Ross let me feel his teeth and I whimpered, and then he was sucking again so very softly, sweetly. He varied the pressure, sucking me hard and long. My balls drew tight and I began to come in hot wet spurts, crying out his name.
And Ross swallowed it. I felt tears start in my eyes, but I blinked them back. It was not like he had never done that before, it just…meant more tonight. He swallowed my cum and licked the head of my cock clean, while I lay there panting and trying not to embarrass myself.
When I finally lifted my lashes Ross was smiling. He bent his head to mine. His mouth brushed my mouth and I tasted myself on him -- salty and sort of sweet.
He said, “You’ve gambled everything, haven’t you? What are you hoping for?”
I answered with a question of my own. “Did you think I might be here when you decided to come to the cabin?”
A strange expression crossed his face. “It went through my mind. I…didn’t think you really would. I didn’t think you’d have the nerve.”
It was hard to ask, but I made myself. “Did you…hope I would be here?”
He seemed to look inside himself. “I think I did.” He added ruefully, “But not necessarily for the reason you hope.”
“But you did want me?”
“I always want you. That doesn’t mean…”
“What?”
And he said, “It’s easy to be brave when you’re young.”
“No, it’s not.”
Maybe he read something in my face because he seemed to draw on something within himself. “No. It’s not always,” he agreed. “And you want me to be as brave as you, don’t you? Idealistic youth expects no less?”
I nodded. “There is recompense, though.” I slipped from the sofa and got on my hands and knees on the rug before the fireplace. I glanced back and he was already settling on his knees behind me.
“Recompense.” He sounded amused. “That’s a good old fashioned word.” I heard the unlovely sound of something squirting, followed by the delicate scent of oranges and honey.
“Orange blossom?” I suggested.
“Dear God,” he said, and his laugh had a choky sound. Still, his eyes were smoky with desire as his thighs brushed mine, and his finger pushed against my body.
Always so cautious and gentle with this, although we both knew I had three times his experience. One finger insinuating a long, slender length through that tiny puckered mouth, soothing with oil and honeyed oranges, then two slick fingers.
“I love this part,” I admitted, pushing back against his hand.
He pushed the third finger in. Always, always three fingers with Ross. Such a careful circumspect man. I liked the little rituals. I reached out my hand and he squirted oil on my fingers, and I smeared the oil the full length of my cock, stroking myself, enjoying the pull while his silky fingers slid in and out, knowing exactly where and how to touch.
“Now,” I managed. “Please.”
“You do have nice manners,” he admitted. “Usually.”
He withdrew his fingers, positioning himself at the entrance of my body, nudging slowly, slowly inside. He pushed smoothly in past the ring of muscle, joining us, wedding us. I drew back on my knees, resting against Ross’s broad chest and belly. I turned and kissed the side of his throat. He stroked his hand slowly down the length of my torso, stroking my belly.
I shifted in his lap, Ross’s hips pushing against me. His voice was warm against my ear, “I’ll give you this much, Adam. I do love you. Nothing changes that. Nothing could.”
Tears blinded me for an instant as we rocked together in gentle lullaby motion, that seesaw of give and take, the balancing act…and that was love, right? That was marriage? For richer for poorer, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, push pull, an irresistible force meeting an immovable object…and somehow finding a way to make it work?
The heat built like a fever, like joy…
Ross’s hand stroked my hip as he steadied into that rhythm, and then faster and sweeter, and I thrust back at him trying to take him deeper, further, gasping with each hard stroke, shivering with the sweetness of it, the cycle, the circle, beginning and the end of us that was hopefully just another beginning.
I pressed my back and spine against Ross and his fingers laced within mine across my chest, and then he surged up into me and held very still and emptied out all the heat and hunger and heartache.
Then, another couple of tight jerks, and he was slumping forward and taking me with him in a heavy boneless sprawl on the soft fur of the carpet.
We lay there panting for a long time, unmoving. Ross lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the palm.
When his cock finally slipped from my body, he rolled off me, and the loss felt too familiar -- like it could get to be a habit. But he put his arm around me, pulling me close, and we lay for a time on the rug. The rain beat on the roof in steady soothing rhythm, and the fire crackled in counterpoint, and our breathing slowed and steadied and evened out.
After a time he said, “And you think love is enough?”
“Sex helps.” He didn’t laugh and I said, “I think love is the point. Because anything else is just a business contract.”
He said wearily, “I had my life all planned out.”
“I know.”
“You’re not a very good actor,” he said. “I’ve known from the first that you were in love with me.”
“You’re not a very good actor, either,” I said.
The firelight moved across the ceiling beams in lazy, flickering shadow.
He said, “There’s a justice of the peace in Greensboro.”
“Is there?”
He turned his head and pressed his face into my hair. I felt his lips move against my forehead as he said, “Do you have any idea of what I should do with an unused marriage license?”
“I do,” I said.
A Limited Engagement
Copyright © 2008 by Josh Lanyon
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Torquere Press, Inc.: Sips electronic edition / September 2008
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