Page 32 of Torch Songs

“I might embarrass myself,” Guthrie said, and while Tad could tell he was trying to be light, he could also sense a thread of discomfort, of true embarrassment, in his words, and he kissed down Guthrie’s spine, pausing to lave the beginning cleft that led to the canyon.

“Not possible,” Tad murmured, placing a precise bite on Guthrie’s pale backside.

Guthrie moaned and bucked up against the mattress, and then thrust a hand behind him with a small bottle of lube.

“You are in a damned hurry,” Tad told him, pushing gently on his hip and setting the lube down. “Turn around so I can kiss you some more.”

Guthrie complied reluctantly, but Tad stood and took his mouth, maneuvering them both so Guthrie was on his back on the sheets and Tad’s body covered his. Guthrie’s arms twined around his neck, and Tad kept kissing him, stroking his hand down Guthrie’s chest, his hips, his thighs. Guthrie sensed the teasing and spread his legs, thrusting his groin up rhythmically as Tad moved his head down that long, stringy stomach to ground zero.

“I want to play!” Tad protested, and he rose up and began kissing his way down again. Guthrie’s hands kneaded at his shoulders, at his biceps, threaded his hair. Tad stopped at his nipples again, this time suckling until Guthrie let out a strangled little sob.

“I willcome,” he threatened.

“Go ahead,” Tad taunted, moving down his stomach, licking a line along his ribs. He made the touch hard enough not to tickle, and Guthrie’s whine of arousal was enough to turn Tad’s key. “Come. And I’ll taste it and lick you and play with you some more.”

“Sadist,” Guthrie grunted. He spread his legs then, so obviously needy Tad couldn’t deny him. He went directly for Guthrie’s engorged cock, tasting it first, running his tongue around the head, teasing the slit and shuddering.

Sweet. He didn’t know why this surprised him. It was the thing inside Guthrie that went straight to the core.

Tad needed more of it. Tad needed itall.

He lowered his head, took Guthrie’s cock to the back of his throat, and swallowed. Guthrie gasped, his torso coming off the bed for a moment, stomach muscles straining, before he fell back against the sheets, fingers tangling in Tad’s hair.

“Aw, please,” he begged, but Tad wasn’t having any of it. He slurped back along Guthrie’s length and released him regretfully.

“All of it,” he rasped. “God, Guthrie, you taste so good.”

He went down again, using his fist to pump while he worked the head with his mouth, needing Guthrie’s cock in the back of his throat so badly he would have sobbed for it.

Guthrie reacted like an open nerve. He clutched at Tad’s shoulders, gave a soft cry, vulnerable and raw, and came.

Tad swallowed it, shuddering when a second spurt hit the back of his tongue, his lips a little raw from sheltering the shaft from his teeth. He felt his own climax trying to sneak through but pulled back, gasping, shaking from the effort of holding back, and pushed up along the bed, surprised when Guthrie tried to roll over underneath him.

“What the—”

“Please?” Guthrie begged, and Tad frowned, wanting to know why it was so important they did this act—this incredibly intimate thing—without being face-to-face.

But also not wanting to scare Guthrie away by being a controlling bastard. When two people were naked and alone, trust was a precious commodity, and Guthrie couldn’t trust Tad if he didn’t know Tad would do what Guthrie asked.

“Okay,” Tad whispered, pushing back to allow Guthrie room to pull his knees up to his chest, presenting his backside for use.Is this the only way you think you can have sex?He carefully, gently kissed the back of Guthrie’s neck, down his spine, and to his cleft again, glad he remembered where he’d set the lube.

Tad wanted moretime,dammit, but he was starting to shake even more, his body primed and wanting. He squirted a dollop of lube onto his fingers and delicately rubbed at Guthrie’s rim. Guthrie shuddered, and buried his face in the pillow to moan.

Was that it? Did he not want Tad to hear his noises?

Tad penetrated him slowly, measuring Guthrie’s every breath as he shuddered again and thrust back against Tad’s fingers until they disappeared inside Guthrie’s body.

Two fingers now, scissored outward to stretch, and Guthrie turned his head to the side and whispered, “Please? Now?”

His voice was choked, warbly, but he was begging, and Tad needed to keep the promises their bodies had made to each other. He slicked himself up and positioned himself at Guthrie’s entrance, taking in the sight of him, clenched and quaking, facedown against the clean china-blue sheets. He was beautiful, but so self-protective. When Tad took a breath and slowly thrust into him, Guthrie’s gasp, the hopeful way he thrust back, the rhythmic feel to his shudders all triggered something in Tad, something prehistoric and caveman.

It wasTad’sjob to take care of this man.Tad’sjob to gentle him, to care for him.

Tad’sjob to drive him wild.

Tad gave his own wordless cry and fell into the rhythm sex demanded, thrusting into Guthrie’s body and retreating, his cock gripped by Guthrie’s hot chamber, his need so acute he wasn’t sure he could stop.

“Yes?” he whispered. He couldn’t see Guthrie’s face—neededto hear the word before he unleashed the want driving him forward.

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