originally published in Lucrezia Magazine, Vol. 1, Issue 2, February 2008
"I want you inside me," Garett says.
"Yeah," Dylan breathes, smiles: "You want me to help?"
Garett is already turning around to face the back of the chair, as he likes to do.
"No," he says over his shoulder to glance at Dylan, "I'll do it myself today."
Thick locks, long enough to curl at the ends now, fall over his turned profile as he looks down. And for a moment Dylan feels like he's looking into a surreal mirror, not exact in its replication and not mimicking his own self now; but as he looks at Garett's face, half-obscured by hair, not entirely covering the flush of desire, Dylan sees himself: a glimpse of himself through Garett's eyes.
Garett pushes back the errant strands, tucks them behind his ear so his eyes can smile at Dylan as he holds himself open with one hand, slicking himself inside with the other, stretching himself, his legs splayed as far as the arms of the plush chair will allow. Then Garett's gaze slips to Dylan's cock and lingers. Dylan doesn't linger: he slides his fingertips up and down his shaft, more than practical stroking, playing to give pleasure to Garett's pleasurable gaze. He watches Garett as he does so, watches Garett watching him, Garett's lashes fluttering without blinking. Dylan breaks the play only to get the lube, and then he's stroking again, stroking himself slick, as slick as Garett.
Their eyes meet again.
"Ready?" Garett asks, and Dylan smiles as he nods. Sheathes his cockhead in the tight heat of his fist as Garett spreads himself wider with one hand and pushes back onto the dildo he's holding with the other.
Dylan slides off the sofa to his knees, one hand on his cock, the other caressing Garett through the too slick, too smooth, cool (oh, too cool) glass of the monitor. He traces Garett's spine, the curve and arch as Garett's head falls back and the curling ends of his hair slide down his nape, some facing in toward his skin, others curving out toward Dylan; Dylan's fingertip slides up to meet the curls but they don't part for him, they don't wind around him or slide away clinging as his hand falls from them.
Too close and not close enough, Dylan sits back on his heels, concentrates on his cock and the tendrils he can feel uncoiling in his balls. Matching his rhythm to Garett's, upstroke for upstroke, downstroke for downstroke, breath for heavy breath, Dylan swallowed his groans to better hear Garett's static-encrusted sighs of "yeah, oh~."
Oh, and Dylan's breathing heavily, breathing deeply, exhaling Garett's name: calling him, yes, and Garett looks back over his shoulder, and they hold each other with their eyes as Dylan comes.
Dylan lets his legs unfold in front of him as he leans back against the sofa. Lets the come dry on his skin as he watches Garett, who is still looking back over his shoulder at Dylan, one hand on the chair back for balance and leverage, the other working the dildo in and out and in and.
And there's a hitch in the rhythm as Garett turns to sit in the chair properly; or, not properly, but facing front. He palms his balls, lifts them to expose himself, drapes his legs over the arms of the chair. So improper and gorgeous in his impropriety, draped over the chair so he's completely open to Dylan, open for Dylan, and Dylan wants with more than his gaze, he wants with his fingers and his tongue and his cock, soft and spent and satisfied, an ache woven into the satisfaction. Dylan wants, "please; Gare, please," and Garett, fucking himself with the dildo, his cock fucking his hand; watching Dylan eye-fuck him, Garett wants too, oh, oh and yes, he does--
They're quiet. Dylan makes no move to clean up because Garett likes this, this moment, this quiet. He likes to be able to look at Dylan in the afterness, even if he sometimes closes his eyes; he likes Dylan to be there when he opens them again.
So Dylan waits for Garett's eyes to open again before he gets up. He's not out of video range for long before he's back, holding up something, grinning as he brings it closer. Garett leans in to look as it fills the screen: it takes a moment for the letters and numbers to resolve themselves into a ticket to the northwestern United States.
When Dylan reappears onscreen, anticipation is riding the curve of Garett's smile: "Are you here yet?"
"Soon," Dylan says, smiling even though it's not soon enough, smiling because at least it is sooner than never; smiling because Garett is, too.
Garett is leaning against a column with his arms crossed over his chest when Dylan finally clears customs. He's looking off at something, or maybe at nothing in particular; Dylan doesn't follow his line of vision, he just looks at Garett. Then Garett's gaze sweeps over to the customs exit; focuses, and they're looking at each other. As Dylan crosses the floor, Garett pushes himself off the column, his arms unfolding to wrap around Dylan. They're in each other’s arms and Dylan can feel Garett's warmth even through the layers of polyblend and microsuede. Dylan traces Garett's spine, goes up under the jacket. The jacket is already untucked but the shirt is not, so Dylan tugs; Garett lets him, and Dylan's hand finds Garett's skin. His palm flattens, fingers splaying, his thumb brushing back and forth over the warmth of Garett's skin.
They stay like that, holding in the moment; then they step back and look at each other again. "Hi," Dylan says.
"Hi." Garett grins. As they walk, he takes Dylan's hand, the one that had touched his bare back. They don't let go until they get to the car.
As they turn out of the airport, Dylan touches Garett's knee. Without glancing over, Garett permissively shifts his knee toward Dylan and Dylan begins to caress Garett's inner thigh, enjoying the gentle abrasions of denim against his palm. He touches his own thigh with his other hand and closes his eyes.
"Are you touching me," he hears Garett ask, "or am I touching you?"
Garett's eyes are on the road when Dylan looks at him. "We're touching each other," Dylan says. Garett smiles, takes one hand off the wheel and reaches blind; their hands touch briefly before Dylan moves his out of the way, and Garett is touching his thigh. They are, they really are touching other.
"What do you want to do first?" Garett asks.
"I want to go down on you."
"Oh, I meant--"
Realizing only now that Garett was not asking in what manner Dylan wants to fuck him first, Dylan says, "I'm an idiot."
"No, I certainly didn't mean that." Garett grins, and then assures him, "And you're not." He glances over.
"I want to, too. Go down on you. We've never done that. I mean, you did that one time," Garett grins as Dylan's blush deepens at the contortionist memory, "but I'm not flexible enough. And it's not really the same," he adds as they slow for a yellow light.
The light turns red and they come to an idling stop, and Garett is able to take his eyes fully off the road. "We haven't kissed yet, either," Garett says softly.
"No, we haven't," Dylan, agrees.
"Do you want to now?" Garett asks, and Dylan nods.
Flash of Garett's tongue flicking over his own smile, and then their smiles touch for the first time. Their teeth touch, too, and can't seem to get out of the way for their tongues, which glance off each other.
"I can do that much better," Dylan says.
Garett grins and says he can, too. He takes Dylan's face with one hand as he leans in, and this time Dylan lets Garett come to him. Garett's breath is warm, so warm on his lips and Dylan parts his own and feels the warmth mingling, breath warm and moist, the wet warmth of Garett's tongue; Dylan licks the warmth in his own mouth, in Garett's. He brushes his cheek against Garett's fingers as they kiss. Reaches for Garett in turn, fingertips nestling at Garett's nape beneath the curling tips of his hair, his thumb stroking down Garett's throat, and he feels vibrations against the pulse of his thumb, vibrations on his tongue.
"Sorry," Garett says when they part. Grins a little, eyebrow cocked. "Is it weird that I hum?"
"No," Dylan says. "I mean, maybe," grin of his own, "but I like it."
This time they kiss through the cycle, green already turning to yellow by the time they part.
As Garett floors the accelerator and burns through the red, Dylan keeps kissing his neck, licking and nipping, breathing in the trace fragrance of soap, inhaling the natural musk beneath. Garett tilts into an arch for Dylan's mouth, and Dylan licks the fine layer of perspiration along his nape. "I want to taste you," he murmurs in Garett's ear. Nuzzles, licks his skin, comes back to whisper, "I want to suck your cock..."
With a soft moan, Garett pulls away. Heavy breathing and a heavier sigh: "If you keep this up," he smiles with a glance in Dylan's eyes before he looks forward again, "I'm going to wind up driving us into a tree."
Dylan grins back. "Sorry," he says, though he's not really very. He's a little sorry that he has to stop, but he'd rather they make it safely to Garett's where he can suck Garett's cock, where they can kiss and lick and fuck and touch.
He looks out the window, focusing on the rolls of the hills. Then Garett's fingers touch his on the seat between them; their hands curl around each other. Dylan looks at their fingers, the way they interlace. Looks at Garett, who risks a glance from the road to return the smile, gentle squeeze of his hand.
Holding Garett's hand, Dylan looks out at the window again, at stretches of grassland and trees so young they might be newly planted. "Is this part of your reforestation project?" he asks.
"This isn't, no," Garett says, lighting up as begins to talk about the project, telling Dylan about the progress they're making in different areas. "I can't wait to show you, but I don't know if we'll have time to go to any of the sites over the next few days," he says with a note of regret.
"Maybe I can come for longer next time," Dylan says.
"Maybe," Garett says, risking another glance from the road to Dylan, "yes."
They don't rip each other's clothes off when Garett lets them in the front door, and Dylan snorts softly to himself when he realizes that part of him thought that might happen; the really funny thing is that it was neurons and not hormones coming up with that one, and so he keeps grinning but just shakes his head when Garett raises an inquiring eyebrow.
"So here we are," Garett says. "Can I get you anything?"
"Maybe I'll take a shower," Dylan says. And when Garett says of course, Dylan adds, "Maybe you'll take one with me?"
Garett smiles. "Of course."
They've seen each other naked so many times before, at least a hundred times, and some of those times were even in person. But those times were before that one night they were hooked in online, talking and drinking together across miles and miles and thousands of miles, and just looking at Garett all that time had made Dylan so horny he'd had to jerk off. Which he told Garett--not that it was because of Garett, but that he was going to go get himself off now. He'd had to say it because with the angle of the webcam it had to be obvious, his physical arousal. So he said it with a laugh, and Garett had laughed, too; and then Garett had asked him not to go. Not laughing anymore but smiling, smiling, he asked Dylan to stay and get himself off, and he watched while Dylan did.
They've seen each other naked before and since, but all those times were different. This is the first time that Garett feels warm when Dylan touches him naked, warm and smooth but not too smooth, wet with the slickness, so much softer than glass, pliant and yielding to the touch. The washcloths have fallen away and they're soaping each other skin to skin, skin on skin, their hands roaming, exploring the skinscape, the musculature, the planes and angles of bone gentled by living flesh. Garett keeps reaching for the faucet, coaxing the water to stay hot, just a little more, just a little longer.
In bliss from the sensation of Dylan's fingertips along his scalp, Garett wonders aloud if sex could possibly be as good as this.
Dylan turns him around and tips him back to rinse his hair. Kisses him. "Do you want to find out?"
The first time, they fuck in Garett's room, in his bed, the French doors wide open. He had wanted to go out into the gardens for their first time, Garett tells Dylan wryly, but he did some "research" and found it wasn't as comfortable as his romantic notions.
Dylan starts to turn Garett over, but Garett doesn't go. "We always do it that way," he says. "This time I want to see you while you're fucking me." He maneuvers his legs to either side of Dylan, knees bent and feet flat. One arm curves on the pillow as extra support for his head while his other hand goes down to palm his balls the way Dylan has seen him do so many times, squeezing and tugging, tugging them up to give Dylan a better view--to give Dylan access.
Dylan only looks at first. His chest expands as usual with each breath he takes in, but his lungs feel like they're filling with something heavier than air. He keeps breathing, though. Keeps looking. Looks up into Garett's eyes and Garett blinks but he doesn't look away, he licks his lips and says "okay" and Dylan isn't sure if Garett is asking if Dylan is or if he's telling Dylan that he is himself, or simply that it is. But it is.
Dylan takes another breath. Breathes onto his own finger, and then licks it, dragging his tongue across the pad as his teeth hold it for him. Touches the licked wet pad of his finger to Garett; touches Garett inside. Flickers and contractions and expansions of muscle, as Dylan pushes in a little and Garett is holding him, stronger and softer than teeth. Dylan pushes in just a little more, breathes a little more and looks at Garett more and Garett is looking at him.
"More," Garett says, and Dylan takes his fingertip out only to slick it up properly, to put it in again, all the way, feeling Garett with corkscrew caresses, filling him with finger and stretch.
When Dylan has run out of fingers to answer Garett's “more’s”, he slicks himself up. And when he's slick, when he's ready, when they both are, ready and more, Garett reaches for Dylan, takes him in hand, guides him in.
The push in is smooth, crazy-smooth, not like skin or glass; more like skin but also like more than skin. Or not more, but deeper: inside, which is, yes, exactly so. Dylan pushes all the way in, looks at Garett beneath him, and as Garett hooks his legs over Dylan's arms to open himself even more for Dylan, as Dylan fills Garett with strokes and heat and cock, as Dylan fucks and fills Garett with himself, Garett moans and smiles. He fucking smiles, and Dylan can't come yet so he does all he can, he breathes Garett's name and keeps fucking him, keeps fucking him, keeps on smiling and fucking him.
"Next time," Dylan promises, stretching out beside Garett, "you can fuck me."
"If you want me to," Garett says. "But I like it when you fuck me." He smiles. "I mean, I really, really like it."
Dylan, his smile tells Garett, likes it, too.
The second time, Dylan wants to hold Garett while he fucks him, and Garett likes that idea. So Dylan spoons up behind him and Garett spreads his legs again, one hand cupped around his thigh to hold himself open. Dylan guides himself in this time, then moves his hand to Garett's torso, their bodies flush together, Garett's back warm and solid against Dylan’s chest. Slow, small strokes as they begin; as the strokes lengthen and speed, Dylan moves his hand from Garett's heart to his hip, fingers digging in to help their bodies hold the rhythm.
"I think I like this position best so far," Garett tells Dylan, looking over his shoulder.
Dylan leans in to kiss him; when he only gets the corner of Garett's mouth, he leans more, pushes in more, kisses Garett full on the lips so that Garett sighs into his mouth. Dylan licks the trace of sigh from Garett's upper lip, curling behind with a flick to get all there is. "Do you like that?" he asks, rolling his hips, his cockhead deep inside Garett.
"Yes," Garett says, breath vibrating off his own consonants, when Dylan presses another undulation inside him: "Oh, oh ~ yes, yeah. I like that. Feels good," he tells Dylan, and even though Dylan can't see Garett's face, he can hear the smile: "It feels so good, Dylan..."
And Dylan tells Garett how good it is for him, too. Tells Garett how amazing it is to be inside Garett, to feel Garett around him, taking him, accepting him. "I want to make it good for you," Dylan murmurs, and when Garett again tells him it is good, Dylan says he wants to make it even better. "How do you like it best?" he asks. "Slower?" He draws out the strokes, taking his time with each careful thrust, slow all the way out, all the way in slow...
"Or faster?" And he moves, no less thorough but with greater urgency, driving in and pulling out and driving in--
"This," Garett says breathily when Dylan switches back to the almost languid strokes.
"Slow?" Dylan murmurs, flicking his tongue lazily against Garett's earlobe.
Garett arches so Dylan's tongue slides along his jaw line. "Like it when you mix it up," he purrs; so Dylan does.
When Dylan feels Garett begin to cramp, he pulls out just long enough for Garett to roll comfortably onto his front, slight twist to his hips, propped up and canted to look back over his shoulder at Dylan. So like their webcam dates, so different. Dylan holds onto Garett's shoulder as he enters him again. When Garett starts talking Dylan off, coaxing and urging him to climax, it is, yes, so very like their webcam dates. And, yes, oh yes, so different. Because as Garett talks this time, Dylan can touch him; and he does. Reaches around and wraps his fingers around the hard, pliant heat of Garett's cock, gives Garett his hand to fuck; varies his strokes and matches the variations to each other, until Garett is moaning and the only coherency he can manage is Dylan's name, and the come on Dylan's hand is not his own.
After Dylan has been reduced and expanded to his own incoherency, he lets himself collapse beside Garett. Garett rolls onto his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other open; Dylan snugs in, his head on Garett's shoulder. Casual, drowsy caresses...
But Dylan doesn't want sleep. He turns his head to kiss Garett's jaw, his throat. Feels the pulse at the hollow of Garett's throat quickening. Feels his breathing quickening. Starts to quicken himself, as he makes his way languidly down Garett's body.
Garett is spent, soft as Dylan takes him into his mouth. He glances up, their eyes meet; as Garett begins to stroke Dylan's hair rhythmically and in earnest, Dylan closes his eyes and meets him stroke for stroke. Closes his eyes and feels the rhythms of stroking and sucking, savoring the touch, the scent, the taste, savoring the fullness and the fill...
Then Garett adds another stroke, his foot along the back of Dylan's thigh. Touching as much as he can, feeling himself touched. Feeling himself close, and wanting to be closer, wanting to be there, telling Dylan with glottal sighs, with fistings and tuggings--
And Dylan takes him there. Takes him down, swallows; swallows, holds Garett in his throat, holds Garett in his mouth and feels Garett on his tongue, Garett sliding liquid down his throat. He holds Garett in his hand and when Garett makes a move to wipe the corner of Dylan's mouth with his hand, Dylan's tongue gets there first. Garett touches his mouth anyhow: traces the lower curve of Dylan's smile with his thumb.
Traces the curve with his tongue when Dylan comes up to him again, and then he pushes Dylan onto his back. Traces the curve of Dylan's cock with his tongue, swallows Dylan in a smile.
The third time, Dylan kisses Garett like he's been wanting to, little flicks and teases of tongue until Garett opens against his mouth and Dylan pushes his tongue inside at last.
His tongue unfurls as he withdraws it, soothes it up along the cleft, his hand lower, fondling Garett's sac as he licks. He kisses the dimple below Garett's tailbone, comes off only to moisten his finger; then he goes down again, down more, his fingertip tracing the path of his tongue, brushing across Garett's hole, rubbing wet little circles as he gathers Garett's balls and tugs them back toward his mouth.
With a sigh-thickened gasp, Garett jerks as Dylan's fingertip presses against his prostate, the pleasure thrills impelling him forward; Dylan lets Garett's balls skim free across his uncurled fingers as he releases Garett. Garett's knees skate out and then Dylan's hands open him even more and he kisses Garett there, kisses, licks and licks until Garett is flickering open wider inside, kisses and licks until Garett is ready for Dylan's cock, eager to be filled. "Fuck me," Garett entreats. "Fuck me, Dylan."
And Dylan does. Tonguefucks him until Garett gasps, "I'm close, I'm going to--" And Dylan wants him to, so he gives Garett more with his tongue and lips, with his hands everywhere, their fingers touching at the base of Garett's cock as Garett strokes himself off.
After he comes, Garett twists half onto his side. "I didn't know you were going to do that," he says.
"Neither did I," Dylan admits with a grin. "Did you like it?"
"I loved it," Garett says with a shy smile.
His own smile unreserved, Dylan says, "I did, too."
"You did? You mean because I liked it so much?"
"No, I mean," Dylan moves to sit against the headboard, and then doesn't finish his sentence because he isn't sure what he means. "I just liked it," he says.
Garett can't help wrinkling his nose, as he asks, "Wasn't it disgusting? At least a little?"
"No," Dylan says. "It was human. It was you. It was... you." He wants to say more, but he can't find the words even for himself.
Garett hears the thought uncompleted, and tries to finish for Dylan: "More me there than anywhere else?" he suggests.
"No," Dylan says again. "As much you, though; as much you there as anywhere." He shakes his head a little, unable to explain it any more than that. Garett just looks at him and Dylan knows the words have been inadequate. But then Garett kisses him, and Dylan stops trying to say things he doesn't know how to.
"Do you want me to?" Garett asks. Dylan reassures him that he doesn't have to reciprocate, and Garett says okay, but he wants to do something special for Dylan. Dylan says this is special; just being here with Garett, being able to touch and feel Garett touching.
So Garett touches him, starting with his fingers, his palms, his wrists, up his arms to his shoulders, his neck, down along his spine, his buttocks, his thighs, his calves, the arch of his feet, and his toes; Garett touches Dylan everywhere with kneading, soothing caresses, and Dylan feels like he did in the shower. It's like being bathed with touch.
The fourth time, Dylan stops and holds when he enters Garett. Closes his eyes to feel Garett around him, to feel the heat and the closeness; just to feel.
He feels Garett start to rock back and hears Garett say his name; his grip on Garett's hips tightens and Dylan opens his eyes. Garett, looking over his shoulder, says Dylan's name again when their gazes meet. His undulation truncated by Dylan's hands, a low growl vibrates in Garett's throat.
"Am I hurting you?"
"No, I just," Garett inhales, and breathes out a longful smiling sigh, "want you to move."
"I will," Dylan promises. "I just want to feel this."
Garett doesn't try to move, but he does point out with a grin that Dylan has felt this several times since his arrival, hasn't he?
"No," Dylan says, "not really."
He hasn't felt the fact of being inside Garett without anything else: without movement or motivation beyond the simplicity and utterness of being inside Garett. He hasn't felt just this.
He doesn't say any of that, though. He holds and feels, and Garett lets him.
And when Garett needs to move, Dylan lets him, and moves with him, in him; and Dylan feels this, and he feels more, and Garett does, too.
Garett wakes to find Dylan already awake propped up beside him. Garett strokes Dylan's hair, playing with his bangs, the bangs falling back into familiar flops no matter how Garett toys or twists them; he thinks how the whims of Dylan's hair haven't changed, and how so much else has. He smiles. Looks at Dylan's face. Dylan is smiling, too. Garett wonders what Dylan is thinking, and after another moment of wordless smiling, asks him.
Dylan knows how Garett feels about him, and he knows Garett knows the same. They've just never said it in words aloud, because some things need to be done in person--like kissing, sucking cock, and saying, "I love you."
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