Chapter 4: Climax
The silence of the morning was a physical weight. Mikey was already awake when I cracked my eyes open, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to every unspoken question between us. We moved through the morning routine like ghosts, the only sounds the rustle of clothes and the running sink. He didn’t mention it. I didn’t mention it. We just let the thing that happened sit there, a monstrous, invisible elephant in our ten-by-twelve-foot room.
“I’m gonna order a pizza,” he said around noon, his voice carefully neutral. “Get some beers. We should… I don’t know. Watch a movie or something.”
“Yeah. Okay,” I said, too quickly. “That sounds good.”
The delivery arrived, and with it, a six-pack of cheap lager. The first beer was drunk in near silence, the cold liquid doing nothing to cut the tension. The second one, however, began to sand down the sharp edges. By the time we’d queued up some generic action movie on my laptop, propping it on the desk between our beds, a fragile, boozy normalcy had settled over us.
We made comments about the cheesy dialogue, the absurd explosions. It was almost like before. Almost.
Then the scene shifted. The hero and the femme fatale were in a penthouse, tangled in sheets, their movements slow and explicit. The sound of soft moans and rustling fabric filled our room, louder than any explosion had been. Mikey shifted on his bed. I took a long pull from my bottle, the beer suddenly tasteless.
“So,” Mikey said, his voice a low rumble that cut through the on-screen passion. He wasn’t looking at me, his gaze fixed on the screen where the actress was arching her back. “About last night.”
My heart stuttered. “Yeah?”
He took a swig of his own beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “It was… I, uh… I liked it.” The admission seemed to cost him something. He finally glanced over at me, his expression a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. “A lot, actually. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”
The air left my lungs. I’d spent the whole day braced for regret, for anger, for him to tell me it was a mistake that would never happen again. This confession, raw and honest, was the last thing I expected.
“I could tell,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
A faint, embarrassed smile touched his lips. “That obvious, huh?”
“The headboard was knocking against the wall, Mikey.”
He let out a short, sharp laugh, the sound loosening another knot of tension in the room. “Right.” He looked down at his casts, then back at the movie, where the sex scene was reaching its cinematic climax. The energy between us had shifted, charged and potent. The pretense of watching the film was gone.
“It’s… frustrating, you know?” he said, gesturing vaguely at his immobilized arms. “Not being able to… take care of things.”
I put my beer down on the floor. The thud of the bottle on the linoleum was deliberate, a period at the end of a sentence. “I could help,” I offered, the words barely a whisper. “Again.”
His eyes locked onto mine. There was no hesitation this time, no internal war. Just a slow, hungry nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
I crossed the small space between our beds and knelt on the floor beside his. My hands were steady now, sure. I pulled his sweatpants and boxers down in one smooth motion. He was already half-hard, anticipation doing most of the work.
But I didn’t use my hand. I leaned forward, my breath ghosting over his skin, and saw him shudder. Then I lowered my head and took him into my mouth.
He gasped, a sharp, startled sound. His hips jerked off the bed. “Ben… fuck.”
I started slow, achingly slow. I used just my lips and the very tip of my tongue, tracing the shape of him, learning the feel of his skin, the weight of him on my tongue. I was a tease, a torment. I’d take him in deep, let him feel the heat of my mouth for a second, and then pull back to feather light kisses along his length.
“Oh, god,” he moaned, his head thrashing on the pillow. “Don’t stop.”
I didn’t stop, but I didn’t give him what he wanted, either. I built him up with slow, languid sucks and then brought him back from the edge with a maddeningly light touch. I was in complete control, and he was utterly at my mercy. His breath came in ragged pants. Pleas fell from his lips, fragmented and desperate.
“Please… more… just… ah, god, Ben, please…”
I pulled off him completely, looking up at his face. It was a mask of exquisite frustration, eyes screwed shut, lips parted. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. “Please what?” I asked, my voice husky.
His eyes flew open, wild with need. “Don’t tease me. Please. I need to come. Let me come.”
That was all I needed to hear. I smiled, a small, private thing, and swallowed him down whole, setting a deep, relentless rhythm that had him crying out, his body bowing off the bed as he begged for more.
The world shrank to the heat and weight of him, the salt-sharp taste of skin, the ragged symphony of his breathing. I lost myself in the rhythm, in the granting of his desperate pleas, my own need a distant echo overshadowed by the power of giving him this. His thighs tightened against my ears, his hips bucking in a stuttering, unrestrained cadence. A guttural sound ripped from his chest, a wounded, triumphant noise that was nothing like the careful moans from the movie still playing on the screen.
Then he was coming, a hot, sudden flood that filled my mouth, a bitter and essential taste I swallowed greedily. There was so much of it that a thin trickle escaped the corner of my lips, tracing a warm path down my chin. He shuddered through the last of it, his body going limp against the mattress as if every string holding him up had been cut.
For a long moment, the only sound was our ragged breathing and the movie’s end credits music swelling in the background. I rested my forehead against his hip, feeling the tremors still coursing through him.
“Jesus,” he finally breathed, the word whistling out of him. He let out a weak, bewildered laugh. “Holy shit, Ben.”
I pulled back slowly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I couldn’t look at him yet, focusing on the faint streetlight glow on the floor.
“That was…” he started, then paused, searching for the words. His voice was soft, stripped of all its usual bravado. “That was the best blowjob I’ve ever had. Seriously.”