“Please.” The word tumbled from his lips, unthinking, a pathetic attempt at getting Ilan to understand how much he needed to feel him.
But apparently Ilan was not the sort of man who required begging. He gave in immediately, his hand pushing past the elastic, brushing through his curls, then taking him into a firm grip that had a shout ripping from his throat.
His eyes filled with tears as he was finally—finally—touched by hands that weren’t his own. And the gentleness of it, the reverence—he had no words, only a sharp, visceral, animal need to make sure it never stopped.
He was lost in the moment when Ilan dragged his briefs away, when he was urged upward against the pillows. He only came to when a large body pressed against his. It was strange, it was terrifying. It was beauty in the most abstract form, and he could not stop touching. His hands drifted, taking in every shape, every soft curve and sharp edge and jagged corner. Ilan’s hips were cut and defined, and his cock jutted out proudly as it brushed a wet trail against his groin.
“I want,” he said, desperately trying to regain language. It was like before—when he’d woken up from the stroke and everything was just a mess of sounds, only now he could find his way through the fog because a perfect man was leaning over him and kissing his senses back into him. “I want to feel you.”
“I’m right here,” Ilan said, and it was only then that Fredric realized how much Ilan was struggling to keep himself together. His voice was shattered, rough, trembling.
Fredric reached both hands up, one curling into Ilan’s hair, the other pressing against his neck to feel that the racing pulse matched his own.
God—he’d been so wrong. So wrong to think this could go any other way except euphoria. Ilan’s hard cock pulsed against him, spilling drops of precome that smeared against his skin. He smelled rich and heady—every bit of him different than anything he’d ever known.
“I don’t think I can last,” he managed, because it was true. Ilan hadn’t touched him more than a single stroke, and he was already teetering at the brink.
He shuddered when Ilan’s laugh rumbled against his skin, and then a mouth kissed him on his nipple, tongue laving, teeth grazing. His balls went tight, and it was by miracle alone he didn’t spill. “That’s okay. We have a lifetime, you know. We can do all of it.”
Those words grounded him. For a moment, he’d been wild with fear that they only had this—that it had to be something and mean something because it might not ever happen again. And Ilan might have been terrified of the future, but he cared about Fredric enough to give him this—and more. He was gifting him with time and patience, and Fredric couldn’t take it.
He grabbed Ilan by the face and kissed him, pouring everything he had into it. He groaned and bit Ilan’s full lips as Ilan’s hand moved between them. And then he knew pleasure like he had never imagined when Ilan’s cock pushed right up against his own, and a hand clamped around them both.
He breathed, he stilled, and then he exploded. His hips were moving without his mind being consciously aware of it, fucking into the circled fingers that gripped him. Ilan’s other hand was between his spread thighs, pulling Fredric’s knee up, then going down to gently roll his balls against his palm, milking him of everything he had left to give.
Fredric’s body trembled, and his chest shuddered with sobbing whimpers. The pleasure felt endless, and it was so much that for a second, he thought he might die from it. He went from having nothing to having everything, and he couldn’t take it.
Ilan was spilling before he could panic. He was thrusting against the cut of Fredric’s hip and sobbing into his neck. His hands had stopped stroking, instead gripping Fredric by the hips like if he let go, the other man might disappear into oblivion.
He found himself grazing the tips of his fingers up and down Ilan’s naked back to soothe him, feeling the ridges of his spine, feeling the defined muscles and the barely-there curve of his ribs. He felt Ilan’s breath catch, and then slowly start to even out, and his lips began to move in soft nips along Fredric’s collarbone.
Silence stretched out between them again, and the darkness—for only a second—was pressing. Then Ilan’s head lifted and warm lips met his in a kiss so tender, it made his toes curl.
“Anyone who ever spent a second not appreciating you is a fucking fool,” Ilan murmured, “but I will never be sorry that it means I get to have this with you.”
Fredric’s fingers dug into his hair, tracing a line up his scalp, coming down to brush around the shell of his ear, down his cheek to feel it lifted in a smile. He breathed, and his voice was there, waiting for him. “You’re everything I think I’ve ever wanted.” And I love you, he finished silently, because there would be a time for those words, but not yet.
This still wasn’t the end. This was barely more than the fairytale kiss, in the grand scheme of things. Ilan was still delicate, still hesitant, and Fredric was going to take his time. He was going to hold him close and love him so hard that when the words finally came, they would just be the period at the end of a long, long sentence.
“Let me clean us up,” Ilan said, and he started to push up, but Fredric gripped his waist.
He held his ground when Ilan tugged against him, and when he finally found his courage, he spoke. “Stay,” he said.
Ilan huffed a laugh. “We are filthy, and if I don’t wipe this up, you’re going to regret it.”
Fredric smiled, and he let go gently, but only to drag his palms up Ilan’s chest to rest them on his shoulders. “No, my darling. I mean…stay.”
There was a long pause, and then a breath that sounded like a soft, “Oh.”
“I want to be your first. I want to be the first person you sleep next to and wake up to in the morning, and I want to be your first breakfast after. I don’t mean forever,” he said, in case Ilan was starting to panic. “Just…for now.”
Fredric held his breath until he was kissed again, and he felt Ilan’s smile that was so big, there were teeth. “Okay,” he said, nuzzling him with several more kisses across his jaw. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
Chapter 21
Ilan slowly rose to consciousness, clinging to the last vestiges of a dream he couldn’t quite picture. It was abstract, more feeling than image, but he wanted to bask in the way it left him sated and settled. Rolling onto his side, he buried his face in a pillow and breathed in, then sat up on his elbow abruptly when he realized he wasn’t in his bed.
The night before came back to him in small bursting memories of touch, of feel. Of searing kisses and of Fredric’s body beneath him. He went hot all over, and his half-hard dick suddenly swelled as he remembered everything. Even the smallest, most minor detail was imbedded under his skin. The way Fredric had gasped and the way he clung. The way his head tipped back on a sharp cry, the way his cock swelled alongside Ilan’s. The way it felt to stroke him until he spilled between them and how fast that dragged Ilan over the edge with him.
His hand stretched out beside him, but the sheets were cold and the pillow had reformed—if Fredric had stayed at all. Ilan felt a short wave of panic, but nothing about the night before made him think Fredric had run. He’d cleaned them up after Fredric dragged a promise out of him to stay. Fredric had come alive under Ilan’s attention, though the sensuality settled into something more like a needy comfort. Fredric kept him close as they settled under the comforter, kept his face pressed to Ilan’s shoulder, mouth close for pressing his lips to bare skin.