“What happened, Michael?”
“Goddammit.” He exhales sharply and stares up—glares up—at the ceiling. “It wasn’t anything you did. A memory came back to me, and it fucked me all up. It’s like, as soon as something like that crosses my mind, there’s no stopping it. Pandora’s box, in a weird way.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t push it like this, then.” Guilt twists beneath my ribs. I knew oral was a problem for him. Fuck. What did I do? “I am so sorry. I thought—”
“No, no.” He turns toward me and cups my cheek. “I wanted to push it.”
“But you said oral is specifically a problem.”
Lips taut, he nods. “It is. And it’s one I want to get past. I can’t let this shit in my head own me anymore.”
I swallow. “What do you want to do, then?”
“Get back on the horse that threw me.” He lifts his eyebrows. “If you’re willing to try again, I mean.”
“Like now?”
He nods.
An uncomfortable prickly feeling starts at the base of my spine and crawls upward. No pressure, indeed.
“I really was enjoying it, by the way,” he says. “Right up until I killed the mood.”
“You didn’t kill the mood. We can still start again.” I lean down to kiss his neck, and against his skin, murmur, “If you’re really sure you’re ready, I’ll gladly do it again.”
He shivers. “W-will you promise me something?”
I meet his eyes. “Anything.”
He touches my face, the apprehension in his quickly vanishing in favor of confidence. And lust. Definitely some burning lust. “This time,” he whispers, “don’t stop until I come.”
My breath halts in my throat. “But if you want to stop, I—”
“I know. I have no doubt.” He lifts his head and kisses me again. “But I don’t want to stop this time. Just promise…”
I kiss him, letting it linger for a moment. Then, “Promise.”
We lock eyes.
One more kiss, and then I start downward just like before. His neck. His collarbone. Down the center of his chest. Down his abs, taking my sweet time because I love the way it feels when a soft kiss makes his muscles tense like that.
“Damn it, Josh,” he grinds out. “I want… Fuck.”
“Getting there.” I glance up, grinning at him. “Patience.”
Whatever he says next, I don’t understand it, but I’m pretty sure it’s profane. Laughing softly, I keep going downward. It’s not just to tease him, though. He’s not the only one who has to work up the courage to see this through. There’s more riding on this than a blowjob, and I’ve never had such intense performance anxiety before. I know how to suck cock. Do I know how to keep his mind here with me and make this fun and pleasurable when he’s got so much trauma tied up with it?
God, I know this probably isn’t something you approve of, but please don’t let Steve in here tonight.
Then I take a deep breath, glance up at Michael one more time, and go down on him.
The second my lips touch his cock, Michael gasps and tenses. I give him a little more—sliding my lips along the shaft, occasionally teasing him with the tip of my tongue—until he releases his breath. Once he’s breathing again, I steady his cock with one hand and start on the head. I run my tongue around it, exploring every ridge and contour just like I did the very, very first time, and I’m rewarded with a whispered, “Holy shit.”
His fingers rake through my hair again. I take him deeper into my mouth, just enough to nudge my gag reflex, and he swears again. The sounds he makes are driving me wild—the little hitches in his breath. The murmured curses. The low, strained groans. Everything he does drives me on, especially the way he keeps his hand in my hair, sometimes running his fingers through it, sometimes grasping it enough to hurt—whatever he does, I’m in heaven.
Michael thrusts up into my mouth. His cock is thicker and harder, his breathing faster, and I give him everything—stroking, twisting, licking, deep-throating now and again.
“Oh God.” He sounds like he’s on the verge of sobbing. “Oh God, Josh…” He fucks my mouth, gripping my hair tighter and gasping for breath, and then he groans, and semen floods my mouth. I swallow, and he keeps coming, and I swallow again, and he keeps coming until he collapses back onto the bed. “Holy fuck.” He exhales, his entire body going limp.
I push myself up on a trembling arm, licking my lips as I move up to join him, and just like I did the first time we ever did this, Michael grabs me, drags me down to him and kisses me. He grips my hair so tight it stings, and he takes the breath right out of me. God, yes—this is the Michael I remember.
We finally come up for air. I touch my forehead to his. We both pant, and shake, and I almost cry because there’s no demons here now. They’ll be back, I’m sure, but for a moment, he’s exactly the way I’ve missed him—trembling with the aftershocks of an orgasm, holding on to me, breathing against me, with no sign of everything that’s haunted him all this time.