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Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

XCI: Present

Brendon lowered his head as he gasped and strained back against Orion. They fit in a mature, slow way. The sort of way that came of experience, of methodically working their bodies in ways they knew would pull the most pleasure, give them the most relief.

This was no fumbling fuck in the backseat of a Mustang.

This was sweet and slow, with Orion whispering in Brendon’s ear all throughout.

“How’s here? Going to keep it steady. No, don’t push. I got your rhythm. I got you.”

Brendon would respond with sighs that were meant to be “yeahs” and grunts that were meant to be directions. And somehow, Orion always understood. Shifted them just enough so that he’d slide in easier, rub against Brendon’s insides with a little more friction in all the right spots.

His hands were gentle, but very, very firm, when he pressed Brendon into position, held him there by the small of his back. His thrusts too, were as methodically blunt as he was, getting right to the point, pushing Brendon to the brink and keeping him riding there for long minutes, their thighs slapping together, the slight squelch of the lube matching the tap-tap-tap of the bed frame against the wall.

And all the while, as thrusts quickened incrementally, as Brendon’s breathing ramped up, becoming a huff that shoved from his lungs, Orion insisted on Brendon’s presence. On his engagement. Refusing to allow Brendon to fade, slink away, shudder with only pleasure abstracted from Orion himself. There would be no orgasm without Orion right here, his scent, his voice, his body overwhelming Brendon.

“Don’t drop your hips. I’m going to hold on, hold you up. You with me still?”

A niggling thought came and went in the back of Brendon’s mind in the middle of all of Orion’s coaxing murmurs: That Orion worried Brendon might be thinking of a different guy, another white boy that blustered into Brendon’s life with a purpose.

But that was the last thought of anyone else, and it was fleeting, gone as soon as it was thought, leaving only Orion’s guiding voice and pressing hands to fill in all the gaps.

“I’m with you,” whispered Brendon.

And he was, all the way through their rising, rising pace, as Orion tensed, as they both became gasping, groaning messes that then collapsed against the wrinkled sheets in a satiated numbness.

Afterward, Brendon’s body ticking from the exertion, they lay together, entwined, Orion pressed deep inside Brendon still, their bodies close enough that skin stuck to skin, heat unable to wick away. Orion’s thumb absently stroked, glided, circled, slowing, then finally stopping, his hand going limp.

“Would you like me to leave?” Orion’s breath tickled against Brendon’s neck.

Brendon hesitated, glad he faced away. Thought about what it would be like to wake up in the arms of a man who thought of him as powerful, but who might also think of him as a murderer. And decided that, for the moment, he was too tired to care.

“You can stay.”

Though the morning might be different.


Next Chapter Coming December 8th