Matt and Christopher have a movie-night in.
|We were sitting on Christopher’s sofa, watching a movie on his ginormous television when I realized he was watching me more than he was paying attention to Auntie Mame, one of my favorite movies.
“I could trip you,” Patrick said, on screen, as he and Mame fearfully approached Meditation, a wild and dangerous horse she’d said she could ride. On her feet, the shoe-part of the undersized boots she’d claimed she could wear flopped as she walked, her feet having gotten no further than the ankle of the boots. “You’d only break a leg.”
I laughed—this was one of my favorite scenes in the film, and had been since I was a kid . . . watching it with my mom on the Saturdays when she wasn’t in the hospital—though it turned into a moan almost immediately.
“Christopher,” I breathed as my clearly distracted boyfriend nuzzled my neck, his hand settling on my thigh for a few moments to squeeze, before sliding crotch-ward. “We’re supposed to be watching a movie together . . . remember?”
“Mm. . . .” Christopher’s nuzzles turned into playful bites of my neck and ear lobe. His perfect teeth nipped and tugged at my skin until it was all a-tingle and I started to get aroused. “We can do that any time, Matt. Right now, I’m more interested in this particular spot . . . right here.”
And with that, he straddled my thighs—partially blocking the television—latched onto an erogenous zone I didn’t even know I had, and proceeded to suck, nibble, and lick my objections away . . . mostly.
“Remember, we’re supposed to be trying out each other’s tastes. . . .” that last word turned into another moan, as Christopher had unzipped my jeans and was snaking his hand into my boxers. He teased the tip of my very interested cock with precise, feather-light fingers. It felt, as always, amazing. “G-Getting to know each other better. . . .”
“Mmmhmm. . . .” Christopher kissed his way up to my mouth to murmur on my lips: “I’d say this definitely qualifies.”
“Christopher, we’re—oh, fuck—we’re never gonna get to know each other properly if all we do is screw around! Every time we get within five feet of each other, we end up like this!”
“And you’re complaining?” Christopher stopped kissing me to look me in the eyes. His own light brown ones were amused and heated. He’d grabbed hold of my cock and was stroking me just the way I liked: slow and hard, swiping his thumb across the tip with every other stroke.
It was nearly impossible for me to think clearly, and Christopher knew it. Hell, he was doing it on purpose.
“You’re doing this on purpose!” I accused, and he laughed, stealing a kiss that was probably meant to be short, but didn’t end until we were both breathless. Nevertheless, as he pulled away smugly, I still instinctively followed after him for more.
“Again, I ask: You’re complaining?”
“No . . . it’s just,” I took a deep, steadying, much-needed breath and glanced away from Christopher’s still-amused gaze. “I don’t want us to find out, however far down the line, that the only thing between us is this.” I bucked up a little into his grip, a half-aborted thrust that felt far too good. So I did it again, this time with feeling. And oh, what a feeling. Every nerve ending in my over-sensitized cock lit up like a pinball machine going TILT. Christopher had soft hands, compared to mine, but he was a lot stronger than his appearance would suggest. His grip was tight and strong—almost punishing. “I don’t want you to . . . look back, sometime down the road and wonder what in hell possessed you to take up with some damn glorified whittler.”
Christopher’s hand on me stopped, then went away all together. He sighed, and sat back on my legs, watching me. I could feel his gaze, intense and heavy, like July sunlight. But I couldn’t meet it. All I could do was stare at the screen. Mame was half-falling off of Meditation as he galloped all over Creation and back.
“Matt, look at me.”
I did the exact opposite—continued to stare at the television, until Christopher sighed again, and took my chin gently between his first finger and thumb, and turned my face toward his. The amusement and even some of the heat were gone, replaced by a solemn expression I couldn’t read.
“That will never happen, Matt, okay?” He searched my eyes, his own piercing and intent, flecks of grey and green seeming to flash at me, like human semaphore. “I never second guess myself. Especially where you’re concerned. You’re the best thing to happen to me in a very long time. Maybe ever.”
My eyes slid away again, to the screen. Mame was holding the poor beleaguered fox in her riding jacket, and I thought: Yeah, some of that’d be good, right about now. Someplace to hide from this . . . from him. . . .
Because I couldn’t, just couldn’t handle Christopher being sweet to me at this moment. Not when, possibly in the near future, it could all change. Just like it always seemed to, for me. For there would, beyond a doubt, come a time when I just wasn’t enough for him. Or was too much.
I blinked, because suddenly the movie was blurry, doubling and trebling on me. When I did, tears ran down my face.
“Jesus, Matt—” Christopher wiped my tears away a second before I would have, though that didn’t stop my face from going up in flames of sheer mortification. Oh, God . . . not only am I crying like a teenaged girl worried about whether her boyfriend loves her, but I’m crying in front of said boyfriend . . . Christ, I’m a mess.
And Christopher seemed, from what little I could see out of the corner of my eye, kind of freaked out. “Matt, baby, don’t cry—Jesus, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s not you, it’s me,” I said, low and rough, around a throat full of tears.
“Wow. I’ve never been on the receiving end of that line, before,” Christopher said almost dryly, taking my hands and squeezing them. “It kinda sucks.”
I snorted, and wiped at my face, leaning back further into the tar-pit sofa. “No, it really is me. I just . . . I dunno. I don’t wanna mess this, whatever it is, up. Or if it has to be messed up, I want it to happen now, before I fall any deeper in love with you.” Now, I met Christopher’s eyes, though it took all my courage and spine to do it. He was gaping at me in surprise, his eyes saucer-wide.
“My exes . . . I was either too butch, or not butch enough. Or too quiet, or too chatty. Too something else, or not enough of it, and . . . I’m tired of never being just right for anyone.” I looked down at my hands in Christopher’s. “If you’re gonna realize that I’m not right for you . . . please do it before I can’t live without you.”
And in the wake of that—which I hadn’t meant to say out loud and so plainly—dead silence. For almost a minute.
Then, shaking his head and standing up—I immediately missed his warmth and weight, and shivered—Christopher pulled me to my feet, and into his arms. I went willingly and my shivers stopped. We instantly wrapped our arms around each other: mine around his neck, his around my waist, and held each other tight. Christopher began swaying us to the background music in Auntie Mame.
“See, the thing is,” he said softly, leaning our foreheads together, till his face was just an olive-toned blur, with twin sparkles where his eyes were. “The thing is, I think you’re my third bowl of porridge, Baby Bear. You’re just right for me. And it took me almost a year to realize it, but I did finally realize, babe. So, we fuck a lot. Big deal. We’re fantastically great together in bed, and that’s not a thing to be taken lightly or cast aside because we’re trying to invent a connection we already have.” Christopher laughed, one hand sliding down to my ass to squeeze possessively. “Even if we get so old, our dicks don’t work anymore, I will still have a heart-on for you. Because you’re in here, and there’s no getting you out.”
The hand that wasn’t on my ass left my waist to take one of my hands to his chest, where the heartbeat was strong, even, and slightly elevated.
“You’re in here, Matt,” Christopher said again, in a slightly shaky whisper. I smiled, more tears running down my face. But this time, for a different reason entirely. I pulled Christopher’s hand to my chest. Over my heart.
“You’re in here, too.”
Christopher grinned and kissed me, teasing and light at first, then harder and more possessively. He tasted like red wine and tiramisu. I could feel his heart-rate pick up under my hand just before my arm slid back around his neck. He pulled me close, till I was flush against him, and could feel how hard he was—how hard we both were. He smelled musky, but slightly sweet, like Patchouli, and every time he moaned into our kiss, it made the nerves and fillings in my teeth vibrate.
His tongue traced and chased mine, mapping my mouth like unexplored territory. I began to back us toward his bedroom—this wouldn’t be the first time we navigated our way there like this—when the hand on my ass began to fight its way down the back of my jeans. As Christopher’s kisses wended their way south, to my jugular, where they turned into the precursor of livid hickeys, a high-pitched noise came from my throat that only Christopher had ever been able to elicit.
“Yeah,” I exhaled as he sucked at the skin of my throat and scrabbled down the back of my boxers. “I want you inside me five minutes ago. . . .”
Christopher’s kisses turned north again, ending at my mouth, where he nipped my lips first, before settling in to make-out with me like we were in the backseat of his daddy’s car. “What about Auntie Mame?” he asked between wet, breathless kisses. I snorted again.
“What—now you wanna watch it?” I demanded, half-laughing. Christopher’s fingers brushed between my cheeks: another feather-light tease that set me throbbing and hissing.
“Not really interested in movies, right now,” he said in a strained, aiming-to-be-casual voice. “Right now, I want to fill your dark fairy grotto with my pulsing man-organ and creamy love-froth.”
Shocked and horrified, I leaned back to look at Christopher. “What?!”
He shrugged, seeming chagrined and a bit embarrassed. “It seemed more romantical than just saying: I want to fuck your sweet ass with my raging hard-on, and shoot you full of my thick, hot—”
“Okay, okay!” I winced, turning red again. “I get it!”
“Well, good. Now,” Christopher pulled me close once more, his voice dropping an octave as he thrust against my hard-on with his own. “Do you want it?”
Groaning, I let Christopher grind against me, slow and dirty. “Always. Every which way I can get it,” I breathed.
Grinning once again, Christopher stole another kiss, quick and light, before turning me toward his bedroom and walking us out of the living room. The front of his body was plastered against the back of mine and he kept up that slow, dirty grinding as we walked, his hands on my hips and his mouth on my neck.
“Can I ask you just one question? How did you stay on that horse?” Patrick asked from the television, sounding totally flummoxed. I glanced back briefly, smiling, as Mame and Patrick staggered off, exit: stage right.
“It was just like New Haven with the bracelets,” Mame said in a loud, but confidential whisper. “I got stuck, but at the other end!”