Then he opened his eyes again and shifted onto one hand. As Stefan reached between them, every muscle in Frank’s body contracted with anticipation, and he groaned as Stefan’s fingers closed around his cock. He wasn’t going to last. No way. His orgasm was moments, if not seconds away, especially as Stefan thrust into him harder.
Frank forced his eyes to focus, quickly scanned Stefan’s abs and chest and arm—fuck, he’s gorgeous—in search of any cuts or scrapes that might be in the line of fire, but saw none, and closed his eyes again.
“Oh God. I’m gonna . . .” Frank paused, searching for some goddamned breath. “Please tell me I can come.”
Stefan gave a soft laugh. “I never said you couldn’t while I’m fucking you.”
That was all Frank needed. His back arched, his body tensed, and as he came, Stefan made a soft, helpless sound, and then groaned and fucked Frank hard, abandoning slow and easy for desperate and demanding, if only for a few quick, uneven strokes.
“Holy shit.” Stefan dropped onto his forearm. “Fuck, man . . .”
Frank laughed, really laughed, because the situation was just so precious—he should have been worried about scrapes or cuts, should worry about his cum, should maybe freak out, but he couldn’t get over how amazing this had been. How this hot guy had rolled right through his defences, and they were both . . . he couldn’t even put it into words. This was good. He’d wanted Stefan so bad, wanted him again soon, even though he hadn’t even yet managed to pull his dick out, let alone build up enough arousal to put it back in, and here they were, both not strangers to sex, and it was all so heartfelt and raw and good.
“Hope you’re not laughing at me.”
He kissed Stefan again, his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, pulled him close and felt himself and Stefan breathe together, like nothing else mattered.
And nothing else did.
“You were laughing at me.”
Which made Frank laugh again. He kissed him, and it all felt so tender and caring it hurt in his chest. “No. Just . . . I needed this so badly. You’d think for one who makes a living that way . . .” I’d be more jaded. But I’m not. This feels entirely different.
“Know what? More for me.” Stefan pulled back enough to slip out, then traced a line through a drop of Frank’s cum, and their gazes met because Frank was sure he’d shuddered.
“Maybe . . .” Frank inhaled deeply, but that mellow post-orgasm haze helped him gather his courage. “Will likely kill the mood, but just saying . . .”
Stefan shook his head. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“Right. My, uh. Virus load is very low. I mean, very low. I’ve been taking my pills and keeping on top of things, and my doctor is very happy with me. Tells me I’m quite likely to get a beer paunch and die of something cardiovascular like normal people. I’ve had it for a while. It’s . . . I’m coping with it. My body is. These days it’s more like diabetes or so I guess, unless of course it does decide to fuck you up.”
“One problem.” Stefan’s voice was firm.
The pulse jumped up in Frank’s throat. Don’t tell me you’re positive too or something. Can’t deal with it. Hard enough as is.
Stefan cracked a smile. “Paunch? Not happening.”
Oh you fucking bastard.
Despite the joke, the expression in Stefan’s eyes said, I understand, and that helped. He did believe in disclosure. Maybe you had to hit your mid-thirties at least before you could actually admit a weakness like that, things that you were scared of.
“Confession time, then.” Stefan lifted an eyebrow.
“Yeah.”
“My name isn’t Stefan.” Stefan looked intently at him. “Figured I should have told you earlier, but I liked how it sounded when you said it.” He grinned. “Name’s Brandon.”
“That’s nice, too.” Frank thought he sounded somewhat lame—he had liked the name, but it made sense to use a nom de cock, as it were. “Brandon. Will have to tell the others . . .”
“No.” Brandon grinned. “Right now, that’s only for you.”
“Convenient. Since all of this is only for you right now.”
Brandon laughed. “I do so love the spoils of war.”
Frank chuckled. They both got up and managed to share a shower that was for the purpose of getting clean and nothing else. Aside from some kissing, anyway. Maybe a lot of kissing. A hell of a lot of kissing, but at least they washed first.
And there was something clean, Frank realised, about the way they were kissing under the hot water. There was plenty of desire still simmering under the surface, plenty of sex waiting to be had, but for the moment, they were content to let this linger. Arms wrapped around each other, kissing like they had all night and then some. It was passionate and still somehow almost . . . chaste. Intimacy for its own sake, not as a prelude to something more.