Jayce

Jayce

I didn't know life could be this way. Namid and I spend nearly all of our free time together. We spend nights in one another's homes, where we cook and eat and laugh and fall naked into bed to explore and touch and tease. We still have coffee and pastries together every Saturday. We have dinner with Ken and talk about football, and it feels comfortable and familiar. It feels like I've found a family.

We've spent all day in my studio together, painstakingly disassembling four midsize sculptures, wrapping and labeling each piece, and Tetris-ing them into the bed of my truck. They're not really meant to be taken apart, and I had to cut a few of the original arc-welded seams in order to make it work. If I ever do this again, I'm going to make the gallery pay for some shipping containers and a long-haul truck. This time, I don't mind. Even though I'm emotionally ready to let go of some of the pieces that feel like grief to me, this trip is more about spending some time with Namid away from the constraints of our small town .

Namid has treated each piece like delicate, important things made of glass. There's no way for anyone to accidentally bend or break them without the aid of power tools or welding equipment, but watching the way he cares for them because I'm the one who made them has been heartwarming.

We're exhausted by the time we shower and crawl into bed, but the excitement about starting this new adventure tomorrow is still thrumming through our veins. Namid seems in no more hurry than I am to fall asleep as he climbs into bed, where I lie on my back, crawling up to straddle my hips. His skin is still hot from the shower, and small drops of water fall from his hair to land on my chest and cheeks as he leans forward, kissing me and rolling his hips down against my belly.

I watch him move, naked and brilliant, with his jet-black hair and indigo eyes and galaxies swirling across his skin. He is magic and passion and possibility. He is the very embodiment of the universe. He is everything.

Namid once told me that the night sky doesn't always look black to him. He said the lights from so many stars help the sky hold on to the slightest bit of blue, almost like they're protecting it until morning. It's the color of my dreams and of Namid's eyes. He may wear the stars on his skin, but his eyes are the indigo they rest upon. That blue is a color that now fills my world.

He's kissing his way down my chest and belly, his tongue flicking out across my skin as he moves, pausing from time to time to suck blood to the surface of my skin until it prickles and burns and my hands tighten in his hair and on his shoulders. I'm hard and leaking against my stomach as he sucks his way along the underside of my shaft nearly as relentlessly as he sucked bruises into my skin on his journey down my body, and I can't help the way my hips buck and my back arches up toward him, needing even more of his hands and his breath and his mouth.

He moves lower still, suckling along my inner thigh as he presses my legs open further, his fingertips exploring places he's never before ventured. He brushes them delicately down my other thigh, moving from my knee toward my body, pausing where my leg meets my torso, his fingers tapping lightly for a moment before tracing one single fingertip across the inner curve of my ass cheek.

"Don't stop." My whisper rushes out with a gasping exhale.

"I was wondering if…" His voice rumbles against my skin when he speaks.

"Yes. God, yes. Please. I've wanted this for so long."

I've dreamed of this, of his long, lithe body kneeling over me, in front of me, behind me. Of letting go as he turns me inside out, as his body slides into the heat of my own.

His lips tremble as he kisses my inner thigh once more, a single fingertip stroking across my opening with slow, strong circles. I throw my head back and moan his name as his teeth drag along sensitive skin that's rarely been touched .

"Please. God. Fuck. Namid. More." I'm rambling now, almost incoherently, as his fingertip presses harder.

He pulls away, and the absence of his warmth is staggering. It takes me a moment to realize he's leaning up and over the side of the bed to retrieve something from my nightstand. He settles back between my knees with a bottle of lube, quickly popping the top and slicking his fingers.

I find my gaze locked onto his chest and belly as he kneels between my legs, lost in the brilliant swirls and starlight that dance across the inky expanse that's etched into his skin. It moves like a part of his soul is on display, and it responds to me like his body does, like his heart does.

When I finally tear my gaze away, indigo eyes are smiling at me.

"Everything okay?" he asks as he leans forward and flicks his tongue along the underside of my shaft.

My body twitches so hard it must have looked like a small seizure.

"Everything is perfect."

His slick fingertips press against me, and my hands are searching, clutching at the sheets, at anything I can reach. My legs tremble so hard they're nearly vibrating as I spread them further, offering him access in a way I've never offered it to anyone before. He presses forward, a single slick finger sliding deep into me with one smooth move. I fight to keep my eyes open and my head from falling back so that I can watch the way his shoulders flex and his black hair falls across his forehead as he leans forward, watching his finger slip in and out of my body.

This isn't my first time. I've been touched like this before, but it's never felt like this. It's never felt like I need less and more at the same time. Like this singular point of contact is enough to make me explode while still leaving me begging for him to keep going. He slips another finger inside of me, twisting, spreading, opening me. Fuck. I'm whimpering and groaning and grinding down against his hand.

His fingers curl toward my belly, making me jolt and cry out his name as the stream continuously leaking from my cock rolls toward my hip. He strokes in and out, fingers curling and pressing and stretching me wide. He adds a third, and I've forgotten how to breathe. Gasping inhales and sharp shuddering exhales and the sound of his slick fingers fill the room, and I'm on fire. Lightning sizzles through my belly. I don't think I've ever been this hard, and I can feel my cock pulse with each racing heartbeat.

I lean up, my hand reaching down to join his.

I'm holding his wrist so tightly I'm afraid I'm going to hurt him as I pant and focus on my breath. He tries to pull away, and I force my eyes open only to find his close, so close. He's leaning over me; his eyes are wide, and something bordering concern is etched into the lines of his forehead. He tries to pull his hand away once more. He thinks he's hurting me.

"No. It's not…" I shake my head.

"I'm too close. I don't want this to be over yet. "

His fingers relax inside my body, and a smile as bright as the sun spreads across his face as he leans in to brush his lips across mine. They're so warm and so soft, and I never want them to leave my skin. I want him touching me always, kissing me always.

My eyes fall closed, and I breathe. I breathe in his scent, the sharp citrus of his shampoo, and the pine and earth that always seem to cling to him from all the time he spends in the woods, even when it's far too cold for a rational person to be outside. My body slowly calms, and my fingers loosen their grip on his wrist.

When he moves again, it's with his body still curled up over mine, both of our arms reaching down between my legs. His fingers move slowly now. They're not pulling out and pushing in; he keeps them buried deep, his fingertips gently exploring and circling. It's like he's memorizing every slick curve and ridge inside of me. It's hard to breathe, and I'm clutching at his wrist and squirming and trembling, and I've never known something like this, something so powerful and intimate and all-encompassing.

I can't catch my breath, and I'm panting and clinging to him. It's so perfect, and he's so close, and a part of me wants to come like this, with his fingertips gently pulling me undone, but I want more. I tighten my hand around his wrist again, and he lets me guide his hand away.

He lifts his head from my shoulder, his eyes never leaving mine as I lie back. I'm still trembling as he shifts to kneel once more, his hands pressing against my thighs, spreading my legs further. Slick fingertips trail along my skin, up to my knees, and I might shatter into pieces before he's even inside of me. He runs his hand along his length, his body shivering at his own touch.

Then he's touching me once more, long fingers clutching my hips as indigo eyes search my soul and then pressure, gentle and slow. A sharp sting as I stretch around him. Then there is nothing else. The heat of him inside me, the grip of his fingers on my skin, his lips on the inside of my knee.

The slick skin he's been stroking is so sensitive that my back arches, and I cry out as he settles his body into mine. He's inside of me, hot and hard, and I've never felt so full as he inches forward. I can feel everything, every movement, every pulse of his cock inside my ass and twitch of his fingers against my hips. I'm writhing against him, desperate for more. I'm coming undone.

Namid's eyes are wide, the deep blue barely visible around his black, blown-out pupils, and he's looking at me like I'm everything, like I'm his entire world. He pulls back, nearly slipping from me before thrusting back in, slow and deep. I'm trembling so hard I might shatter, and I barely hold on for two strokes before I lean up and pull him down to me, the weight of his body pushing my legs up to my chest.

Our foreheads press together and we share breaths as he thrusts, long and slow.

I clutch at him, needing him closer, deeper. Needing him to become a part of me, to merge his body with mine in a way that can never be undone. My calves tighten against his biceps, leveraging myself as my hips lose control, thrusting, grinding, straining up to meet his movements. We're desperate, rocking together, lost in need and heat and ecstasy.

His lips tremble as they cover mine, his breath coming in harsh bursts, and I know he feels what I feel. This is different, so different than it's ever been. There is only him, only us. The pressure is building deep inside of me, so hot and all-consuming, and I can't stop it. I don't want to even try. Namid's eyes lock onto mine. His shoulders are tense, and his hands curl into the sheets beside my head, and then he's falling over the edge, screaming my name as his forehead drops to my shoulder and his body shudders against me. His thrusts are hard and slick and hot. I've never let anyone come inside of me before. I've never felt the rush of heat and the way his cock barely seems to touch me for a moment as his release floods into me, separating our skin for the briefest of moments until his thrusts force it deeper. I cling to him, whimpering his name as my body tenses and shudders as I follow him over the edge.