Chapter 6: Slow Undressing
The kiss on the balcony had been a question. The walk inside was the answer.
Kenny led him by the hand, through the sliding glass door, leaving the night and the empty wine glasses behind. The living room was dark, lit only by a single lamp in the corner that cast the bookshelves in long, skeletal shadows. Buck’s presence seemed to expand, filling the quiet space with a new, charged gravity.
They stopped beside the bed, its sheets rumpled from Kenny’s restless sleep the night before. The town’s quiet hum was still there, but now it felt like a heartbeat underneath everything.
“Are you sure?” Kenny asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was already pulling Buck’s shirt from the waistband of his jeans, his fingers brushing hot skin.
Buck’s response was another kiss, deeper, hungrier. He cradled Kenny’s face in both hands, his thumbs stroking his cheekbones. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he breathed against his lips.
Kenny’s hands worked at the buttons of Buck’s henley, his movements clumsy with urgency. Each button gave way to more sun-warmed skin, to the defined plains of his chest. He pushed the fabric off Buck’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. The lamplight caught the intricate lines of ink that decorated his torso and arms—a sprawling, artistic map of his history. A phoenix across his left pec, its wings stretched toward his shoulder. Script along his ribs that Kenny couldn’t read yet. A bold, traditional firefighter’s cross on his right bicep.
“Jesus,” Kenny murmured, his gaze tracing the art. He pressed his palm flat against the phoenix, feeling the powerful thump of Buck’s heart beneath. Then he leaned in and closed his mouth over one peaked nipple.
Buck hissed, his hands flying to Kenny’s hair. “Fuck, Kenny.”
Kenny laved and sucked, using his tongue, his teeth grazing lightly until the nub was hard and wet. He moved to the other, giving it the same devoted attention, listening to the sounds buckling out of Buck—low groans, sharp intakes of breath. He kissed down the hard line of his sternum, following the trail of fine blonde hair that disappeared into his jeans.
“Your turn,” Buck growled, and his own hands made quick work of Kenny’s shirt, pulling it up and over his head. The air was cool on Kenny’s skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Buck’s body pressing against him, skin to skin, the crisp hair of Buck’s chest teasing his own smoother flesh. They stood there for a moment, just feeling the contact, their breaths mingling, cocks already hard and straining against each other through their denim.
Buck leaned in, his mouth at Kenny’s ear. “I want to see you. All of you.”
Kenny nodded, stepping back to shuck his jeans and briefs in one anxious move. He stood there, exposed, under Buck’s blazing blue gaze. Buck looked at him like he was something precious and devastating all at once. Then Buck undid his own jeans, pushed them down, and kicked them away. He was magnificent—all corded muscle and powerful lines, his cock thick and curving upward, already leaking at the tip.
Kenny reached for him, but Buck gently guided him backward until his knees hit the bed. “Lie down,” Buck said, his voice rough.
Kenny did, settling against the pillows. Buck followed him down, covering him, his weight a solid, welcome anchor. They kissed again, a slow, deep exploration that tasted of wine and desire. Buck’s hips rolled, his cock sliding against Kenny’s, and the friction drew a broken moan from Kenny’s throat.
“You feel so good,” Buck muttered, dragging his lips down Kenny’s neck, sucking a mark just above his collarbone. His hands were everywhere—sweeping down Kenny’s sides, gripping his hips, palming his ass.
Kenny arched into him, his own hands mapping the tattoos, the scars, the unbelievable strength of his back. “Buck… please.”
“Please what?” Buck asked, kissing his way down Kenny’s chest.
“I want to taste you.”
Buck paused, looking up, his eyes dark with need. He shifted, kneeling between Kenny’s legs. Kenny pushed himself up on his elbows, his gaze locked on Buck’s cock. He leaned forward and took the head into his mouth.
The sound Buck made was pure wreckage. Kenny swirled his tongue over the slit, licking up the salty pre-come, then sank down further, taking more of him. He used one hand to stroke the base, his other gripping Buck’s muscular thigh. He loved the weight of him on his tongue, the feel of him hitting the back of his throat, the way Buck’s abdominal muscles jumped and tightened.
“Oh, god… your mouth is so fucking good,” Buck choked out, his hands once again tangling in Kenny’s hair. He didn’t force, just held, his hips making tiny, helpless thrusts. “Just like that. Yeah.”
Kenny lost himself in the rhythm, in the scent of Buck’s skin, in the stifled curses and praises falling from above. But he wanted more. He pulled off with a wet pop, looking up. “I want you inside me.”
Buck shuddered. “You have lube?”
“Bedside drawer.”
Buck reached over, fumbling it open. The sound of the cap snapping open was starkly intimate. He coated his fingers, his eyes never leaving Kenny’s. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
Kenny just spread his legs wider, an invitation. The first touch of Buck’s slick finger against his hole made him jump. Buck leaned down, kissing his knee, his thigh, as he pressed inside, slowly, one thick finger working him open. It was a stretch, a burn that quickly melted into a deep, full feeling. Kenny pushed back against it, wanting more.
“Another,” he breathed.
A second finger joined the first, scissoring, stretching. Buck curled them, and Kenny cried out, his back bowing off the bed as pleasure, sharp and bright, shot through him.
“There?” Buck asked, doing it again, his voice full of wonder.
“Yes, fuck, right there.”
Buck prepped him with a thorough, relentless focus that drove Kenny to the edge of sanity. When he added a third finger, Kenny was begging, nonsensical words falling from his lips. He was so open, so ready, he felt empty the moment Buck withdrew his fingers.
Buck slicked his own cock, a grimace of pure need on his face. He positioned himself, the broad head nudging against Kenny’s entrance. “Look at me,” he said.
Kenny forced his eyes open. Buck was braced above him, every muscle taut, his expression fiercely tender.
He pushed in.
The stretch was immense, breathtaking. Kenny gasped, his nails digging into Buck’s shoulders as he was filled, slowly, irrevocably. Buck sank deeper, an endless, perfect invasion, until their hips were flush and he was fully sheathed. They both froze, panting, connected in the most fundamental way.
“Okay?” Buck gritted out, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“More than okay.” Kenny wrapped his legs around Buck’s waist, pulling him closer. “Move. Please, move.”
Buck withdrew almost all the way, then slid back in with a long, smooth stroke that knocked the air from Kenny’s lungs. He set a pace that was deep and deliberate, each thrust a revelation. The bed rocked against the wall, making the books on the nearby shelf whisper and tremble.
“You’re so tight,” Buck groaned, burying his face in Kenny’s neck. “So fucking perfect for me.”
The words unlocked something in Kenny. He met every thrust, riding the wave of pleasure building at his core. Each drive of Buck’s hips brushed that incredible spot inside him, sparking fire along his nerves. The sounds were obscene—skin slapping against skin, wet, sucking noises, their ragged breaths and desperate moans.
“Harder,” Kenny pleaded. “Don’t be gentle.”
A growl ripped from Buck’s throat. He obeyed, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more possessive. He hooked one of Kenny’s legs over his arm, driving in at a new angle that made Kenny see white behind his eyelids.
“Yes! Right there, god, right there!” Kenny chanted, his own cock trapped between their bodies, leaking and untouched.
Buck was muttering filth against his skin. “Take it… take all of me, you feel that? You’re mine like this… so deep inside you… gonna come in you, fill you up…”
The raw, dirty words were the final trigger. Kenny’s orgasm slammed into him without warning, tearing a raw shout from his throat. He came in hot stripes between their stomachs, his body clamping down on Buck’s cock in rhythmic, milking pulses.
The feeling tipped Buck over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his own cry muffled against Kenny’s shoulder. Kenny felt the hot spill of him, the pulses deep inside, and it prolonged his own pleasure into a slow, blissful unraveling.
Buck collapsed, a dead weight, but Kenny welcomed it. He held him as they both fought for air, still joined. Buck turned his head, placing a soft, open-mouthed kiss on Kenny’s chest, right over his pounding heart.
Slowly, Buck softened and slipped out. He rolled to the side, gathering Kenny against him, their limbs tangled, skin slick with sweat and come. The room smelled of sex and them.
The room smelled of sex and them.
For a long while, there was only the sound of their breathing slowing, the distant, companionable sigh of a truck on the highway. Kenny’s mind was quiet, a hollowed-out shell washed clean by sensation. Buck’s arm was a heavy, solid weight across his stomach, his fingers idlessly tracing circles on Kenny’s hip.
“That was…” Kenny started, his voice raspy.
“Yeah,” Buck finished, the word a vibration against Kenny’s temple. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.
The comfortable silence stretched. Kenny became aware of the sticky drying come on his belly, the pleasant, deep ache between his legs. He turned his head, his nose brushing Buck’s shoulder. The phoenix tattoo was blurred this close, a storm of ink and heat. He placed a soft kiss on it.
Buck shivered.
A sudden, quiet urgency moved through Kenny. The vulnerability of lying there, spent and exposed, was suddenly vast. He needed to touch, to reclaim some agency, to worship the body that had just wrecked him. He pushed himself up on one elbow.
“What’re you doing?” Buck murmured, his blue eyes slits of exhausted contentment.
“Not done with you yet.”
Kenny rolled, his movements clumsy with spent muscles, until he was straddling Buck’s hips. The shift made Buck hiss softly as their sensitive flesh brushed. Kenny looked down at him, at the magnificent landscape of his chest, the smeared ink, the rise and fall of his breath. He placed his palms flat on the hard planes of Buck’s pectorals.
Then he bent down and took Buck’s right nipple into his mouth.
He didn’t just suck. He nursed at it, a slow, tender, persistent pull of his lips and tongue, lavishing the peaked nub with a focus that was almost devotional. His hand came up to tease the other, rolling the tight bud between his finger and thumb.
“Christ, Kenny,” Buck whispered, his head tipping back into the pillow, a fresh tremor running through him. His hands came up to rest on Kenny’s thighs, not guiding, just holding on.
Kenny switched sides, giving the left nipple the same devoted, wet attention. He could feel Buck stirring again beneath him, a thickening interest against his ass. He loved this—the power to draw reactions from this strong, resilient body, to map the responses Buck couldn’t suppress. He laved and sucked until both nipples were dark, wet, and utterly hard, until Buck’s breathing was no longer slow but sharp and controlled.
Buck’s hands slid up to grip Kenny’s hips, his thumbs pressing into the bone. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“You’re a firefighter,” Kenny said, lifting his head. A string of saliva connected his lips to Buck’s chest for a second before breaking. “You’re supposed to be resilient.”
“Not resilient to this.” Buck’s gaze was dark, hungry again. “To you.”
He surged up, flipping them with a grunt of effort, pinning Kenny beneath him once more. The move was all possessive grace. “My turn.”
He didn’t ask. He kissed down Kenny’s sternum, his mouth hot and demanding, and engulfed Kenny’s half-hard cock without warning.
Kenny shouted, his back arching off the bed. Buck’s mouth was a wet, searing heaven, his tongue doing filthy, clever things. He sucked him back to full, rigid hardness with a brutal efficiency that left Kenny clawing at the sheets. Buck deep-throated him once, making Kenny sob, then released him with a wet pop.
He grabbed the lube from where it had been tossed aside. He slicked his fingers, his eyes on Kenny’s face, and pushed two back inside him in one smooth, claiming stroke.
“Still so open for me,” Buck growled, curling his fingers. “Still mine.”
He scissored them, stretching him anew, adding a third much faster this time. The burn was sharper now, a bright flash of pain that melted instantly into a deep, craving need. Kenny was babbling, “Yes, yes, now, fuck me, please, now.”
Buck coated himself, his own cock angry and full. He positioned Kenny’s legs over his shoulders, bending him almost in half. The angle was obscene, exposing. He didn’t tease. He lined up and drove home in one relentless thrust.
The penetration was a shock, so deep it stole the air from Kenny’s lungs. Buck didn’t wait for him to adjust. He set a punishing, piston-like rhythm, each slam of his hips punching a ragged noise from Kenny’s throat. The bedframe hammered the wall in a steady, frantic beat.
“You take it so good,” Buck grunted, sweat dripping from his chin onto Kenny’s heaving chest. “So fucking deep. Can you feel it? Every inch.”
“I feel it,” Kenny choked out. “God, I feel it in my throat.”
Buck’s pace was relentless, a physical conversation that bypassed thought. It was all friction and slap and greedy, clutching heat. Kenny met him thrust for thrust, their bodies colliding with a wet, meaty sound. He reached between them to fist his own cock, stroking in time with Buck’s drives.
“Come for me,” Buck commanded, his voice ragged. “Come on my cock. Let me feel you.”
The order, the sheer dominance of it, was the final key. Kenny’s orgasm ripped through him, violent and silent for a second before the cry broke free. His come striped his own stomach and chest in hot jets, his channel clenching and fluttering around Buck’s invading length.
The intense, rhythmic squeezing pulled Buck under. He slammed in once, twice more, then stilled, buried to the root. A broken, guttural roar tore from him as he emptied himself, his hips jerking through the pulses. Kenny felt the hot flood inside, a possessive, final claim.
Buck collapsed forward, catching his weight on his forearms beside Kenny’s head. They were both slick, heaving messes. Kenny’s legs slid bonelessly from Buck’s shoulders to rest on the bed.
For minutes, there was only the sound of their struggle for air. Buck eventually softened and slipped out. He rolled to his side, pulling Kenny against him so Kenny’s back was to his chest. He wrapped an arm around him, his hand splayed over Kenny’s heartbeat.
The quiet returned, but it was different now. It wasn’t the quiet of an empty house Buck feared. It was a shared, saturated silence, thick with the smell of their skin and spent sex.
Buck nuzzled the back of Kenny’s neck, his breath warm. “The tulips are different here,” he whispered, his voice raw.
Kenny understood. He laced his fingers through Buck’s where they rested on his chest. Outside, a real siren wailed in the distance, fading toward the river. It didn’t sound like a warning anymore. It just sounded like life, moving on, and they were here, in the center of it, holding on.