Free Wild Raspberries by Jane Davitt Page B

Tyler’s head was blocking his view, but that had its own appeal. To see someone that close to him, their head at his groin, giving him their mouth to fuck — and he could move now, if he wanted to, but he was waiting for a signal first — well, it was a rush. Tyler’s head, Tyler’s mouth — and, yeah, Tyler had done this before.
    Tyler pulled back, until nothing but the tip of Dan’s cock was in his mouth. He didn’t look up at Dan, but he was giving Dan plenty to see now. The clear, precise lines of his mouth weren’t set in stern, sad lines now; they were curved into an O and blurred and stretched by Dan’s cock. Dan held his breath, and then Tyler’s other hand, the bandage a soft scrape, cupped his ass and urged him to move with the smallest of pushes.
    Dan knew what it was like to be choked by someone’s cock, how it felt to have your head clamped tightly so you couldn’t pull away, sickness rising in you, throat muscles working, nose running, chest tight from lack of air. He didn’t want to do that to Tyler, any of it, but Tyler was waiting, his mouth welcoming, his hand still there on Dan’s ass.
    With a sound more desperate than aroused, he let that hand guide him deeper, and felt the difference it made to be moving. Tyler met his uncertain thrust calmly, his tongue busy again, his hand still locked around the base of Dan’s cock. Dan pushed in again and again, his confidence growing, because with Tyler’s hand there, he couldn’t really go bumping the back of Tyler’s throat even if he tried.
    As if he’d heard that thought, the safety net of Tyler’s hand moved away so that both Tyler’s hands were on Dan’s hips now, urging him on with an impatience that fed Dan’s arousal. Tyler wanted this as much as he did, if the painful, perfect dig of his fingers into Dan’s ass could be believed, the frantic, greedy laps of his tongue be trusted.
    Dan’s body was one strung out, thrumming string, plucked and quivering, singing out a single note. He was breathing, he was swallowing spit; his left calf was itching from a bite and his heel hurt from his boot rubbing it, and they were there, he could feel them happening, breathing, swallowing, itching — all of them, and they didn’t matter. Nothing did but this gloriously unimpeded slide in and the pull back, tolerable only because he knew a moment later he’d get that knee-buckling sensation as he went deep again.
    The hands on his ass were like part of his skin, as if Tyler’s fingerprints would be visible when this was over, perfect whorls and patterns tattooed onto him, indelible marks. Dan’s hips were jerking, describing a repeated curve upwards, and his balls were a tight ache craving the soft cradle of Tyler’s palm.
    Tyler’s teeth, careless or planned, grazed the sides of Dan’s cock and that was all it took to end it, that small, fleeting reminder of danger. Dan had been moaning, a continuous accompaniment to the softer sounds Tyler was making, but as he came he was silent, every muscle straining, his cock as far in as he could get it, uncaring in that moment, about Tyler, because Tyler’s hands were holding him there, not pushing him away.
    One last small spurt of come came out of him in an exhausted, determined bid for freedom and he was done, drained, empty. Shit, ask him to add two and two and he’d have needed a paper and pencil.
    Tyler didn’t pull away fast, leaving him hanging there, vulnerable and exposed, but he gentled down, giving Dan a place to be without any flickers of his tongue over skin that felt new and tender. After a few moments, Tyler’s hands fell away and Dan stepped back.
    Tyler wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his face flushed, his gaze not meeting Dan’s.
    Dan knew what he was supposed to do now; just turn and walk away, and he would, he’d promised, but he couldn’t —
    He went to one knee and put his hand on Tyler’s face, then tipped it up so that he could kiss the mouth he’d