His hand, Sam’s hand, worked his cock: harder, as Sam had said, and faster, up and down as his hips rose and fell; so much, so much it almost hurt, his whole length over-sensitive and feeling raw and laid-bare now, and yet he couldn’t stop caressing himself, over and over…and his fingers were stroking his hole as well, teasing and tantalizing, and he was moaning and crying and whimpering and dissolving into incoherent white heat all over…
“Keep going,” Sam told him. “More. I want to hear you scream for me, Leo. I want to hear you come.”
“Oh God—” He couldn’t stop moving, and he couldn’t stop the coiling billowing rush, the wave of diamonds that swept up and crashed outward, sharp and wild and deliriously bright, and he was coming, crying Sam’s name, crying out, sobbing and shaking and spurting all over himself, shuddering in mindless emptied-out bliss.
He lay limp after, trembling, twitching occasionally; his cock throbbed, a wondrous soreness where his hand lay slack around the shaft. He couldn’t move, and didn’t want to.
“Leo,” Sam was saying, somewhat urgently. “Leo? Talk to me. Please.”
“Mmm….”
“Oh thank God. Starting to think I’d—never mind. Are you okay? Can you wake up for me?”
“No,” Leo said, collapsed across his bed with every atom thrumming in utter satisfaction. The end of his tea cheered him on; it did not mind getting cold in the name of this very goodcause. The orange of his pajama trousers glowed giddily in a heap of discarded color. “This is me asleep. You thought you’d what? Accidentally killed me with phone sex?”
Sam snorted, relief under humor. “No. But…I wish I was there. You got all quiet on me.”
“That does tend to happen when one’s overwhelmed by orgasms.”
“Overwhelming, huh?”
“Marvelous.” Leo beamed up at his ceiling. It applauded his display. “Spectacular. Resplendent. You’re so very good at fucking me with my own hand. Your hand. Did you know I’m getting on a plane tomorrow night?”
“I did,” Sam agreed gravely. “Did you know that means you’ll be here? With me?”
“Astonishing. Imagine that.”
“We can overwhelm you some more in person. How’re you feeling? Warm enough?”
