Chapter 6: The Morning After
Daniel woke to a low, grey light and a warm, wet pressure around his cock. His mind, still gummed with sleep, struggled to orient itself. The room was unfamiliar. The sheets smelled of cedar and salt. A weight pinned his hips.
He lifted his head.
Craig was between his legs, a broad silhouette in the dawn gloom. His head was down, moving with a slow, relentless rhythm. Daniel could feel the rough scrape of the man’s beard against his inner thighs, the incredible, silken heat of his mouth. Craig’s hand was wrapped around the base of him, working in tandem with his lips, his tongue circling the head with each upward pass.
“Fuck,” Daniel whispered, his voice cracking.
Craig’s eyes flicked up, meeting his. He didn’t stop. He took Daniel deeper, his throat opening, swallowing him down until Daniel felt the head of his cock bump against something soft and resistant. Craig held it there, his body utterly still, and Daniel felt the involuntary pulse of his own arousal, the tight, clenching grip of Craig’s throat. He groaned, his hands fisting in the dark navy sheets.
With a wet, obscene sound, Craig pulled off, his breath hot on Daniel’s slick skin. “Morning,” he rumbled, his voice ruined by sleep and use. He didn’t wait for a reply. His hands, large and unyielding, flipped Daniel onto his stomach.
Daniel gasped, his face pressed into the pillow that smelled like Craig. He felt exposed, his ass in the air, the cool air of the room a shock on his damp skin. Craig’s calloused palms spread his cheeks, holding him open.
“Still loose from last night,” Craig muttered, more to himself than to Daniel. “Good.”
Then his mouth was on him again, but not on his cock. Lower. The flat, wet stroke of his tongue over Daniel’s hole was so shocking, so profoundly intimate, that Daniel cried out, a muffled, desperate sound into the pillow. Craig didn’t tease. He licked, firm and thorough, like he was cleaning him, tasting him. Then he pressed the tip of his tongue inside, and Daniel’s back arched.
“Oh, God.”
Craig ate him with a single-minded hunger, his tongue fucking into him, spearing him open. He was relentless, his hands holding Daniel’s hips steady when they tried to buck away from the overwhelming sensation. It was crude, animal. Daniel was babbling, pleading, words without meaning. He was hard again, achingly so, his cock trapped beneath his own body.
When Craig finally pulled away, Daniel was trembling, slick with sweat and spit. He heard the sound of Craig spitting, a thick, wet sound. Then a cool, slippery glob landed right on his exposed hole. Craig’s thumb smoothed it over him, circling, pressing in just a little.
“Craig, please.”
“Please what?” Craig’s voice was rough. He was positioning himself, the blunt, heavy head of his cock nudging against Daniel’s entrance.
“I need… fuck me. Just fuck me.”
Craig pushed in. There was less resistance than in the shower, but the stretch was still profound, a deep, burning fullness that stole Daniel’s breath. Craig seated himself fully with one long, slow thrust, his hips flush against Daniel’s ass. He stayed there, buried, his body a solid, sweating weight on Daniel’s back. Daniel felt every inch of him, a live wire of sensation.
“So goddamn tight,” Craig breathed into his ear. “Even like this.”
He began to move. It wasn’t the frantic, driving pace from the night before. This was slower, deeper, each withdrawal almost complete before he sank back in with a rolling grind of his hips that rubbed against something inside Daniel that made stars burst behind his eyelids. The slap of skin was a damp, steady rhythm in the quiet room.
Craig’s arm wrapped around Daniel’s chest, hauling him up so his back was against Craig’s sweat-slicked torso. His other hand slid around Daniel’s throat, not squeezing, just holding, a collar of heat and possession. Craig’s mouth was on his shoulder, teeth scraping.
“Take it,” Craig growled into his skin, his thrusts gaining a harder edge. “You take my cock so fucking good. Like you were made for it.”
Daniel was lost. The hand on his throat, the deep, claiming penetration, the filthy words in his ear—it coalesced into a white-hot coil of need in his gut. He reached back, fingers digging into Craig’s muscled thigh, urging him on. “Harder. Come on, do it.”
Craig obeyed. His thrusts became punishing, driving Daniel forward with each snap of his hips. The bedframe knocked a dull rhythm against the wall. Daniel’s own cock, trapped between their bodies, rubbed against Craig’s forearm with every jolt. It was too much, too good. He came with a broken shout, his release streaking the sheets beneath them, his body clamping down hard around Craig’s cock.
The convulsions tipped Craig over the edge. He groaned, a raw, shattered sound, and buried himself as deep as he could, pulsing hotly inside Daniel. He held there, his body rigid, his forehead pressed between Daniel’s shoulder blades, as he emptied himself.
They collapsed together onto the ruined sheets, Craig still sheathed within him. The only sound was their ragged breathing, syncing slowly in the brightening room. Sunlight, pale and weak, began to filter through the blinds, striping the trophies on the dresser, the discarded towels on the floor.
Craig’s hand, which had been on Daniel’s throat, slid up to cup his jaw, his thumb stroking over Daniel’s lower lip. Daniel could taste salt on it.
They lay like that for a long time, until Craig finally softened and slipped out. A warm, wet trickle followed. Daniel flinched at the sensation, but Craig’s arm tightened around his waist, pulling him back against his chest.
“Your parents are back when?” Craig’s voice was quiet, rough.
“End of August,” Daniel said. The reality of his own life felt distant, impossible.
“You’re not leaving today.” It wasn’t a request. It was a low, resonant statement that vibrated through Daniel’s bones.
Daniel turned his head. He could see their reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror across the room. A tangle of limbs, his younger body pale against Craig’s weathered, tan skin. He looked used, marked. Craig’s eyes were open, watching him in the glass.
“No,” Daniel said, the word feeling both like a surrender and a step into uncharted air. “I’m not.”