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Chapter 11 |
'More,' he says breathlessly, 'more.' And proceeds to take what he wants. Sandburg can kiss, Jesus, can he kiss. Full-body commitment kisses. Kisses that compromise my ability to breathe, my control over my body, my sanity. He backs off a bit, looks down at me. 'Jim?' I'm afraid and exhilarated, anxious and ecstatic, trusting him to guide me here. I want him. The inner Ellison is aching with want, but the outer Ellison is afraid to say it, afraid to say anything. As if Sandburg can sense what I want, or maybe because no answer is as good as a yes, he leans back in, always braver than me. His lips, his tongue, the words he whispers between attacks, excite, incite, invite me. I wrap my arms around him, more daring with actions than with words. He spreads my legs with his knee and settles in. I can barely breathe now, focus shifting from his lips to where he's rocking gently against me. Taking pity on me, he moves from my mouth to my neck. Doesn't help, I'm still panting, not getting enough air. I stare at the sky, feeling the world changing right here on the blanket. Sandburg nips and kisses across my collarbone, laps at the sticky juice that trails down my chest, nudges my dog tags out of the way. 'You're so fucking beautiful.' His voice is low and rough with arousal. He pauses for a moment, then begins to rub the peach across my nipple. My body convulses. No one's ever touched me there. My experience with girls is to get to the main event and out before an episode strikes. Sandburg is taking me places I've never been before and I'm trusting him to bring me back safely. 'Good, isn't it, Jim? I'm going to make you feel so good. I think about you all the time, about doing this to you. Going to do it slow, make it last. Then I'm going to do it again, fast and hard.' I'm shivering and sweating and gasping. Totally at his mercy. The peach is soft and sticky and moist against my chest. Sandburg laps the juice off my nipple and my vision whites out. He does it again and then sucks gently. My world narrows to this point of pleasure. He rubs the peach against my other nipple, overloading my senses. I lift his head and set him there. I feel him smile as he licks and nuzzles, then sucks that one with the same intensity. I didn't know, never knew it could be like this. My back arches off the blanket. I dig my heels in so I can thrust against Sandburg's solid weight between my legs. 'Take them off,' he whispers, 'I want to see you.' I shudder, fumble with buttons and zippers until I'm bare. Hard as steel, leaking uncontrollably. I probably should be embarrassed but I don't have the time or the ability to feel anything but what he tells me. Sandburg kisses his way down my belly, teeth making me jump, tongue making me moan. 'Jesus, Jim, you're beautiful. So big, so hard. Spread your legs for me, Jim, show me you want this.' His words, his voice alone, could make me come. I'm right on the edge. The peach glides down my cock, slow and slick. My hips involuntarily jerk. So hard, I ache. I need something to rub against, but Sandburg's holding me down. He traces the peach across my balls, the slippery flesh first, then the rougher, fuzzy skin. Little moans and whimpers, soft pleas. Are they coming from me? 'Not yet, Jim. I'm not done with you yet. I've waited too long for this, for you.' Slow shudders start at the top of my skull and make their way down, curling my toes. I wait for whatever Sandburg's going to do next. His voice anchors me here, keeps me from darkness, from paralysis. I rise up, balance on my elbows. Sandburg's lost the towel and the peach. He kneels naked between my legs, watching me steadily. Then lowers his head and takes me into his mouth. Small laps around the head, long, wet licks down and back up, soft suction. 'Never, never, never,' my mind chants, 'never this good, never wanted it this much.' He rolls my balls, scratching softly, rubs beneath. Now it's too much, too intense, bordering on painful. Loss of control terrifies me. I need it back. I need his voice. I touch his face. Sandburg, I want to say, help me. As he always does, he makes it easy. I pull him up to me, kiss him deeply, taste myself and peaches. Feel him pressed along the length of me, hot and strong and wanting. But gone is the commanding voice, the strong hands arranging me to his liking. I push him back onto the blanket and take control. Sandburg anticipates my desires. His legs spread, his arms glide down over my ribs, he turns his head just a bit to offer his throat. I flash back to that moment in the library, where I held him down and first got hard for him. How that fueled my fantasies for months. Now it's real. And he starts talking again. 'Touch me, Jim. You feel so good, so hard. I want you, Jim, please. Please.' He raises one leg up, shifts a bit and brings us into alignment. I gasp with hot pleasure. Sandburg rocks up against me and down, up and down. I fall into rhythm, sliding my erection in the hollow between his cock and his hipbone. Slippery, hot, solid. I thrust hard, harder still. He looks up at me and every sense expands. Sandburg fills my world. I see nothing beyond his blue eyes, feel no more than his skin, his nipples, his cock, his legs caressing mine. I smell the peaches, the lake, his hair, hear only his gasps and moans, his ragged breathing -- or is it mine? I lean in for a taste. 'Jim, again. Harder. More. Don't stop, don't stop.' He hooks his ankles at my knees to spread my legs wider and our balls touch. I'm on top, I'm in control, yet it's Sandburg's voice that guides me, full of encouragement and love and reassurance. I'm losing myself, drowning in the pleasure. I reach for Sandburg's ass, lift up and hump him wildly. He gives as good as he gets, chanting my name. I wonder how he can still talk; I can barely breathe. 'I gotta come, Jim. I'm aching, hurts so good, Jim, please, please now.' He's writhing under me, strong, sturdy body pushing and thrusting. His legs are locked around mine, cock hard against my belly, arms holding me tight. 'Please,' he's panting, moaning. 'Jim!' He's pushing down on my hips, I'm pulling him up against me, our cocks are sliding together, thighs straining. He's snaked a hand between us, making a tight tunnel to push into. Now, now, now. 'Blair,' I roar, pushing hard to empty myself on his belly. I feel his heat shoot out between us. 'Jim,' he says softly. 'Jim, oh man, Jim.' He might have said more, but I'm fading fast. I'm probably crushing him beneath me but he feels so good I can't unlock my arms. The world disappears. When I come back to myself, I've been cleaned up and we're lying side-by-side, lazy as two cats in the sun. Sandburg's on his belly, face on my shoulder, arm stretched across me. I pull him closer, tuck a strand of curls behind his ear and trace along his spine, whisper the words I've wanted to say for so long to him. Thank you, Sandburg, for finding me, for smashing that glass wall, for being so loyal and kind. You are my best friend, Sandburg, I say softly, and I love you. Too bad he's sleeping. Maybe next time, I'll be brave enough to wait till he's awake. Funny how I always think better when he's next to me. I may not know exactly what I want, or just how to get there, but I've got Sandburg and he'll show me the way. Wonder how I can keep him with me. Army's out, for sure, and I don't think he's got any inclination to become a firefighter or a medic or a cop. Three months until we see each other again. Three months until he's back from Borneo and I'm home from Peru. That will give us time. We'll think of something by then. I should be terrified; being a faggot is even worse than being a freak, according to my old man. But instead I feel at peace, right with the world, like Sandburg's grey has softened and nuanced my black-and-white view. It doesn't terrify me any more: not the label, not the idea, not the actions. OK, maybe the actions still do a little, but I bet he's not afraid and I'm with him. Sandburg's braver than me. Always has been, right from the start.
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