Hurt Me Like You Mean It [BL]-Chapter 37: R18(4)

Lance lay there, boneless and docile, the world a soft, buzzing haze.

His mind, wiped clean of anything but sensation, circled one thought, one image, on a relentless loop: dick, dick, dick. Ansel’s dick.

The thick, heavy weight of it against his tongue. The taste, fuck, the taste of him, salty and bitter and perfect, still coating the back of his throat.

His own cock lay soft and spent on his thigh, but a deeper, more insistent hunger had taken root.

He felt Ansel’s gaze on him, a physical weight. Then, the slow, deliberate trace of fingertips along the sensitive dip of his waist, just above his hip bone.

The touch wasn’t rough, but it was possessive, mapping the territory he’d just conquered. It sent a fresh shiver through Lance’s oversensitive system.

Driven by a need he didn’t understand, Lance moved.

He pushed himself up on trembling arms, his body protesting every motion. He crawled, slow and unsteady, the damp sheets catching under his knees, until he was nestled between Ansel’s still-spread legs.

Ansel watched him, silent, his expression an unreadable mask of controlled intensity, his cock lying soft and wet against his thigh, glistening with the remnants of his release and Lance’s saliva.

Lance’s eyes were glued to it. His brain felt syrupy, single-minded.

He looked up, meeting Ansel’s dark eyes, his own voice a raw, awed whisper. "You... you have to have some kind of magic dick. Do you know that?"

Ansel’s breath hitched, just a tiny, sharp intake. His jaw tightened.

Lance didn’t wait for a reply. He lowered his head, his focus absolute.

His tongue, pink and wet, darted out, not in a broad stroke, but with a precise, worshipping lick.

He caught the pearl of spend that had gathered at the slit. He swirled it, savoring the potent, musky flavor, the tangible proof of Ansel’s pleasure.

Then he licked a slow, clean stripe up the softening shaft, from root to tip, gathering every drop, every shimmering trace.

He moaned softly, the vibration humming against Ansel’s skin.

Fuck, it’s so good.

He tastes so fucking good.

He took the head into his mouth, just the very tip, suckling gently, cleaning him with a devotion that was utterly filthy and completely sincere.

Above him, Ansel made a choked sound. Lance glanced up to see Ansel’s eyes were shut tight, his head thrown back, the cords of his neck standing out.

He’d bitten his own lower lip so hard Lance thought he might draw blood.

His hands, which had been resting on his own thighs, were now clenched into white-knuckled fists.

The sight of that sheer, barely-leashed control unraveling because of him, because of his mouth, sent a jolt of pure, electric power straight to Lance’s core.

He wasn’t the one in control, not even close, but in this moment, he owned Ansel’s reaction.

Lance released him with a soft, wet pop, nuzzling his cheek against the inside of Ansel’s thigh.

He was spent and tired, but he was happy.

Deeply, quietly and submissively happy.

The spell broke and Ansel’s eyes snapped open, burning with a ferocity that made Lance’s breath catch.

In one swift motion, Ansel’s hand came down, not on his face, not in his hair but on the round, full curve of his asscheek.

The spank was sharp and stinging, a punctuation mark on the scene.

"Fuck.." Ansel growled, the word ripped from him. "You have no idea what you do to me. No fucking idea." His fingers dug into the flesh he’d just struck, kneading the warmth he’d left behind.

He leaned down, his lips almost touching Lance’s ear, his voice a low, threatening vow. "Once this perfect, greedy little hole of yours is healed.." he said, his other hand sliding down to ghost over Lance’s sore, tender entrance, making him whimper.

"I am going to fuck you into oblivion. I’m going to bend you over and open you up so slow it’ll feel like torture, and then I’m going to ruin you for anyone else. I’m going to pump my cum so deep inside you, you’ll feel it for days. You’re going to beg for that creampie, Lance. You’re going to sob and plead for me to fill you up, and I’m going to make you wait for it until you’re shaking. Do you understand me?"

Lance shuddered, a full-body convulsion of want. The imagery, the raw, nasty specificity of Ansel’s words, painted a future so vivid it felt real.

His sore hole clenched around nothing, a pathetic, empty ache. He nodded frantically against Ansel’s thigh. "Yes.." he breathed. "No one fucks me the way you do with your magical dick.."

Ansel stared at him for a long, suspended moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

The desire in his eyes was a living thing, threatening to incinerate his careful control.

It was Lance’s utter, wrecked sincerity that seemed to be the final straw.

With a harsh, ragged breath, Ansel pulled his hand away. He stood up from the bed in a fluid, almost violent motion, yanking his pants and briefs back up over his hips, hiding the evidence of his arousal.

He didn’t look at Lance as he fastened his belt, the click of the buckle loud in the quiet room.

The sudden absence of his heat, his presence, was a physical shock. Lance stayed on his knees on the bed, feeling the cold air hit his wet skin, watching as Ansel ran a hand through his hair, composing himself.

Without another word, Ansel turned and walked out of the bedroom. The door didn’t slam. It just clicked shut.

Lance was left alone in the silence, the taste of Ansel still on his tongue, the sting of his palm on his ass, the devastating promise of his future fucking echoing in his head.

He slowly, slowly slumped sideways onto the cool floor, his cheek pressed against it.

Damn...

What a man?

After three months, he wasn’t sure if he could let Ansel or his dick go.

He’s just too good of a fuck buddy to let go.