Keeping (19 page)

Oliver stared at him from the front door, his back to it, hands spread so his fingertips pressed onto the jamb either side, knuckles white. His mouth stretched into a feral grin, one corner higher than the other, and he narrowed his eyes to half mast, staring at Langham with a look that dared him not to want a fuck.

How the hell could he resist that?

Oliver stepped forward and flattened his hands on Langham’s chest. The scent of him drifted up Langham’s nose, and he sniffed, closing his eyes briefly, feeling the weight of the case drifting away, replaced by that feeling of being home, right where he needed to be, with the man he loved. Just them, no one else wanting his time or attention except Oliver.

“I’m going to fucking take care of you,” Oliver said, then feathered kisses up and down Langham’s neck. Licked his earlobe, sucked it into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.

The sensation went from there right down to Langham’s cock. His bollocks drew taut, his hole spasmed, and a shiver of need went through him, chasing away the tiredness, bringing instead a feeling of being refreshed.

“Jesus fuck,” Langham muttered, his voice quivering. “The shit you do to me, man. The way you make me feel.”

“Nothing like the shit you do to me.” Oliver slid his hands down and around to cup Langham’s arse. Squeezed. Pushed their groins together.

Langham was getting hard, Oliver was already sporting a full-on erection and Langham sucked in a breath, thoughts of how that cock would feel as it slid into him filling his mind.

“What shit’s that?” Langham asked, breathless, closing his eyes again and taking in every lick, every hot breath on his skin, every pulsation in his dick.

“The way you make me want you, even when I don’t think I’m in the mood.”

“Same as what you’re doing to me now?” The pulse in Langham’s throat ticked a steady beat, the sound of his heart loud inside his head.

“Yeah, the same damn thing.”

Oliver steered him backwards into the bedroom then pushed him gently onto the bed. Langham bounced once, the quilt a soft balm to his weary body, the loss of body contact mean and sharp. He felt cold, empty, and if he didn’t have Oliver on top of him soon he’d have to heft himself off the bed and go and get him. For now, though, he settled back and waited for whatever Oliver had in mind.

Langham was usually the dominant one—or had been at the start, until Oliver had found his feet in their sexual relationship and started displaying dominant tendencies himself. He’d surprised Langham with how well he’d slotted into the role, doing things he’d never thought he would. Oliver had been inexperienced, but to look at him now, all broad chest puffed up with his confidence, his stance one of I-know-what-I’m-doing, and his self-assured air, you wouldn’t think it. Tonight was going to be one of the nights Oliver took charge. Langham was more than willing to let him have his way, to do things to him that required nothing more of Langham than lying back and accepting. He didn’t feel guilty about it—sometimes it happened this way. Didn’t mean he wasn’t excited or couldn’t be arsed—more that Oliver knew a bit of sexual attention, a bit of them being together like this, would ease Langham into a better sleep, make the tension go away faster.

But the way the fire was spreading through him he didn’t think he’d be too passive. Fuck no, the idea of a good and hard fuck had woken him up, the hairs on his arms rising with the images spiraling through his mind. Oliver’s sweat-slicked body writhing on top of him. His filthy words registering with his brain and setting off sparks inside his cock. The way he juddered just before he came, his eyes screwed tightly shut, his teeth bared.

Oliver stood at the foot of the bed and smiled. “You thinking dirty shit?”

Langham nodded.

“You thinking of all the dirty shit I could do to you?”

“Yeah.”
Jesus Christ…

“You want me on you, don’t you? Want me all over you, in you, around you. So fucking deep inside that you don’t know where you are. Fucked so hard you’re shooting for oblivion. Yeah, I know exactly what you’re thinking, man.”

Langham swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His dick strained against his trousers, and he wanted it freed, handled so roughly it hurt yet was heaven at the same time. Wanted Oliver to grip it, moving his hand up and down so the side of his thumb brushed the top, taking his pre-cum with it as lubrication.

If he had Oliver’s cock in his mouth now, he’d suck him until he spurted his cum down this throat and eased the aridity there. He’d suck him, his tip nudging the back of his throat, his balls slapping his chin. He’d inhale, drawing in the aroma of rock-hard man and blatant craving.

“Do something,” he rasped out.

Oliver just stared at him.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room and illuminated one side of Oliver’s face, showing off the shadows beneath his eyes, one in stark relief, the dark curve of it plain and unsettling to see, the other encased in the gloom. The skin beside his mouth twitched and he blinked, standing there maintaining eye contact as though he never wanted to look away. Langham’s chest contracted, and he swallowed a smudge of emotion that was threatening to turn into a huge knot. He knew that look, understood it and embraced it for what it was—love, plain and simple, given to him by this man. Langham wanted to raise his arms, to beckon him forward and onto the bed, but they were oddly too heavy to lift.

Gripping the hem of his T-shirt, Oliver tugged it over his head and threw it aside. It landed half on a chair in the corner then slid off, forming a puddle of material on the floor. Langham studied his man’s chest, the way his stomach muscles were so well-defined, and how the hairs appeared to grow out from his waistband, stopping just below his navel. Those hairs felt wonderful on his tongue—crackly, harsh—every time he licked down to the nest at the bottom, currently hidden by denim. And the scent of that nest, all musk and male tang, never failed to set his dick to throbbing. It was the same scent as Oliver’s cock, unique to him, a taste on his tongue that made him salivate and itch to sink it deep into his mouth.

Oliver moved his hands to his jeans buttons, still staring at Langham, still with that look special only to them. He deftly undid them with one hand, smoothing his other over his torso, letting his fingers hover around his nipples before swiftly skating them to the dip below his Adam’s apple. Langham’s cock hardened further at his thoughts of knowing how that skin felt, at knowing what Oliver would be experiencing. He wanted it for himself—
now, fuck it, let me touch you now
—and managed to lift one hand off the bed and crook his finger to ask Oliver to join him on the bed.

Oliver gave a sexy-as-fuck grin and stayed where he was, all his buttons undone, the bulge of his erection pushing against his boxers. He lowered his roaming hand to his waist then eased his jeans down, taking his time, letting them fall out of sight to his feet. He stepped out of them, kicking them away to join his T-shirt, then sat on the end of the bed to remove his socks. He turned and climbed onto Langham, straddling him so he had access to his shirt buttons. The heat from Oliver’s bollocks and thighs seeped through Langham’s suit trousers, warming him, making him needy and full of want. He stared at the cock jutting toward him, at the lilac-hued head, the perfectly symmetrical glans and swallowed, his tongue undulating involuntarily as he imagined the heavy weight of his cock sitting on his tongue.

“Fuck,” Langham said hoarsely, shifting his gaze to Oliver’s face. “You just…you just fucking know what to do, don’t you.”

Oliver smiled. “I know what you need. What you want, but you can’t have it yet.”

He undid Langham’s shirt, pushing the fronts aside to reveal his chest. The air nipped at his skin, puckering his nipples along with his arousal. Oliver scooted down to pop open the button of Langham’s trousers then drew down his zip, the golden teeth coming apart all too slowly for Langham’s liking. Langham’s cock sprang free—no underwear for him—and bobbed with his need to have skin-on-skin contact. It throbbed in accord with his pulse, and if he could lift his hand again he’d take hold of it, give it a good hard shake to make Oliver understand that all this waiting, this slowness, was driving him bloody mad. Instead, he lifted his arse so his trousers could be dragged down past his buttocks and waited for what Oliver would do next. Telling him he wanted it faster would probably make Oliver go slower. Tease him for longer, draw out his torture until Langham was a needy, begging mess.

Leaning forward and bracing himself with his hands beside Langham’s head, Oliver settled his arse higher up Langham’s body and pressed their cocks together, applying a little pressure. The heat of that dick was searing, the hardness of it testament to how turned on his lover was. Langham canted his hips, pulling Oliver down so their chests were flush. He couldn’t play this game for much longer, needed filling, or at least have Oliver wanking him with that strong stroke of his until cum spilled out of him and he followed his orgasm wherever the fuck it wanted to take him.

Oliver humped Langham, grinding so they got maximum abrasion. That alone was almost enough. If he just pressed a little harder, dragged his cock down over Langham’s to give more friction, Langham reckoned he’d come. Oliver stared down at him, entwining his fingers in his hair, tugging with short, sharp yanks that sent desire racing from all areas of Langham’s body straight to his cock. Fuck, this was so hot, so damn hot.

The weight on Langham’s chest made him short of breath, as did the swirling lust growing inside him, and he panted, little “
ahs”
of sound puffing from his mouth. Oliver stifled them with his lips, swallowing them as he pushed his tongue inside Langham’s mouth and probed deep. He kissed him back, searching every part of Oliver’s mouth with the tip of his tongue, an exploration he didn’t think he’d ever tire of. At last he could lift his hands without them feeling so damn heavy and he placed them on Oliver’s back, roving them up and down his flanks then smoothing his fingers into the dip of spine at the bottom. He flared his fingers, reaching lower, palms on Oliver’s arse, the dance of their tongues spiking his lust as their kiss grew more urgent.

Langham wrenched his mouth away to say something he knew would set Oliver off. With his heart ticking double time, he said, “Fucking do me. Do me hard.”

The light in Oliver’s eyes changed from smoldering need to outright want-to-fuck-you-now, and he gave a few more jerky thrusts against Langham’s cock. Langham’s want skyrocketed and he shoved upwards some more, his dick throbbing, his balls drawing up so he felt the skin pucker. He would come soon if this carried on, come all over his damn belly, and he imagined it would hit him hard, his body bucking as they wildly got off together.

“You sexy bastard,” Oliver breathed. “So damn sexy.”

Sliding off Langham, Oliver reached beneath the pillow for lube, something they always kept there to save fucking about in the bedside drawers. He slathered it all over his sexy-as-fuck cock, taking time to draw his hand up and down his shaft and closing his eyes in pleasure. If he wanted to make himself come while Langham watched it was fine by him—Langham was so turned on he’d come anyway, no touching, no stimulation.

Oliver hand-fucked himself a little more, eyes closed, clearly enjoying himself. Then he stopped, let himself go, took off Langham’s trousers and got into position between Langham’s legs. He spread them wider, slid his palms beneath his arse and dragged Langham up onto his lap. Langham’s hole spasmed again as he anticipated what was to come, and he relaxed, waiting for Oliver to prime him. To slip a finger or two into his hole then rub his prostate, withdrawing just when Langham thought he might burst. Oliver didn’t. He took hold of his own cock and pushed it downwards, putting his tip at Langham’s entrance, rocking with barely there movements so the very end breached the pucker then left it throbbing for more.

“Shove the whole lot in,” Langham said, unable to take the teasing, yet wanting more of it for longer.

Oliver pushed an inch or so in, repeating his shallow thrusts. That had Langham raunchy as hell, the sight of those long fingers around that dick, and the torture of having something in his arse but not inside far enough was driving Langham mad, his cock responding with a bouncing motion that matched Oliver’s intrusion into his hole.

“You want more?” Oliver asked. “You want more of my fat cock up your arse?”

Langham couldn’t breathe—the air in his lungs refused to come back out for a few seconds. He nodded then thankfully exhaled, the thud inside his chest echoing the rampant thud of his dick. Oliver gave him more, inch by inch, the stretch a burning that hurt yet didn’t. Langham closed his eyes and accepted what he was being given and when, despite his instinct to ask for a hard thrust, to just get that cock inside him as quickly as possible, to fill him to bursting point. After a few seconds of that slow entry, and unable to stand it any longer, Langham reached up to the headboard, flattened his palms to it, then rammed down so Oliver filled him completely.

“You just couldn’t wait,” Oliver said, one jerk of his hips thrusting him even deeper.

Oliver went up on his knees. Langham planted his feet on the bed and took his hands from the headboard to hold his arse up. He dug his elbows into the mattress for support. With just the top of his back and head on the pillow, Langham felt suspended, flying high. Oliver withdrew, no rush, no speed, then quickly plunged back in, the lube making for a glorious glide. Langham gasped and groaned, the sound tortured and full of his need, and if Oliver hadn’t known how much Langham wanted a fast and furious fuck, he might well know now.

Oliver reached out to grasp Langham’s cock then dragged his hand up and down the length in time with the rhythm he’d begun with his dick. His hand was sticky from the lube he’d applied to himself, and the wetness of it set Langham’s libido on fire. He loved the slickness, the slide, and although it wasn’t quite the same as burying his cock inside Oliver’s arse, his lover’s tight fist came a close second.