Chapter 15: Morning Appraisal
The scent of sugar and yeast from the patisserie below had seeped into the very fabric of the apartment, a permanent, sweet perfume that clung to their sheets and skin. Bry woke to it, and to the weight of Jules’ head on his chest, a warm, breathing anchor. Sunlight, thick and golden, cut through the window and lit the dust motes dancing above them. His left arm was asleep, pinned under Jules’ slight frame, but he wouldn’t have moved for anything.
The memory of the night before—the fairy lights, the shock on Jules’ face, the feel of the ring sliding onto his finger—was a live wire in his chest. It hummed there, a constant, joyous current.
Jules stirred, a soft noise escaping his throat as he nuzzled deeper into Bry’s side. His green eyes, when they fluttered open, were hazy with sleep. He blinked, focused on Bry’s face, and then a slow, devastating smile spread across his lips. He wiggled the fingers of his left hand, which were splayed across Bry’s sternum. The two bands, intertwined into one, caught the light.
“Still there,” Jules whispered, his voice rough with sleep.
“It’s not going anywhere, Kiwi,” Bry said, his own voice a low rumble. He shifted, rolling onto his side to face him fully, the sheets pooling around their waists. The morning air was cool on his bare skin. He traced the line of Jules’ jaw, then let his thumb brush over the soft, pink bud of his nipple. Jules arched into the touch, a sharp, eager little intake of breath his only reply.
Bry’s hand drifted lower, over the gentle swell of Jules’ stomach, through the fine, dark hair that led down. He cupped him, feeling the soft, vulnerable weight of his balls, the slender base of his cock already beginning to firm up under his palm. It was so perfect, so his.
“I want to feel you,” Bry murmured, his mouth close to Jules’ ear. “All of you. I want to taste what I did to you last night.”
Jules’ hips gave a helpless twitch. “Bry…”
“Shhh. Just lie back.” Bry’s voice was gentle but firm, a command wrapped in a caress. He pushed the sheets all the way down, exposing Jules to the morning light and his hungry gaze. He kissed his way down the delicate column of Jules’ throat, over the faint marks his stubble had left the night before, down the center of his chest. He took one of Jules’ small, tender breasts into his mouth, sucking lightly, flicking his tongue over the nipple until it was a hard, pebbled point. Jules cried out, his back bowing off the mattress, his hands fisting in Bry’s hair.
“Please,” he begged, his composure already in tatters. “God, please.”
Bry moved lower, his breath hot on Jules’ stomach. He nuzzled the thatch of dark hair, inhaling the musky, intimate scent of him. He didn’t hesitate. He took the entirety of Jules’ petite, fully erect cock into his mouth in one smooth, wet motion.
Jules screamed. It was a high, shattered sound that echoed in the sunlit room. His hips bucked off the bed, but Bry held him down, a solid weight across his thighs. Bry worked him with his mouth, a ruthless, knowing rhythm. He used his tongue to lap at the sensitive head, his lips to create a tight, sucking seal, his hand to gently massage his balls. He could feel the tiny, frantic pulses that meant Jules was already close. He wanted him there. He wanted him wrecked.
“I’m gonna… Bry, I’m gonna come!” Jules gasped, his body tensing like a drawn bowstring.
Bry pulled off with a wet pop, his own cock aching and thick against his stomach. “Not yet,” he growled. He manhandled Jules onto his stomach, the move swift and effortless. Jules went willingly, pliant and desperate. He buried his face in the pillow, his ass in the air, a silent, lewd invitation.
Bry spat into his own hand, slicking his length generously. He didn’t need more; the sight of Jules like this, the memory of last night, the burning fact of the ring on his finger, had him leaking pre-come like a faucet. He positioned himself at that tight, clenching entrance.
“This is mine,” he grunted, pushing the head against him. “This fucking perfect ass is mine.”
“Yes!” Jules sobbed into the pillow. “Yours, always yours, fuck, please!”
Bry drove into him in one long, brutal stroke, sheathing himself to the hilt in that blinding, hot tightness. Jules screamed again, a muffled, broken sound. Bry didn’t wait for him to adjust. He set a punishing pace from the start, each thrust a raw, possessive claim. The headboard slammed against the wall in a steady, rhythmic bang, a counterpoint to their ragged breathing and the slick, filthy sound of their bodies connecting.
He leaned over, covering Jules’ smaller body with his own, one hand braced on the mattress, the other wrapping around Jules’ chest, fingers finding a nipple and pinching it hard. He fucked into him like a man possessed, each snap of his hips jarring and deep.
“You gonna come on my cock, Kiwi?” he snarled into his ear, his voice guttural and unlike his own. “You gonna spill all over yourself while I’m buried inside you?”
“Yes! God, yes, Bry, just like that!” Jules was babbling, tears of overwhelming pleasure streaking his face. His own small cock was trapped between his stomach and the mattress, rubbing with every violent thrust. Bry could feel his body beginning to convulse, the muscles inside him fluttering wildly around his length.
“Do it,” Bry commanded, pounding into him with a final, deep surge. “Come for me.”
Jules’ entire body seized. A raw, torn shout was ripped from his throat as he came, his release hot and wet against his own stomach and the sheets beneath him. The violent clenching of his orgasm was too much. Bry’s own control shattered. With a guttural roar, he buried himself as deep as he could and poured into Jules, his own climax a white-hot explosion that seemed to go on forever, pumping his release deep inside that clutching, perfect heat.
He collapsed on top of him, spent, his weight fully on Jules’ slight frame. They lay there, glued together by sweat and come, breathing in ragged, synced gasps. The only sound was the headboard’s faint, final creak and the distant hum of the city below.
After a long while, Bry softened and slipped out, a slow, wet slide. He rolled off, pulling Jules with him, tucking him against his side. He pressed a kiss to his sweat-damp temple.
Jules let out a shaky, breathless laugh. “So… wedding night’s going to be interesting.”
Bry chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. He looked at their hands, tangled together on his stomach. The intertwined rings glinted. “You have no idea, Kiwi.” He closed his eyes, the profound rightness of it all settling in his bones like a fundamental truth. The game was over. He’d won everything.
He’d won everything. The thought was a warm, solid thing in his chest, more real than the morning light filtering through the window. Jules’ breathing had evened out against his side, a soft, steady rhythm that spoke of utter contentment. Bry traced idle patterns on Jules’ bare shoulder, the skin still damp and warm from their earlier efforts.
Downstairs, the faint clatter of a baking sheet and the rich aroma of brewing coffee began to seep under the door. Jules stirred, nuzzling closer. “I can hear your stomach from here,” he murmured, his voice sleep-rough and fond. “We should probably face the world eventually.”
“The world can wait,” Bry said, but his own stomach growled in protest. He thought of Axle’s booming laugh, Kaitlyn’s knowing smile—how they’d whooped and cheered last night, part of the moment forever. “I still can’t believe I did that in front of everyone.”
Jules propped himself up on an elbow, his green eyes sparkling. “You mean when you almost dropped the ring box? My heart stopped.” He grinned, a flash of pure mischief. “Axle’s face was priceless, like he was holding his breath the whole time.”
“He told me he would kill me if I messed it up,” Bry laughed, the memory loosening something in him. He swung his legs out of bed, the wooden floor cool under his feet. “Come on. I need food, and you need to stop looking so smug.”
“I’m engaged,” Jules sing-songed, stretching like a cat, the sheet pooling around his waist. “I’m allowed to be smug.” He followed Bry into the small kitchen, the tiles cold on their bare skin. Bry filled the kettle, the mundane act feeling strangely profound.
Jules leaned against the counter, watching him. “Kaitlyn sent me like, fifteen texts last night after we bailed.” He scrolled through his phone, a soft laugh escaping. “She’s already planning the bachelorette party. She says it involves a winery and male strippers.”
Bry poured boiling water over the coffee grounds, the rich scent blooming between them. “Tell her the strippers are negotiable, but the winery is a hard yes.” He passed Jules a mug, their fingers brushing. “I still can’t get over how you looked when I knelt down.”
“I think I forgot how to breathe for a second,” Jules admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. He looked down at his ring, then back at Bry, his expression open and vulnerable. “All I saw was you.”
Bry pulled him into a hug, the coffee mug held carefully aside. He breathed in the scent of Jules’ hair, sugar and sleep and them. This was it. This was the resonance he’d been chasing his whole life.
A loud, insistent knocking echoed from the door downstairs, followed by Axle’s unmistakable voice. “Yo! Lovebirds! We know you’re alive in there! We brought pancakes!”
Jules pulled back, his eyes wide with mock alarm. “He has a key, doesn’t he?”
“He absolutely has a key,” Bry confirmed, a sense of normalcy and rightness washing over him. The game was over, but the real play was just beginning.