Chapter 11: The Slow Unraveling
Kenny leaned in and gave him a kiss, soft but lingering. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
Buck’s right hand came up to stroke his hair. “As sure as I’ll ever be.” His blue eyes were clear, unwavering. “I’m happy to see you trying to be bold with this. Don’t ever suppress your desires, okays?”
The gentle echo of Kenny’s own earlier stumble with the word made him smile. He nodded and kissed him again, long and deep, a slow melding of mouths that tasted like shared breath and certainty. Then he began his descent.
He started at the strong column of Buck’s throat, nuzzling into the space beneath his jaw where his pulse thrummed a steady, vital rhythm. Kenny lapped at the salt-damp skin there, sucking lightly, not to mark, but to savor. He could feel the vibration of Buck’s swallowed groan. He lingered, breathing him in—the clean scent of soap now underpinned by the warmer, muskier signature of arousal and man. He mapped the tendon that tightened when Buck turned his head, kissed the faint scar that threaded through his stubble.
Slowly, oh so slowly, Kenny moved lower. He pressed open-mouthed kisses across the broad plane of Buck’s chest. He licked a slow, wet path over the swell of his right pectoral, feeling the muscle jump under his tongue. He did the same to the left, circling the nipple but pointedly avoiding it, listening to Buck’s breathing grow more deliberate, more controlled. Buck anticipated the contact, his body tensing minutely each time Kenny’s tongue swirled close. Kenny denied him, lavishing attention on the surrounding flesh instead, biting gently at the curve of the pec, sucking a faint pink bloom into the skin.
Buck’s good hand flexed restlessly on the sheet. “Tease.”
Kenny didn’t reply with words. He reached for Buck’s right wrist. He guided it slowly up and back, until Buck’s hand was tucked behind his own head, his bicep flexing, the whole right side of his torso stretched and exposed. The pose opened him, made him beautifully vulnerable. Kenny’s gaze fell to the hollow of his armpit, a shadowed dip he’d only touched in the clinical context of the shower.
This was different.
Kenny lowered his head. He nosed first into the short, scratchy hair. The scent here was profound, sharp and animal and utterly private. It was the smell of Buck’s work, his sweat, his unadorned self. Kenny inhaled, committing it to memory, and then he licked.
A shocked, ragged gasp tore from Buck’s throat. His entire body arched, his left shoulder lifting off the pillow before he hissed and forced it back down.
Kenny did it again. A long, flat stroke of his tongue through the damp hair, over the sensitive skin. He explored the contours with lips and tongue, licking, sucking gently at the very crest where arm met torso. Buck was trembling, his breath coming in stuttering pulls. The vulnerability of it, of this big, strong man reduced to shudders by something so seemingly simple, sent a bolt of pure heat straight to Kenny’s gut. He lingered, worshipping this intimate geography with a focused reverence, until the skin was glistening and Buck was making small, broken sounds with every exhalation.
Only then did Kenny move.
He traveled the short, charged distance to Buck’s right nipple. With his arm stretched back, the pectoral muscle was taut, pulling the nipple into a pronounced, darkened peak. It was erect and begging for attention. Kenny blew a cool stream of air across it first, watching it tighten further, pebbling almost painfully.
He didn’t use his hands. He only used his mouth.
He took the stiff bud between his lips and sucked, hard. Buck cried out, a raw, unfiltered sound. Kenny swirled his tongue around the rigid nub, flicking it rapidly, then sucking it deep again, worrying it with his teeth just to the edge of pain. He could feel the difference the position made—the tissue was fuller, more prominent, a perfect, swollen target. Kenny devoured it. He suckled like he was drawing sustenance, one hand bracing on Buck’s rib cage, feeling the frantic hammer of his heart. He worked it until it was a deep, bruised red, glistening with spit, incredibly sensitive.
He switched to the left, giving it the same brutal, loving attention. He bit down, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make Buck shout, “Fuck! Yes!” Kenny soothed the sting with broad, flat laps of his tongue, then sucked it back into the harsh rhythm. He moved back and forth between them, a relentless pendulum of sensation, until both nipples were utterly ruined—dark, swollen, and so exquisitely sensitive that when Kenny finally just brushed the pad of his thumb over the right one, Buck’s whole body seized as if electrocuted, a jolting, spasming reaction that left him panting.
“Jesus Christ, Kenny,” he slurred, his voice thick and dazed. “What are you doing to me?”
“Worshipping,” Kenny whispered against the burning skin. Then he continued his pilgrimage south.
He treated Buck’s abdomen like sacred scripture. He started at the very top, where the hard ridges of his abs began just below his chest. He kissed the first defined line, tracing its entire length with his tongue from flank to flank. He moved to the next, doing the same, licking into the shallow groove between each muscle. He paid homage to every single one, six distinct plates of tight flesh, each one tasted, each one memorized by touch and texture. He spent what felt like ages on each contour, biting gently at the firm rises, smoothing over the dips with his saliva. Buck’s stomach quivered under the attention, his body involuntarily clenching and releasing. By the time Kenny reached the lowest ab, just above the thatch of blonde hair, Buck was a writhing, sweat-slicked mess, his hips making abortive thrusts into the air.
Kenny nuzzled into the crisp hair, breathing deeply. Then he moved to the shallow well of Buck’s navel.
He circled it slowly with the very tip of his tongue, a lazy, torturous orbit. He blew into it, grinning against the skin when Buck whimpered. He lapped at the edges, teasing, always teasing. Buck’s hands were fists now, the right still anchored behind his head, the left lying carefully at his side, trembling.
“Please,” Buck gritted out, the word strained. “Please, god.”
Kenny pressed his tongue flat against the tight pucker of skin. Then he pushed the tip inside.
Buck shouted. It was a hoarse, desperate sound. Kenny’s tongue delved deeper, fucking into the shallow hole with slow, insistent strokes. The muscle inside was incredibly sensitive, clenching around the intrusion. Kenny swirled his tongue, probed, retreated, and plunged back in. He settled into a rhythm, eating at his navel with a filthy, wet intensity that had Buck sobbing curses into the still air of the bedroom.
“You’re fucking deeping me with your tongue in my belly button, oh my god,” Buck babbled, his composure utterly shattered. “It’s so fucking weird, it’s so good, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop.”
Kenny had no intention of stopping. He lost himself in the act, in the salt and heat, in the way Buck’s powerful frame was utterly pliant beneath him, thrashing in helpless pleasure from this most unexpected of violations. He stayed there, feasting, until his jaw ached and Buck’s pleas had dissolved into mindless, rhythmic gasps.
He stayed there, feasting, until his jaw ached and Buck’s pleas had dissolved into mindless, rhythmic gasps.
Finally, Kenny lifted his head. A string of saliva connected his lips to Buck’s flushed, trembling stomach. He sat back on his heels, his own breath coming hard, and surveyed his work. Buck was wrecked. His skin shone with sweat and spit, his chest heaving, his abused nipples standing out like dark berries. And there, jutting from the thatch of blonde hair, his cock was fully erect, achingly hard, and beaded with a clear drop of precum at the slit.
Kenny reached out. He didn’t take him in hand. He simply extended a single finger and touched that glistening bead, spreading it slowly over the swollen, purplish head.
Buck jerked as if branded, a shattered groan tearing from his throat. His hips canted up, seeking more contact, but Kenny pulled his finger away.
He looked up at Buck’s face. Buck’s eyes were wild, desperate, his lips parted. Kenny smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of his mouth. “I’m actually far from over,” Kenny said, his voice low and rough with his own desire. “I can just spend forever doing this.”
Before Buck could form a coherent protest, Kenny’s fingers, wet with that single drop of precum, went to Buck’s ruined nipples. He rubbed the slickness over them, circling the darkened, puffy flesh, his touch feather-light. Buck whimpered, his back arching off the bed.
Kenny leaned in and kissed him. He poured all the dark, teasing promise of the last hour into that kiss, his tongue sweeping into Buck’s mouth, claiming him. Buck kissed back frantically, all teeth and hunger, his good hand coming up to clutch at Kenny’s hair.
Then Kenny broke away and went back down.
He returned to the right armpit, now damp and thoroughly explored. He licked it again, a slow, proprietary swipe from the hollow all the way up to the straining bicep. The taste was intensely musky, purely Buck. Kenny nuzzled there, inhaling, before lifting his head.
“Where shall I go next?” Kenny asked, his tone conversational, as if asking about the weather.
Buck’s response was a strangled noise. He thrust his hips upward, a blatant, begging motion. “Fuck, Kenny, come on… just… please…”
“Just what?” Kenny prompted, innocently. He lowered his head and licked a broad stripe over the same nipple he’d just anointed, now glistening and hyper-sensitive. Buck cried out, his body bowing. It was darker, almost bruised-looking, but that didn’t stop Kenny. He sucked it back into the heat of his mouth, gentler now but no less focused, tonguing the swollen bud until Buck was shaking.
He switched to the left, giving it the same tormenting attention.
Then his fingers, which had been pinching and rolling the nipples, drifted lower. They trailed through the sweat on Buck’s stomach and found his navel. Kenny pushed two fingers into the tight, wet hole, fucking them shallowly in and out, mimicking his earlier tongue thrusts.
“Christ!” Buck sobbed, his head thrashing side to side on the pillow. “You’re a fucking monster. A gorgeous, terrible monster.”
Kenny just hummed, the vibration travelling through Buck’s skin. He continued the circuit: a slow, sucking lick to the damp armpit, a ruthless attack on the darkened nipples, a slow finger-fuck into the quivering navel. He established a rhythm that was pure torture, a loop of sensation that denied the one thing Buck’s body was screaming for.
Back to the armpit. Lick.
Back to the nipple. Suck.
Back to the navel. Probe.
Buck’s knuckles were white where he gripped the sheet. His cock wept steadily, a slick trail painting his lower abdomen. His breath was a series of sharp hitches and broken pleas. “Kenny… baby… I can’t… I need…”
“You need?” Kenny murmured against his pec, blowing cool air on the spit-slick skin. He didn’t wait for an answer. He just continued his worshipful, merciless circuit.
This continued for what felt like an eternity, the room filled with the wet sounds of Kenny’s mouth and fingers, and Buck’s increasingly ragged, undone sounds of surrender.
This continued for what felt like an eternity, the room filled with the wet sounds of Kenny’s mouth and fingers, and Buck’s increasingly ragged, undone sounds of surrender.
Time dissolved into a haze of salt and sensation. The lamp’s glow seemed to deepen as the night settled heavily against the cottage windows. Buck’s skin, under Kenny’s relentless devotion, had taken on a permanent, fevered sheen. His chest hitched on every inhalation, a trapped rhythm of wanting.
A brutal, needful groan finally broke the cycle. Buck’s right hand suddenly clawed away from behind his head, his arm trembling from being pinned so long, and shot down toward his own straining cock.
Kenny was faster.
He caught Buck’s wrist in a firm, unyielding grip just inches from its target. Buck whined, a raw, animal sound of frustration. “Kenny, fuck, please, I need—”
“No,” Kenny said, his voice quiet but absolute. He didn’t shout. The calm certainty of it was more commanding. “You can’t move your left. You need it to rest. This one,” he said, forcing Buck’s captured right hand back up and over, pressing it firmly into the pillow above his head, “isn’t for that. It’s for you to feel everything I’m doing to you. Now hold still.”
Buck’s resistance melted into a shudder, his bicep straining as his fingers curled into the pillowcase. He was utterly pinned by Kenny’s will, not his strength.
Kenny lowered his head back to the exposed right armpit. It was thoroughly mapped territory now, the short hair matted dark with saliva and fresh sweat. The scent was profoundly stronger, muskier, a dense, hormonal perfume that spoke of prolonged arousal and physical exertion. Kenny buried his face in it, inhaling deeply, and licked a slow, deliberate path through the damp.
He savored the intensified flavor—sharper, saltier, unequivocally male. He stayed there, nuzzling and lapping with a possessive focus, for what felt like another ten minutes. Buck’s trapped arm trembled above him, a testament to the maddening, localized attention.
Only when the trembling became a constant vibration did Kenny relent. He journeyed back to Buck’s chest, to the twin peaks he had ruined hours ago. They were still impossibly erect, dark and puffy against the flushed skin. Kenny didn’t use his hands. He simply leaned down and took the left one back into his mouth, suckling it gently at first, then with increasing pressure, his tongue flicking over the hypersensitive tip.
“I’m gonna lose my fucking mind,” Buck gasped, his voice shredded. “I can’t—I need to come. Kenny, let me come. Just touch me. Just for a second.”
Kenny switched to the other nipple, sucking it deep, grazing it with his teeth. He pulled off with a wet pop. “No.”
“Please. I’m begging you.”
“I know you are,” Kenny murmured, then bent to lick a glistening trail from the hollow of Buck’s throat down his sternum. He bypassed the weeping cock entirely and dipped his tongue into the shallow pool of precum that had gathered in the dip of Buck’s hip bone. He lapped it up slowly, savoring the bitter-salt tang, his eyes locked on Buck’s desperate, pleading face.
“That’s not enough,” Buck sobbed, his hips lifting in a frantic, abortive thrust. “It’s not fucking close. Touch me. Please, just put your hand on me.”
Kenny ignored him. He returned to the nipples, giving each one long, slow pulls with his lips, alternating between them with a torturer’s precision. He collected more leaking precum from Buck’s stomach with his tongue, feeding it into his own mouth before sharing it in a wet, deep kiss that Buck returned with frantic, helpless hunger.
“You taste so good,” Kenny whispered against his mouth. “All of you. I don’t need to touch you there to make you feel this.”
“I can’t,” Buck chanted, his body taut as a bowstring. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t hold it. It’s gonna happen. It’s just gonna fucking happen.”
“It won’t,” Kenny said, utterly confident. He slid down Buck’s body, his own arousal a fierce, neglected ache, and took the head of Buck’s cock into his mouth for one unbearable second. He swirled his tongue around the slit, drinking the fresh spill of precum, then released him with a soft sigh, blowing cool air over the wet, purple flesh.
Buck screamed, a raw, broken sound that was mostly vowel. His entire body convulsed, his back arching clear off the mattress. It was a dry, agonizing convulsion, his muscles seizing with the promise of a climax that had nowhere to go. He collapsed, panting, tears leaking from the corners of his clenched eyes.
Kenny watched him, his own breath shaky. He leaned over, kissed a tear from Buck’s temple, and whispered into his ear, “See? I told you. You’re mine to worship. And I’m not done.”
And I’m not done.”
Buck’s plea dissolved into a shattered gasp as Kenny moved. He didn’t go for Buck’s cock, which pulsed angrily against his stomach, a vein throbbing along its length. Instead, Kenny slid back down the sweat-slicked terrain of Buck’s torso, his own breath hot and ragged against the wet trail he’d left earlier.
His mouth found the tight, shallow pucker of Buck’s navel.
He licked.
It was a flat, deliberate stroke that made Buck’s hips jackknife off the mattress. A broken, wordless sound tore from Buck’s throat. Kenny didn’t pause. He pressed his face into the quivering plane of Buck’s stomach, his nose nudging the coarse blonde hair, and he began to eat at the hole with a focused, obscene hunger.
His tongue pushed inside, fucking into the tight, clenching muscle with shallow, relentless thrusts. It was wet and filthy and so profoundly intimate that Buck’s whole body seemed to short-circuit, twitching in helpless, overwhelmed spasms.
At the same time, Kenny’s hands came up.
His thumbs found Buck’s nipples. They were still dark, swollen, and impossibly sensitive from hours of abuse. Kenny didn’t pinch. He pressed the pads of his thumbs down on the rigid nubs and began to rotate them in slow, grinding circles.
“Fuck! God! No!” Buck screamed, his voice cracking. The dual assault was catastrophic. The sharp, electric agony-pleasure radiating from his chest fused with the deep, weird, internal violation of his navel. His brain couldn’t process it. It was too much.
Kenny increased the pressure on his nipples, the circles becoming tighter, more insistent. His tongue delved deeper into the belly button, lapping and probing, a vile, wonderful penetration. He could feel Buck’s abdominal muscles clenching in a frantic, rhythmic pattern, trying to eject the intrusion and arching into the pain in his chest all at once.
Buck was sobbing openly now, tears mingling with the sweat on his temples. “Stop, please, I can’t, it’s too much, it’s gonna make me come, please, Kenny, it’s gonna make me come just like this!”
Kenny ignored him. He sucked the skin around the navel into his mouth, biting the tender ridge, then plunged his tongue back inside. His thumbs kept up their merciless, rotating torture on the hypersensitive peaks of Buck’s chest, reddening the already bruised flesh.
The sensation wasn’t localized. It was a circuit of pure, devastating stimulus. It sparked from his chest, wired down through his gut, and coiled in his balls, a tightening spring with no release valve. His cock kicked, spitting a fresh, pathetic dribble of precum that painted a cold stripe on his heaving stomach.
Kenny rode him through the violent, body-wracking shudders, his mouth and hands working in a brutal, synchronized rhythm until Buck was nothing but a shuddering, over-sensitized ruin, his pleas devolved into a choked, continuous moan.
Then, and only then, did Kenny stop.
He lifted his head. His lips were slick and swollen. He removed his thumbs from Buck’s ruined nipples, leaving them throbbing and exposed to the cool air. He sat back, kneeling between Buck’s splayed thighs, and just looked at him.
Buck was wrecked. Truly, utterly wrecked. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, swimming with tears and something like awe. His breath hitched in wet, irregular gasps. Every few seconds, a full-body tremor would seize him, a leftover current from the storm Kenny had conducted on his nerves.
“You…” Buck tried, his voice a ravaged scrape. “You are… fucking terrifying.”
Kenny wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn’t smile. His hazel eyes were dark, intense, bottomless pools in the lamplight. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the mattress on either side of Buck’s hips, caging him in.
“You have no idea,” Kenny whispered, the words a soft, dangerous promise, “what I’m going to do to you next.”