his face in the crisp red curls he found there. He hummed a little next to Tristan's balls, earning a moan. “Could you hand me the lube?” he asked, right next to Tristan's cock.
Shaking fingers passed a small bottle to him.
“You're sure, Sp—Tristan?” he asked one final time.
“Yes,” whispered Tristan. Michael nodded. He touched, tasted, and explored every inch of Tristan's most private real estate, until Tristan writhed beneath him. When he slid a lube-slicked finger tentatively into Tristan's tightly puckered hole, Tristan stiffened against the invasion, then willed himself to relax. Michael gently moved the finger, stroking Tristan's thigh with his free hand, and little by little, slid it in.
“Lift your knees a little,” he said, and Tristan felt another finger moving tentatively at his entrance. At the invasion, Tristan shifted restlessly and sucked in a lungful of air. “Don't forget to breathe out as well.” Michael smiled.
“It feels…I…” Michael found Tristan's gland and ran a finger over it gently. “Oh, shit!” cried Tristan, jerking up, eyes wide. Michael did it again. Tristan was melting mentally, incapable of speech when Michael added a third finger. He pushed back against Michael's hand, numbly reaching for pleasure.
“Turn over,” said Michael, his fingers still scissoring inside Tristan's hole. Tristan began to protest, but Michael merely helped him turn, saying, “Trust me?”
Tristan nodded, unable to speak. He felt full and dizzy and so damn needy. He wanted to say something, to protest not being able to see Michael, but then he heard a condom package open and felt Michael moving up behind him. Michael gently lifted Tristan's hips and slid a couple of pillows under them, nudging Tristan's legs apart as far as they would go. He lifted him to his knees, and then…Tristan felt him at his back, his hard cock ready to slide into his most private place. He began holding his breath then, partly from fear and partly excitement.
Everything Michael had done so far, touching him and filling him, had made him burn with need. He wanted to feel it all again, wanted that jolt of erotic lightning when Michael touched him just the right way. He was mindless with it, brainless, boneless. When Michael gathered himself to slide his slickly lubricated and gloved-up cock into Tristan's tight channel, he went slowly and very deliberately, as if totally focused on any movement or sound from his partner. Tristan felt the burn, then a searing kind of pain that frightened him and made his dick go limp. He heard himself hiss and gasp at the same time, vaguely wondering how that was possible.
“Michael,” he cried out. “It's…it hurts…I…” Even as he said it, Michael was kissing his back, caressing his skin, soothing him, and the burn began to fade so he could think again.
“So tight,” Michael said hoarsely. “I'm sorry. Breathe for me, okay? Deep breaths.”
Tristan gave little nervous laugh. “That's your cop voice, Officer Helmet.” He still sounded shallow, shocked. “I feel like I should be having a baby.”
“Shh,” said Michael, feeling Tristan's small laugh in the flutter around his cock. “Just breathe, okay?” He reached around and began to stroke Tristan's cock, going lower to fondle his balls. Tristan's body was still full of him, still shocked, but slowly loosened up, trusting him. The thought filled him with awe, that his Sparky trusted him with this.
Tristan dropped his head down to the pillow, and Michael knew when Tristan tentatively rocked his hips that the pleasure had started to chase away the pain. “Oh, Michael,” he cried out when Michael started pumping Tristan's cock lazily, still not moving inside him. “Oh!” he cried the first time Michael moved, a short withdrawal, a slow slide back. “That feels…oh, damn…”
Michael took that as permission to move, and move he did,
Shaking fingers passed a small bottle to him.
“You're sure, Sp—Tristan?” he asked one final time.
“Yes,” whispered Tristan. Michael nodded. He touched, tasted, and explored every inch of Tristan's most private real estate, until Tristan writhed beneath him. When he slid a lube-slicked finger tentatively into Tristan's tightly puckered hole, Tristan stiffened against the invasion, then willed himself to relax. Michael gently moved the finger, stroking Tristan's thigh with his free hand, and little by little, slid it in.
“Lift your knees a little,” he said, and Tristan felt another finger moving tentatively at his entrance. At the invasion, Tristan shifted restlessly and sucked in a lungful of air. “Don't forget to breathe out as well.” Michael smiled.
“It feels…I…” Michael found Tristan's gland and ran a finger over it gently. “Oh, shit!” cried Tristan, jerking up, eyes wide. Michael did it again. Tristan was melting mentally, incapable of speech when Michael added a third finger. He pushed back against Michael's hand, numbly reaching for pleasure.
“Turn over,” said Michael, his fingers still scissoring inside Tristan's hole. Tristan began to protest, but Michael merely helped him turn, saying, “Trust me?”
Tristan nodded, unable to speak. He felt full and dizzy and so damn needy. He wanted to say something, to protest not being able to see Michael, but then he heard a condom package open and felt Michael moving up behind him. Michael gently lifted Tristan's hips and slid a couple of pillows under them, nudging Tristan's legs apart as far as they would go. He lifted him to his knees, and then…Tristan felt him at his back, his hard cock ready to slide into his most private place. He began holding his breath then, partly from fear and partly excitement.
Everything Michael had done so far, touching him and filling him, had made him burn with need. He wanted to feel it all again, wanted that jolt of erotic lightning when Michael touched him just the right way. He was mindless with it, brainless, boneless. When Michael gathered himself to slide his slickly lubricated and gloved-up cock into Tristan's tight channel, he went slowly and very deliberately, as if totally focused on any movement or sound from his partner. Tristan felt the burn, then a searing kind of pain that frightened him and made his dick go limp. He heard himself hiss and gasp at the same time, vaguely wondering how that was possible.
“Michael,” he cried out. “It's…it hurts…I…” Even as he said it, Michael was kissing his back, caressing his skin, soothing him, and the burn began to fade so he could think again.
“So tight,” Michael said hoarsely. “I'm sorry. Breathe for me, okay? Deep breaths.”
Tristan gave little nervous laugh. “That's your cop voice, Officer Helmet.” He still sounded shallow, shocked. “I feel like I should be having a baby.”
“Shh,” said Michael, feeling Tristan's small laugh in the flutter around his cock. “Just breathe, okay?” He reached around and began to stroke Tristan's cock, going lower to fondle his balls. Tristan's body was still full of him, still shocked, but slowly loosened up, trusting him. The thought filled him with awe, that his Sparky trusted him with this.
Tristan dropped his head down to the pillow, and Michael knew when Tristan tentatively rocked his hips that the pleasure had started to chase away the pain. “Oh, Michael,” he cried out when Michael started pumping Tristan's cock lazily, still not moving inside him. “Oh!” he cried the first time Michael moved, a short withdrawal, a slow slide back. “That feels…oh, damn…”
Michael took that as permission to move, and move he did,
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