The Beginning (a smutty short)

It was difficult to restrain himself. So very difficult. Time had condensed itself to strange hiccups and bursts. He’d lost track of the bed, though he was vaguely aware of the frame creaking, of the headboard striking against the wall. The sheets, the pillows, the twists and tangles of blanket-- all things that had once seemed so important-- mattered only in that they did not interfere now. Not now, when there was a canvas of skin before him, a canvas flushed pink from work and writhing. Vibrant against the thin, golden wisps of hair that were scattered in sparse whorls across broad chest and long, muscled torso.

His nails worked along the curved keys of ribs where they strained against an encasement of flush hide. A gasp joined the steady rhythm of moans and creaks that filled the warm air, born of twisted lips and too-loud breath. Two dark blots showed themselves above the red swells of cheeks, eyes opening to fix up at him. At his moving. How was he to resist?

Down and down. Dark hair swayed into his view, the ends clumped with sweat. It trailed, straggling to catch on the golden gleam of barely-there stubble. His teeth found the muscle straining at the crest of one ripe, red cheek. It sought to flatten itself in retreat at the initial press, but he clamped down too quickly. His prey was caught between the blunt ends of teeth and slowly crushed. Harder for the moan of a wail in his ear. Loud and so close. He dug against the shift of skin over muscle, of muscle over bone. Crushed and panted through his nose until a flower of pain at his side caused reality to leak into the microcosm of his awareness.

“Owowow! Dammit, Jere. What the fuck are you doing?”

Two hazel eyes were staring up at him, glossy with a welling of tears. Thick fingers smeared over spittle and red skin, hiding away the bruise flowering on the abused cheek. Jere stared down at Colin, his lips too still for too long.

“Don’t be a goddamn creeper, Jere.”

The sheet tugged beneath Jeremiah’s weight, pulled taut by the dig of Colin’s heels. Colin was pushing up, arching from shoulder to hip, trying to regain the depth that Jeremiah had stolen from him. Depth which Jeremiah provided with his upward rise, his backward sink. Down along a wealth of lube and the slick gleam of condom. Back to seat himself flush with a lift knees and long, soft sigh.

“Sorry, Col.”

He wasn’t sorry. He could still feel the give of skin beneath his teeth, the crush of muscle. He could still hear the pained cry echoing in his ears. Jeremiah ran his fingers along the inside of his own thigh, turned them to the flush of Colin’s skin. His own was dusky by comparison, sandy brown with hues of red beneath. He’d been made fun of for years for being so light, but Colin- Colin was light even for a white boy.

“C’mon, baby,” Colin’s words were pitched with a hint of whine in their encouragement. Jeremiah loathed that tone. “Move with me, huh? Get out of your head.”

“Sorry, Col.” Repetitive murmuring.

Up, and down, and up, and down. His thighs flexed, his ass clenched. Automatic as Colin’s cock slid all too easily. In and out and in and out. Jeremiah’s hip threatened to cramp, hung on an exquisite line between pain and ease. He clung to the sensation and blinked down at the body below him.

Colin was smiling. His teeth were white against the flush swell of his lips, against the almost-red of his gums. Grunts of effort pushed past them here and there, emphasized by the fleshy smack of impacting bodies. Colin’s eyes were glossy and bright, half-lidded with pleasure, but still fixed on Jeremiah. Still searching through the haze, through the automatic movements. Searching for some common ground, Jeremiah fancied.

Why was he there? Jeremiah had been asking himself that for the past month. His fingers speared over the contours of Colin’s torso, finding the dips and notches between abdominal muscles and lats. Feeling, coaxing. Reassuring in a way. He was there. He was paying attention. Up and down and up and down.

The edges of his nails flirted along skin as his touch swept upward. Not scratching. Not quite. Oh how he wanted to. Wanted to dig in and claw, raise angry red welts along the pale skin. To draw out his initials in jagged lines. To declare that the body writhing beneath him, pushing deep inside of him, was his. All his. Instead he pressed the pads of his fingers to either side of one peachy pink nipple and squeezed them slowly, slowly together.

“Ah!” Colin’s feet dug against the bed again, his hips lifting in a sharp buck as his shoulders jerked back and down. “Fuckall, Jere! You know I’m not into that shit.”

“Sorry, Col.” Up so far that he felt the swell of cockhead nearly slip free. Jeremiah fell hard, his weight bouncing lightly astride the other man. “Just you didn’t seem to mind at first is all.”

“Well it didn’t fuckin’ hurt at first, Jere.” The anger was largely sapped from Colin’s tone, leeched away by the slick, tight pulse of Jeremiah’s ass about his cock.

“Sorry, Col.”

Not that he ever was. His bored tone should have signaled as much to Colin, but Colin was too involved with other things to notice. Too caught on the steady up and down, the in and out glide, that building heat. Too caught on the way that Jeremiah pushed himself down, then back to squeeze, to clench and grind and rise up again. Too fixed on panting breaths and building sweat, on the gathering tension past the base of his belly. And Jeremiah was hard, and that was what mattered. Wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?

“Fuck!” Colin went still that time, staring up with wide eyes as Jeremiah’s fingernails dug crescents between ribs. “The fuck, Jere??”

“Sorry, Col.” The apology was mindless reflex by that point. Jeremiah raised half way, stilling as a bead of sweat swept down his thigh to pool behind his knee. “You could--” down he went, pausing for a groan, “- do something about it.”

Do something other than whine. Something more than complain. What good was all of that physique if he didn’t use it? What was the point if it only ever went to climbing plastic knobs in a gym? Jeremiah dug his nails in harder.

Smack. Blushing heat, glorious sting. A pop to the outside of Jeremiah’s hip. Not hard enough for his liking, but it was something. Something more than that cramp hovering just at the edge of his straining muscles. Colin was staring up at him with wide eyes. Frightened. Excited, maybe. Jeremiah couldn’t tell. He could feel the tremble of fingers on the outside of his thigh.

Up. “That tickled,” Jeremiah breathed out with an edge of laughter. Down.

“Fuckin’ creeper.”

Jeremiah’s nails dug into skin and tugged along. Not so deep as he wanted. Not so hard. It was something, though. Something close to satisfying, and Colin thrashed about with an off-paced bucking that made Jeremiah’s cock twitch with renewed interest.

Smack. Harder that time, and to the other side. Colin caught Jeremiah on the upstroke, his hand cupping along the juncture of thigh to ass. It was a sensitive spot that sent Jeremiah’s heart springing for his throat, down again. He moaned and fell close, trapping Colin’s hand between them as he ground and squirmed.

“Harder,” Jeremiah prompted in throaty tone. Insistent.

Smack. The opposite hand again, to the outside of his thigh. Jeremiah’s delight pulled at his cheeks, and his quickened breath left the fronts of his teeth cold. He warmed them with his tongue and drove himself faster up and down, up and down. Vigorous, and genuinely attentive.

“My kid sister hits better than that.”

Colin groaned and rolled his eyes. He arched and fell and tensed and sagged, shifting constantly beneath Jeremiah. Bucked helplessly up and up and up again. Never quite enough.

“Don’t,” smack, “talk about your goddamn sister,” pop, “when we’re fuckin’, Jere.”

Jagged nails pulled from Colin’s hide. Jeremiah splayed his aching fingers, curled them close, and then braced his hands forward on Colin’s belly. There was no apology this time. Instead there was laughter, husky and low, and a renewed fervor to Jeremiah’s movement.

Jeremiah was content with the silence, and so it seemed was Colin. He shut his eyes again and leaned into the jostle and bounce of Jeremiah’s pace. Set himself happily into the slick sweep and flashes of intensified heat. When Jeremiah slowed, Colin’s hand moved. Another sting and well of heat flourished along Jeremiah’s skin. Jeremiah slowed often, and Colin’s hands began to hurt.

Jeremiah was certain there was excitement there. It was true that Colin had stopped looking at him, but he was moving more. Colin’s thrusts came harder, his moans louder. The groaning of the bedframe was more pronounced, and every so often the headboard would strike the wall. Moan, smack, thump. Harder, hotter, faster.

It was more than Jeremiah had managed to get out of Colin for the past few months. Perhaps he’d fancied there was more potential there than actually existed. Perhaps not. It hardly mattered to Jeremiah just then. What did matter was the wrap of his fingers about his own cock, the tension that ran from chest to shoulder and down into his arm as he stroked.

There was no slow start, no drawing it out. He was frantic, eager with his pumping. His muscles locked into familiar, habitual rhythm. Sweat was gathered from about his balls as he pushed them down to meet the impact of Colin’s body, sticky drops of precum from the tapered head of his cock as his hand swept upward. Slick any way he could manage it. Fast and hard, just as he drove himself along Colin’s cock. Squeezing and pulsing. No slowing now. Just a forward lean, a pinch to the previously assaulted nipple.

Smack. The clap of heavy hand to Jeremiah’s side was so forceful his breathing staggered for it. The impact reverberated through the hollow of his chest, and the air left his lungs in a rush. He gave up his forward lean and the pinching of his fingers. Instead he fell back hard, tucking his hips as his hand worked up, down. Grasped and squeezed. The heel of his palm met with his lips, and he pushed past them to sink his teeth against the meat there. To dig against his pulse and shift the skin over the muscle, the muscle over the bone.

Jeremiah’s hand swept upward in time with his climax, drawing a needle of heat up through the length of his spine. It pushed behind his eyes, hammered at the insides of his ears. He stroked loosely down, distantly aware of the spasming sensation in his ass, of the strain and cry of the body beneath his own. Jeremiah’s teeth crushed the meat at the base of his thumb, broke the skin. Up went his hand as wisps of blood trailed metallic along his tongue. Milking vigorously, and then slower. Drawing it out and out. Out until the throb of his hand began to hurt, and the head of his cock to warm unpleasantly from the friction. His jaw eased, his hand stilled, and he stared quietly down at Colin.

Colin’s eyes parted slowly. His chest was still heaving, shifting the light over the sweat-slick span of skin and hair. He was still ruddy from work, from delight. His hips were still now, and Jeremiah was distantly aware of the slow softening within him. The strange feel of sagging withdrawal along sensitive nerves.

“The fuck was that, Jere?” Colin sounded dazed through his panting, his voice breathy and barely-there.

Jeremiah’s laugh was low, purring. He sucked the spit and blood from his hand, then pushed himself forward. Slowly up and off before the condom could roll itself free. He laid himself down atop the other man, reveling in the lingering sting of his skin. He did not answer right away, but instead indulged in tender things. He stole kisses, plucking them from Colin’s soft lips one after another. He let one draw out particularly long, mixing touches of tongue and the lingering rush of heavy breathing. When he spoke it was quiet, promising, and far from apologetic.

“The beginning, Col.”