34. Matthew

34

MATTHEW

I wake up sweating and tangled in Fischer's long limbs. His leg is between mine, his arm thrown over my chest, and his forehead is tucked against my shoulder. My dick is tenting the sheet, and I sigh at its persistence.

I'm in severe danger of attaching myself to him like a leech. His constant proximity now brings along with it a cacophony of emotion my mind isn't capable of sorting through. It's an onslaught, and the solution is probably space.

Space I don't want.

Still, I've never been good about doing what I should be doing. I can hold down a job fine, but everything else I do is based on a patchwork reminder system. The clinic I use for STI testing calls me an hour before my pre-scheduled appointments every other week to make sure I show up and do that. Maggie and I go to the dentist together so I never miss a cleaning.

I have laundry and grocery reminders set on my phone, but I usually swipe and forget those. Thank God I don't have a pet. Although, I have a few plants, and they're thriving, but I credit the sun and my sense of aesthetics with that. I can't have them looking bad.

As much as I know taking some space is the healthy way to process the last few days, the idea of being alone when I don't have to be is unsettling. I don't know if it's because I'm a twin, or if there's something else missing in me that makes being alone feel like a physical ailment, but it too often does.

The absence of Fischer has consistently pushed me into the arms of strangers. Between my muses who all identify as female, I go on benders. Anonymous sex and Grindr hook-ups that grind my self-esteem to dust—as men tend to do. Even when I try to take a break from dick—like Dry January or whatever, I inevitably wind up back on my knees at a gay bar, cruising for a cock in my mouth.

Or in a Plaza hotel room getting split in two by a repressed businessman who doesn't even bother to take off his wedding ring.

How could I not absolutely love myself?

Fischer stirs, and my erection gives a visible throb. I need to get away from him. Make some coffee or something. Put my damn clothes on.

But his hand moves, up my chest to my neck, and he shifts half his weight on top of me.

Eyes still closed, somewhere between awake and asleep, his mouth finds mine, and you can say what you want about morning kisses, but I happen to love them. Rare, languid, and extremely horny. I don't stop myself from grabbing his ass and deepening the connection between our mouths. His hand travels down, finding my cock and stroking it through the sheet.

God…

Without saying a word, his mouth follows the trail of chills his hand left, and then he's sucking me.

"Jesus, Fischer…"

" Mmm …" his hum vibrates my balls.

"What if Gavin walks in?" It's that time of day, after all. Late morning. Monday. Fuck, and I have to work this evening.

He only slows down, and the blow job gets better. He's at my side, leaving my legs restless for something to clench between them as his tongue works my nerve endings, flooding me with endorphins.

I shove my hand into his wild hair, not to force anything, just to feel him moving. Encourage this behavior with positive reinforcement. "That's so fucking good. Fuck . I love the way you suck me."

His hips roll against the mattress in response to that. I wish I had more words, compliments to rain down on him. The best I can do is wet two fingers with my mouth and play mindlessly with his hole while he savors every inch of my cock.

After a few minutes of being all slow and sweet, he heats up, both literally and in his interest in getting me off. I add a third finger to him and get more aggressive, matching his energy. The moment moves quickly to a breaking point, and when his orgasm takes him, he pops off my cock to breathe, but his hand doesn't stop until it jerks my release straight onto my chest. He face plants into my cum, sucking and licking it off me, and I can't keep my hands off him. I'm writhing and moaning and still stupidly horny for him.

He winds up back at my mouth, giving me a taste of myself and glomming onto my side.

I genuinely can't imagine this man in a war zone. But I think that's one of the things about Fischer I like best, and it makes me never want to spend a second without him. Which brings me back to my original point. "Maybe I should get going."

"Where to?" he murmurs.

When he takes a break from kissing me again I say, "Home. To get my work clothes…"

I don't have time to get my next excuse out because he's on top of me again, straddling me this time. "You're frisky when you wake up," I note.

"I was hoping to find you inside me again, but this works."

"You were seriously okay with that?"

" Mm …" His mouth lands on mine with some force, and I am absolutely locked in.

The combination of tastes—me and him in his mouth—is better than anything. He pulls away suddenly, and I'm the idiot lifting my head chasing his mouth, which is too far from me to catch.

"Unless this is too much," he says, cheeks pink, eyes mirrors.

I let my head drop back. "I don't know. I just figure…maybe I've taken up enough of your time."

He sits, ass on my thighs, looking down at me. "Is this how you let a girl down easy?"

"Just trying to save my sanity, that's all."

"Is it at risk?" he asks.

"Maybe."

"Well, I'm not gonna force myself on you."

I lock my hands around his wrists as he's making a move to get off me. "No, no. Force away. It's only fair."

"You're not worried about Gavin seeing us?"

"I actually kinda wanted to talk to Gavin about something."

Fischer reaches for the lube and a condom, handing them both to me. "What about?" he asks while I get myself ready to fuck him, because of course I'm still hard. My dick has trouble taking breaks in the presence of this much sexiness—which I realize makes me a bit of a unicorn, but I haven't heard any complaints.

"How to make the most of Maggie's pictures of the sculpture on Instagram," I say.

"Yeah, he'd be a good person to ask."

With the condom on, I lube up and signal I'm ready for him by thumping his crack with my dick. "Is your leg okay?" This can't be a good position for him.

"Feels fine." He rises slightly, and I notch my head against his hole.

As he sinks down, I nearly come off the bed with how fucking tight and hot he is around me. "Jesus," I moan. I grip his ass and hold him still, trying to come back into my body.

" Mmm…fuck, Matty ," he groans.

I'm sitting up in two seconds, and he rearranges his legs to wrap around me. I fuck into him from below, and he rides my lap while we make out in the sloppiest, sluttiest way possible. Porn's got nothing on us. We're loud as hell.

Gavin absolutely comes in just as Fischer's cock is exploding between our abs, and he's shouting his release.

I check to make sure the door isn't wide open, it's only cracked, so I figure any good assistant will let this play out—especially one whose other job is in a sex club.

But since I've never met a kink I didn't like, I don't mind the idea of Gavin hearing us. Fischer has to cling to me for dear life while I give him the best pounding I'm capable of, rushing myself to a fierce orgasm that forces beast noises out of us both. "Oh my fucking God ," I say when I'm finally empty, my head sagging on his shoulder.

He's panting like he just ran a marathon. We're both sweating like we did, too.

"I'm here whenever you're ready, boss," Gavin calls out, and Fischer's head rears back, eyes wide open.

"What?" I ask, cracking up. "You didn't hear him come in?"

If looks could kill…

Still laughing, I pull him in for one last kiss.