fingers and eased them right on in. Crick made a negative sound then, and Deacon pulled out so quickly Crick almost came right there.
“Wait,” he panted, and Deacon did, while Crick reached for the backpack next to the bedding. He rifled desperately for a minute, and Deacon got bored and started drawing the alphabet, right there on Crick’s anus while Crick called him all sorts of horrid names and upped the search as fast as he could.
What he came up with surprised Deacon and delighted him too.
“Cherry lip gloss?” It was Vaseline, actually, the cherry flavored lip balm, and Crick threw two tubes of it at him as Deacon grinned from between his legs.
“I chickened out at the drug store—I was gonna buy lube!” Deacon chuckled and squirted one of the little tubes onto his fingers, sighing a little. “Mmm… it’s warm,” he said before he eased both fingers Keeping Promise Rock
inside of Crick’s body. Crick moaned, and Deacon spread his fingers, scissoring them a little, and Crick screamed but in a good way.
Deacon raised his body up then and kicked down his own trunks, and he moved up so they were chest to chest. Crick reached out a hand and grazed Deacon’s erection—it was as long as Crick’s but fatter, and it was so hard that even Crick’s soft touch made it ache.
“Gaaawwwwddd.” Deacon buried his head in Crick’s midriff and tried to get control of himself. Dammit, he wasn’t a kid to go shooting off with just a touch, and Crick stroked his hair until he knew he wasn’t going to lose it before he was buried inside the love of his goddamned life.
The first touch of his cock to Crick’s asshole made them both stop and tremble for a moment, but Crick was prepped and stretched and ready, and Deacon didn’t have a whole lot of control left. Crick swallowed, leaned up, framed Deacon’s face, and kissed him.
This time, his body poised at the threshold of something irrevocable, Deacon accepted the kiss. It went on and on until Crick’s hands were pushing against Deacon’s back and Deacon’s shoulders were trembling with the terrible state of arousal and want.
“Please, Deacon?” Crick panted. “Please… we need to….” Yeah. Deacon pulled back and placed himself tenderly where he needed to be. There was a little resistance—not much, he’d been too thorough for that—and Crick threw back his head and begged some more.
Oh God. He felt heavenly. Crick’s body wrapped around Deacon’s cock was…. Crick spasmed around him, and Deacon almost came. God, it was perfect. Deacon thrust some more, easing his way in, and Crick pulled his legs as far wide and as far back as he could get them. He closed his eyes and breathed then, shifting, begging for more with every quirk of his hips, and Deacon looked at him in this moment, their first moment of possession, because he never wanted it to end.
But it had to. He had to move, he had to thrust, he had to bury himself deeper and deeper into Carrick Francis’s willing body, and Crick loved it, whimpered for him, begged him, told him it was wonderful.
Deacon’s hips started thrusting harder and harder, and Crick pulled his legs to his chest and howled. His cock spat come again, coating their bellies, making their sweating bodies slicker and stickier, and maybe it was that, or maybe it was the way Crick’s head was thrown back and his body was so open and vulnerable, or maybe it was that he hadn’t had sex in forever and it was just time ,dammit, but Deacon’s vision went black, 76
and he groaned and buried himself in the hollow of Crick’s throat and in the haven of Crick’s body and came.
And came and came and came.
Even moments when time stops have to end. Deacon slid out of Crick’s body in a floppy sort of way, and he rolled over to his side, pillowed his head on Crick’s shoulder, and stared bemusedly at the dappled green oak-leaf sky above them like a stained glass canopy. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound
“Wait,” he panted, and Deacon did, while Crick reached for the backpack next to the bedding. He rifled desperately for a minute, and Deacon got bored and started drawing the alphabet, right there on Crick’s anus while Crick called him all sorts of horrid names and upped the search as fast as he could.
What he came up with surprised Deacon and delighted him too.
“Cherry lip gloss?” It was Vaseline, actually, the cherry flavored lip balm, and Crick threw two tubes of it at him as Deacon grinned from between his legs.
“I chickened out at the drug store—I was gonna buy lube!” Deacon chuckled and squirted one of the little tubes onto his fingers, sighing a little. “Mmm… it’s warm,” he said before he eased both fingers Keeping Promise Rock
inside of Crick’s body. Crick moaned, and Deacon spread his fingers, scissoring them a little, and Crick screamed but in a good way.
Deacon raised his body up then and kicked down his own trunks, and he moved up so they were chest to chest. Crick reached out a hand and grazed Deacon’s erection—it was as long as Crick’s but fatter, and it was so hard that even Crick’s soft touch made it ache.
“Gaaawwwwddd.” Deacon buried his head in Crick’s midriff and tried to get control of himself. Dammit, he wasn’t a kid to go shooting off with just a touch, and Crick stroked his hair until he knew he wasn’t going to lose it before he was buried inside the love of his goddamned life.
The first touch of his cock to Crick’s asshole made them both stop and tremble for a moment, but Crick was prepped and stretched and ready, and Deacon didn’t have a whole lot of control left. Crick swallowed, leaned up, framed Deacon’s face, and kissed him.
This time, his body poised at the threshold of something irrevocable, Deacon accepted the kiss. It went on and on until Crick’s hands were pushing against Deacon’s back and Deacon’s shoulders were trembling with the terrible state of arousal and want.
“Please, Deacon?” Crick panted. “Please… we need to….” Yeah. Deacon pulled back and placed himself tenderly where he needed to be. There was a little resistance—not much, he’d been too thorough for that—and Crick threw back his head and begged some more.
Oh God. He felt heavenly. Crick’s body wrapped around Deacon’s cock was…. Crick spasmed around him, and Deacon almost came. God, it was perfect. Deacon thrust some more, easing his way in, and Crick pulled his legs as far wide and as far back as he could get them. He closed his eyes and breathed then, shifting, begging for more with every quirk of his hips, and Deacon looked at him in this moment, their first moment of possession, because he never wanted it to end.
But it had to. He had to move, he had to thrust, he had to bury himself deeper and deeper into Carrick Francis’s willing body, and Crick loved it, whimpered for him, begged him, told him it was wonderful.
Deacon’s hips started thrusting harder and harder, and Crick pulled his legs to his chest and howled. His cock spat come again, coating their bellies, making their sweating bodies slicker and stickier, and maybe it was that, or maybe it was the way Crick’s head was thrown back and his body was so open and vulnerable, or maybe it was that he hadn’t had sex in forever and it was just time ,dammit, but Deacon’s vision went black, 76
and he groaned and buried himself in the hollow of Crick’s throat and in the haven of Crick’s body and came.
And came and came and came.
Even moments when time stops have to end. Deacon slid out of Crick’s body in a floppy sort of way, and he rolled over to his side, pillowed his head on Crick’s shoulder, and stared bemusedly at the dappled green oak-leaf sky above them like a stained glass canopy. For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound
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