31. Davis

Davis was pushed into the door that he had walked through a few times before, the sturdy wood pressing against his back. There was something that Davis always enjoyed about the pressure of someone on him, no matter the gender, but Jeremy’s height was really working for him right now. The way that Jeremy’s knee was tracing up the inside of Davis’s thigh and how Davis’s mouth was being simply ravaged, and Jeremy’s hands? well…

Jeremy’s hands were in Davis’s hair, tugging, pulling it out of the slicked back style for the costume and sending it into disarray. Davis, as soon as he regained the use of his mouth and his wits, was going to beg Jeremy to wrap those delicate fingers around his throat. Lovingly, of course. But Jeremy was mumbling against his lips, something that sounded close to fucking hell, and found his keys and opened the door, moving near Davis’s right hip.

As Davis tried to regain his balance, grateful for his low center of gravity, he took a giant step backward. He took a moment to look at Jeremy, really look at him, his curls tumbling a thousand different directions and his already lush lips even more full and kiss bitten. He was already hard, but seeing Jeremy, who was always so put together and effortless, look so casually debauched, made Davis a thousand times harder.

What was worse, though, was the ache in Davis’s chest when he looked at Jeremy and saw him looking back. He had noticed, of course, the way that Jeremy sometimes looked, his long eyelashes fluttering a bit as his eyes danced over the breadth of Davis’s chest. But those were always stealthy glances. This was the full force of Jeremy Rinci’s gaze, and it made Davis feel a buzz in his bloodstream he hadn’t felt in years.

“I’ve imagined you here,” Jeremy said, eyes bouncing from Davis’s arms to his crotch.

“I’ve been here before,” Davis replied, slipping off his shoes. The dress shoes that he had to dig out of a closet, laughing to himself about the deep metaphor there.

“You’ve not been here like this,” Jeremy said, unbuttoning his own shirt, revealing a pale chest, a thin gold chain. He crossed the room and took Davis’s chin in one hand, while the other slipped below his waist.

“That’s true,” Davis laughed against his lips. “I like being here like this.”

“You’re good with…more?” Jeremy asked.

“God yes,” Davis panted.

“How do you like it?” Jeremy said, gritting his teeth. Davis licked his lips, watched Jeremy’s blue eyes trace every movement. He had anticipated soft from Jeremy, when he had allowed his mind to wander in the cramped shower of his mountain cabin. Soft, delicate kisses, with Davis assuming the role that so many people expected of someone who was built like he was. But Jeremy was gripping his side under his shirt just this side of gentle, each fingertip a brand against Davis’s skin, and Davis got the sense that, though nothing about them would suggest it, the dynamic between the two men would fit into place, the way that trees made space for each other to reach the sunlight. Davis could be tossed around, and Jeremy could toss.

“I like it rough. Uh, you can, like, manhandle me,” Davis said, a rasp in his voice that might have been a plea or might have been a challenge.

“Thank fuck,” Jeremy replied, slotting his mouth against Davis’s. Then he was pulling him backward, back to the far hallway toward Jeremy’s bedroom, the mysterious hallway that Davis had imagined more than he wanted to admit.

Davis lay on the bed, pausing for a moment, resting back on his palms. Jeremy was studying him, the way he imagined that he had done in art school, studying life models. Draw me like one of your French girls.

Jeremy’s white button-down shirt was now completely undone, and Davis could just see the light sheen of sweat that put his lean muscles into relief. Davis’s own shirt, one of only a few dress shirts he owned, had been tossed somewhere in the hallway. And even though he was so fucking overjoyed to be here, so proud of himself for making an initial move on a man for the first time in his life, he couldn’t help but compare himself to Jeremy. Jeremy, who was tall and lithe and nearly hairless, some type of ethereal elven creature that would have been better suited within a scene from the Lord of the Rings films. And if Jeremy was an elf, then Davis was a dwarf. Shorter, with a slight belly and hair that drifted from his chest down below his boxers.

His pants had gone missing in the hallway, too, it seemed.

“Look at you,” Jeremy was saying, snapping him back to the present. “You know, I wondered,” he continued.

“Wondered what?” Davis asked, desperate for him to keep talking.

“Wondered what you’d look like under the flannels and the sweatshirts. But only in moments.” He swallowed, and Davis tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple, the way his nipples had hardened in the cool evening. Jeremy kept a window open in his bedroom, and a soft breeze drifted across Davis’s stomach, causing him to shiver as Jeremy continued talking. “But I was good. I didn’t let myself think about you like that.”

“I’m not as good as you,” Davis admitted, though he figured the bulge in his boxers could have spoken for him.

Jeremy prowled closer, feline in the way he came onto the bed and kneeled, continuing to look at Davis in a way that made Davis’s blood hot. “Are you saying that you’ve been bad?”

“Yes,” Davis hissed.

“You’ve had bad thoughts about me?” Jeremy knee-walked forward on the bed, and Davis glanced at his waist and took in the fact that he had unzipped his fly and the ruddy tip of his dick was peeking out. Davis wanted it in his hands, his mouth, his soul.

“Terrible thoughts,” Davis admitted, loving the way Jeremy was approaching him, as if he had nefarious plans for Davis’s body.

“Good.” Jeremy smiled. Davis braced himself for the weight of the other man on top of him, but Jeremy sat back on his heels, one hand grazing over his own chest, catching on a nipple. “Show me.”

“Huh?”

“Come on, baby,” Jeremy purred. “Show me what you did when you thought about me.” Davis had never been called baby before, had tried to say it to girls in high school, but it never felt right. But something about the way Jeremy said it to him slipped from his ears, down his spine, and sizzled through his nerves.

“Okay,” Davis breathed, and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers. “Can I?” He wanted to double check, to make sure that he had correctly understood what Jeremy wanted him to do.

“Fuck, please,” Jeremy replied.

Davis lifted his hips and shimmied his boxers down his legs, trying his damndest to avoid getting them caught on his toe, and flicking them off the bed. He spread his legs farther, as if to say here I am, flaws and all and, mimicking Jeremy, ran his hand over his chest and down his stomach.

“Yeah, baby,” Jeremy continued. Davis wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, already hard and throbbing. He had to be careful not to stroke too hard, not to tug too much, unless he wanted this to be over in thirty seconds. “You need lube?”

“Yeah,” Davis responded, and Jeremy reached next to Davis, close but not touching, and pulled out a slim bottle. “Optimistic?” Davis quipped.

“I wasn’t a boy scout, but I like to be prepared,” Jeremy quipped right back. Again, when Davis expected Jeremy to just hand him the bottle, he watched as those long, elegant fingers flicked open the cap and tilted it over Davis’s hand and cock. “Open your hand,” he commanded, and Davis watched, almost out of body, as his hand followed the command. A spurt of cool liquid splashed onto his hand, and he returned it to his dick, hissing a bit until the temperature adjusted.

“What do you like, baby?” Jeremy asked, leaning closer as Davis picked up the movement with his hand, an obscene noise echoing through the bedroom. “You want me to blow you?”

“No,” Davis ground out.

“No?” Jeremy repeated, pulling back up, but leaving a hand on Davis’s thigh.

“No, I want that, god, fuck I do, but I’m so close already.” Davis’s hand was speeding up, out of his control, his body chasing the orgasm that his mind was trying to stave off.

“That’s sexy,” Jeremy said, planting a kiss on his chest.

“Touch me,” Davis was able to say.

“Where?”

“Anywhere, Jeremy, you’re—” and whatever Davis was about to say or admit was cut off by Jeremy’s mouth crashing down on top of his own, his tongue thrusting into Davis’s mouth. Those hands he had watched for what felt like years now roamed up and down his chest, fingers bumping over a nipple while Jeremy’s other hand joined Davis’s. Their fingers tangled over Davis’s leaking dick, his hips moving in an erratic rhythm. Jeremy pulled their joined hands tighter, the kind of pressure that Davis loved— just this side of too much— and he came.

“Fuck,” he breathed into Jeremy’s mouth, cum slipping between their hands. A moan may have escaped somewhere in there as well. Jeremy, still proving that he was truly always prepared, reached his clean hand off the bed and grabbed for a pack of wipes.

“Are you some kind of sexual Mary Poppins?” Davis asked, then immediately wanted to kick himself for saying the least sexy phrase in the world.

“You know I’d look phenomenal in that jaunty little cap that she wore,” Jeremy said. “I live alone, and I don’t trust men to bring anything they need because, well, men.” Davis watched Jeremy hastily wipe his hand, fantasized about having the courage one day to ask him to lick his fingers.

“You’ve never, uh, with a woman…?” Davis let the end of the question hang in the air as he was passed the wipes. He had forgotten this part of sex with men, how it could be messy, which was sometimes the best, but was, most of the time, an inconvenience.

“Nope,” Jeremy said, popping the p at the end. “I knew early on. Pretty sure I came out of the birth canal fashionably late, listening to Cher, and having strong opinions on esoteric design choices.” Jeremy chuckled but fell silent when Davis didn’t join him, the fear of not being enough hammering through his body.