36. Matthew

36

MATTHEW

O n Thursday night Fischer makes the trip out to the Bronx to stay the night with me.

He lets me take him out for a drink before we come crashing through the door of the loft in a race to rip each other's clothes off and fuck. The night feels rushed, like a clock is ticking. It doesn't feel like there's time to talk. Talking feels like stalling—it feels like wasting time we could be more together, closer. It feels like a threat because I have things I could say to him that might send him running into Raven's arms when he realizes she might actually end up being the less unhinged option.

Because I am completely obsessed. That might not even be the strongest word to use, because what I feel for him is all-encompassing. It's gone so far beyond craving or love that it feels like poison contaminating me. An infection.

I'm barely keeping my shit together when he's not around. I draw us. I paint us. I etch him in glass.

He comes back for more on Friday night, but he's exhausted. I catch him drifting soon after he arrives. I'm in the middle of making a curry that's taking way longer than I thought it would, and he's barely able to keep his eyes open after a week of work and me.

"You're fading on me, princess," I call out to him from the kitchen. He's on the couch scrolling his phone, but his eyes are staying closed longer and longer each time he blinks.

"Sorry," I hear him say weakly.

"Just lie down," I laugh.

"No, I'm hungry."

"I'll wake you up when it's ready. It could be another half hour, but I can't give up on it now."

"It smells good, if that helps." He stands, but he doesn't go to the bed. He crosses the loft and winds up beside me at the stove, a hand on my lower back. "I am gonna lie down."

"Good."

"I might crash pretty hard," he says.

I try not to pout. I realize it's just a curry, but I'm committed to it. Still, once Fischer leaves in the morning, I won't see him until dinner tomorrow night where he'll have Vaughn. "Yeah," I sigh. "It's okay."

His hand slides from my waist to my ass. "I'm just saying it might be hard to wake me up."

Oh .

"I can be pretty persistent," I say, ridiculously turned on by the implication. Or should I say invitation? I gesture at the curry I'm still stirring with my rubber spatula. "This'll be worth it, though. You sure you'll be able to fall asleep without my hands on you?"

"Let's hope so," he says with a sly grin before planting a kiss on my shoulder and leaving the kitchen.

I bite my lip, imagining the possibilities. "Sorry about this," I say, playing the game. "I'd stop if I could."

"We're entitled to our disorders," he tells me, referring to his post-traumatic stress and my obsessive compulsions.

He strips down to his boxer briefs beside the bed and kneels on the mattress before arranging the pillows the way he likes them—my princess is particular. Finally settling beneath the covers, he gives me one final look and closes his eyes.

Forty-five minutes later, when the curry is finally a decent consistency and tastes amazing, I put some rice in my rice cooker and walk over to check on him. I am capable of letting him sleep. Curry is just as good, if not better, the next day as it is when it's fresh. So I'm torn.

I don't think he'll be upset if I let him sleep, but I don't want to disappoint him either. He dropped some heavy hints earlier, and God knows he's sexy like this. Extremely sexy.

When I'm not holding him, Fischer sleeps on his stomach, which invites all kinds of dirty thoughts. Before I decide what to do, I slide the sheets down so I can be sure I'm making an informed decision. He doesn't stir.

But he did manage to do something before he fell asleep without my noticing. He took off his underwear. Meaning he's naked. His right knee is hitched up, exposing his tight, puckered hole and his dark sac.

It's easy to question myself in a moment like this. As in—what the hell is wrong with me, and why the fuck do I get dangerously hard at the idea of fucking a sleeping man? It's not like he'll stay asleep. It's not like having my cock in his ass won't startle the fuck out of him. It's not like he'll remain warm and inviting, passive and inanimate. He'll wake up and start clenching, and then it'll be just regular fucking.

So, I guess…what I'm wondering is, how asleep is he, and how could I keep him that way as long as possible? Because what if I went really, really slow …

Before I try anything, I roll a condom on my rigid erection and make sure it's adequately lubed. I keep the lube nearby as I get onto the bed as lightly as possible, moving to kneel at his side.

With my dry hand, I do the most innocuous thing I can think of. The most soothing thing. I rub his back. If he's in a light sleep, he'll reach for me. He might even say something like closer in that imperious, sleepy way he has when he's dissatisfied with my proximity.

As I stroke his spine in firmer and firmer passes, he remains completely still, not even his rate of breathing changes. So I go further.

Warming more lube in my hands, I slide my fingers through his crack and stroke the length of it, from his taint to his tailbone, paying no attention to his hole…yet. When he still shows no signs of waking, I narrow my span, moving two fingers back and forth over his pleated opening until I'm ninety-nine percent sure he wouldn't notice a finger sliding inside.

I won't know until I try. With more lube and a more focused radius, I slide in and stop, holding my breath. He bears down slightly, but other than that, nothing. When he bears down again, I slide in the next finger and hear a huff of air come from his mouth. I look up, but still…no hint that he's waking up. Just a natural bodily reaction to having something in his ass.

Way slower than I want to, I fuck my fingers in and out of him. He remains docile and still, loose and open, and totally lacking resistance. He even stops bearing down, like his body is so exhausted, it's lost all sense of self-preservation.

With as well as he's taking two fingers, I add a third, still going slow and keeping my rhythm predictable and steady.

When, after several minutes, literally nothing happens, I'm so ready to come just from the sheer illicitness of this that I almost take off my condom and start jerking off.

But I don't.

He'd be disappointed. I'm sure of it.

However, I need to get him into a better position.

His right knee has a pillow under it, and I figure if I wedge it just right, he'll be tipped toward me, and I can slide right in without having to climb on top of him. Continuing to work my fingers into his slick, hot channel, I reach across him and fold the pillow in half, effortlessly tilting him toward his side while keeping his legs open.

My own breath comes quicker, my dick twitching with growing need. I'm dying to be inside him. Fuck him deep and worship him.

But my cock is not my fingers. Resting my hand lightly on his hip to keep him in place, I go for it. He bears down hard at the intrusion, his body trying to force me out, but when it comes to this, his body's natural reflex only clears the path. A soft, low moan comes out of him as I fill him with my full length. I come to a stop, even though it's physically painful. I feel like a thief, freezing on a squeaky step, waiting for the disruption to stop echoing through the air.

He shifts slightly, sincerely testing my patience, like he's trying to get comfortable again, but once again, his body gives up the fight too easily. Every time I've been inside him has been hotter than the time before, but this feels like one of those once in a lifetime things—like seeing the aurora borealis or a total eclipse. Moving only my hips, I withdraw to my crown and stroke slowly back inside him, carefully building up to the same steady pace I used with my fingers. I get a better grip on his hip and indulge myself in a faster pace.

Another groan from him puts a clench in my groin. "Still sleeping, princess?" I whisper.

Nothing.

Fuuuccckkk … My dick is in heaven, and my mind is so deep in the fucking sewers that I'm rushing to a climax without rushing at all. Part of me wants him awake when I come. I want him to know how much he turns me on—how I can't stay away from him, how he doesn't need to lift a finger to get me off—but something darker in me wants to keep this all to myself and let him find out later when he's feeling used and leaking lube.

Ultimately, none of this matters at all, because he squirms and groans once again. He feels so fucking good on my cock, my hips stutter as my orgasm catches me like a punch to the stomach. I try to keep myself from digging my nails in, try to keep silent as I contort my body to maintain just those two points of contact while my dick unloads an indecent amount of cum. Oh my God … I'm going straight to hell.

It keeps coming out of me…an endless stream. Throwing my head back, I feel for a moment like I might be dying. Like this dirty deed may be the last thing I ever do. It feels like my entire soul is escaping through my dick. God, oh god, oh god, I'm burning alive.

I put my arms around him, leaving my spent cock buried in his ass. I kiss his neck, murmuring his name and rutting my hips, riding out every aftershock that feels like glitter on sunbeams. So extra.

"What, baby?" I hear him murmur… "You okay?"

Baby?

Baby?

Fuck, I need to fuck him again. Start all over. Shit. He's gonna melt my goddamned brain.

"Wake up," I say. "Dinner's ready."

"I'm awake, I'm—" He jolts, ass clenching and drawing a surprised, high pitched sound from me.

"Fuck, how'd you get there?" he asks. "I thought I left you in the kitchen."

"I'm such a fucking pervert," I say into his shoulder.

"Mmm… fuck … Why does that feel so fucking good? What did you do?"

"I fucked you."

"You… mmm …" He rocks back on me, and I give him a few deep thrusts.

"Touch yourself," I beg him, needing to level the playing field.

"Jesus, I'm so fucking hard…" he says, like he needs to give me a play by play.

I come clean. "I'm wearing a condom, but I just came inside you…"

"Matty… fuck …" His breath catches.

"It was so hot, Fischer. Your body sets me on fire. I can't keep my hands off you. Can't keep my dick out of you."

"Fuck, you feel good. Don't stop…"

I don't stop. I suck his neck and lock my arm around his chest while I leave my cock inside for him to use as he jerks himself to an orgasm that shoots across the mattress. "I love you," I mumble into his skin as he's shuddering through his release. "I love you. I love you."

His hand, covered in cum, moves to rest on my face. Breathlessly, he replies, "I love you, too."