Free Lone Star by Josh Lanyon

and expert fingers, petting and pampering until Mitch was writhing in the bedclothes, desperate for it.
    He gasped, “Not that I want this to stop—ever—but I’m not exactly a virgin, you know.”
    “I know.” And Web did, of course. He’d been the one who’d been there and done that.
    “Let’s try this…” Mitch shifted onto his right hip, no easy move given their cramped quarters, and Web wriggled around—it was hard to tell given Mitch’s own position. The bedsprings squeaked noisily. Web’s warm hands closed on Mitch’s hips, guiding him back and up a little, and then Mitch felt the pressure against his entrance. He bit his lip. Web was a sight bigger than Innis.
    But Web took his time, brushing the head of his cock back and forth against Mitch’s entrance. The friction, the tease of pressure, felt very good, and Mitch’s sphincter muscle began a funny fluttering in time to his pounding heart.
    He was half resting in Web’s lap and the softness of hair and warmth of skin was a pleasing contrast to the hard muscle probing him, seeking access. Just for an instant he rested his head against Web’s shoulder. Sometimes that was the thing he most wanted, just to be held in strong, kind arms. Web kissed his temple, continuing that slight rocking movement. His big hand rested on Mitch’s groin and he fondled him, cradling the fragile sack of his balls.
    Mitch moaned, arching pleasurably. Web kissed his shoulders, blew gently at the curls on Mitch’s nape and nuzzled the thin skin behind Mitch’s ear.
    “I always did like the way you move.” Web fingered the fold of skin where it joined Mitch’s body, massaging the sensitive area behind the sack, circling upward to his anus and back down to the testicles. “You like that?”
    “Ask a damn fool question,” Mitch gasped. “Don’t stop. Please, God, don’t stop.”
    “I ain’t gonna stop.” Web teased up to the ring of muscle and down again. “You like this too?”
    Mitch moaned again, lifting his left leg to give Web better access. The world had narrowed down to this, the sensation of touch, of Web’s hands on his body.
    Innis usually talked dirty at this point, and sometimes Mitch had to struggle not to laugh. Ooh, baby, what you do when you stick it into meeee . Mitch had found it embarrassing at first, though he’d grown used to it. But Web just talked to him in that quiet, gentle way, told Mitch how beautiful he was, how good it felt to hold him and touch him, and he promised Mitch he could let go and fly and Web would catch him, would always catch him.
    The same things Web had always said—and about as meaningful—but they still worked their magic as they’d always done. Probably because Mitch wanted to believe they were true. Even if just for these five seconds.
    Web scooted down the bed, resting his head on Mitch’s right thigh. He nudged Mitch’s legs more widely apart and substituted his tongue for his fingers. Mitch cried out at the sensation of hot wet muscle licking from balls to ass. “Web.”
    He felt as though he were shattering inside, as though everything tight and resistant was cracking into miraculous patterns like frost etched across a window, all the ice falling away.
    Web probed the area, sucked at the join of sack and body and bit softly into the taut rise of buttock.
    Mitch whimpered. “What are you doing to me?”
    “Nothin’ yet. You just hold on.”
    Mitch shuddered wildly. “Hurry. Don’t make me wait.” He’d been waiting too long as it was. Years, if he was honest.
    But Web wouldn’t be rushed. He continued his leisurely, delightful torment while Mitch panted and pleaded for more.
    “Sometimes the journey’s half the fun,” he whispered, finding Mitch’s mouth again.
    “I’m earning frequent flyer miles here…”
    Web’s laugh was husky. His cock pushed against Mitch’s hole, pushed hard and then shoved in.
    Every muscle in Mitch’s body contracted. Web was whispering in his ear, stroking