Read Online Talker's Redemption by Amy Lane - Free Book Online Page B

and stroked Brian’s flank and then the small of his back, and kept pushing, gently and inexorably. This was not the time to chicken out.
     
    “How you doin’?” Tate asked softly. He was almost there almost there almost— pop !
     
    “Gawwwww!” Brian half-screamed into the pillow, and Tate would have yanked out then, if he hadn’t been afraid it would really hurt if he did that!
     
    “’S good!” Brian gibbered. “’S good! Keep going! Crap, keep going!”
     
    Talker managed slow. It was a big triumph, going slow. He… he… oh God… slow. Slow until he was buried. Slow until he couldn’t go anymore, and Brian’s body clamped down on him, and he had to stop, and there they were, merged, joined, orificially engaged in intercourse, and just shaking with the effort and the pleasure and the weirdness of it all.
     
    “Uhm… Talker?” Brian’s voice was quivering just like his body.
     
    “Yeah?”
     
    “Man… you gonna move soon?”
     
    Talker’s grin was tight and shaking too. “You gonna grab your cock so we can both come?”
     
    “I could do that… nnnngggg….” That last part meant he probably had. Talker pulled his hips back until he was uhm, right, you know, yeah there, and then he thrust them forward, hard enough for Brian to feel him. They both groaned, and he did it again.
     
    He kept doing it, slowly at first, but then faster, and harder, and then (gasp) then (moan) then (aaauuuggghhh!!!) he was pumping as fast as he could, without finesse or holding back and Brian was screaming into the pillow in a good way, his hand flailing on his own cock without any sort of rhythm that Tate could feel, but Tate couldn’t control that, couldn’t, could only control his own fucking. God! He was fucking! Tate was doing it, he was doing the fucking and—
     
    He looked down and watched his own cock disappear into his lover’s body for the hundredth time, and what he was actually doing pushed him over the edge. He closed his eyes and let the world explode around the darkness in a firework-scatter of white. Beneath him, around him, Brian convulsed, screamed, and then tightened and pushed so hard that Tate was expelled in a rush of come.
     
    Tate collapsed over his back and Brian collapsed to the bed with Tate on top of him, both of them panting and half-laughing, half-groaning in aftermath.
     
    Brian shifted, and Tate rolled off of him, and they were face to face like children again. Brian’s stomach was clenching and fluttering, and Tate wondered if he was flexing his asshole to make sure everything was where it should be.
     
    “You okay?” Tate asked, splaying his hand on that clenching abdomen, and Brian met his eyes and nodded.
     
    “Great!” His eyes and his nod were fervent, and Tate grinned. “You?”
     
    “On the fucking moon!” Tate answered. Brian’s eyes darted for a moment, and his expression indicated deep internal thought. “You’re sure you’re good?”
     
    “Yeah… just… you know. If I go running to the bathroom in a minute, don’t take it wrong, ’kay?”
     
    Talker giggled. He couldn’t help it. He was as susceptible to bathroom humor as any other guy. “Gotcha. Forgiven.”
     
    Brian grinned. “So, are you happy? We’ve had… you know….”
     
    “Orificial sex!” Tate quipped, and Brian nodded.
     
    “Yeah, ‘orificial sex’—we’ve had it, and, you know, we’re, like, ‘orificial’ now.” Brian sobered, and looked searchingly into Tate’s face. “There’s nothing wrong with us. Nothing lacking. You don’t have to apologize for us anymore. We’re great.”
     
    Tate blinked hard. God. All that time in the shrink’s office, and Brian would get to the one thing that hadn’t been said.
     
    “We’re awesome,” he said back. “I love you.”
     
    “I love you too.”
     
    Before that promised sprint to the bathroom, they had time for one long, wet, sloppy, sweaty, shivering-bodies-in-the-morning-cold kiss.
     

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