Page 22 of Raise Up, Heart
He stares at Cole’s mouth, panting as he moves, and Cole has to touch him. Has to get his fingers around Damon’s cock, wants to suck him down, get Damon’s cock in his mouth, his throat, take him as deep as he can get it.
“Damon,” he says. “Let me.”
Damon’s hands go to his own fly, and he’s got his pants down around his hips before Cole can move to help, so he kicks his own jeans down and off instead, lying next to Damon again, naked and still mostly hard.
Damon drags his fingers though Cole’s chest hair, pulling gently, and Cole shivers, looking down between them to Damon’s cock jutting up against his stomach. This is no dream. Damon’s cock is nothing like he imagined. It’s thick, and the curls at the base are a dark auburn, and in his dreams Damon’s cock was always justin him, sometimes gentle and sometimes rough, but never quivering in his hand and leaking a pearl of pre-come from the engorged tip.
“Cole,” Damon grits out. “Are you just gonna look at it?”
Cole laughs, a soft sound that rips out of him in amazement, and he feels so high, like he’s falling through air and there’s no bottom to hit. It’s crazy because this is the first time he’s felt this way inyears, like he felt when Damon told him that he loved him, like he felt when Damon told him that he was willing to wait as long as it took for Cole to be ready. He can’t start to cry again, not now, but this isjoy, and it’s fucked up because this isinsane, but he’s got Damon’s cock in his hand and his other arm is twisted up to pull at Damon’s hair, and he loves him somuch, and he’s wanted this solong.
“God, Damon.”
“It’s big, I know,” Damon says. “Stunning, I’m sure. But do something with it before I do it myself.”
Cole laughs again. “Damon…Damon.” He keeps saying his name, because hecan.
He leans forward and kisses Damon’s mouth, twisting his wrist and pumping his hand over Damon’s cock. Things get so hot so fast, with Damon thrusting into his hand, and tugging at Cole’s body, bringing him up tight so that Cole barely has room to move his hand. Damon’s got his mouth open on Cole’s neck, sucking hard and strong, sucking and biting, and Cole’s shaking, holding Damon’s mouth against his skin, squirming against the pleasure-pain. Cole feels Damon’s cock swell and pulse against his palm. He holds Damon as he jerks and quivers, his come smearing between their stomachs heaving against each other.
“I love you,” Cole whispers. “I love you, Damon.”
“I love you, too,” Damon says, his breath puffing against the sore place he made on Cole’s neck. Cole closes his eyes. Nothing matters but right now. He can die happy. He’s here with Damon and this,this moment, is all that matters.
Cole’s wet fromthe shower, and Damon’s got him in his bed now, wrapped up in blankets. The space heater is turned up high, battling the cold that is seeping under the doors and through the windows. Cole’s also hungry, which Damon has declared a good sign, and so Damon’s in the kitchen making sandwiches for them both. From his spot on the bed, Cole watches as he drops a piece of cheese on the floor, and bends to pick it up, his ass outlined in the loose sweats he’s wearing, and when Damon turns to throw it in the trash, Cole can see his nipples are hard and he’s shivering from the cold.
It’s painful to have Damon in the other room, but Damon’s declared that Cole must stay warm, and that where he wants him most is in his bed. Cole feels the distance like an ocean between them, and so he pulls the blankets around himself to join Damon in the kitchen. That’s when Damon turns around, slashes his butter knife through the air, and says, “Don’t even think about it.”
“Damon,” he whines, wheedling, thinking the sandwich is pretty unimportant now. He just wants Damon next to him. He wants to run his hands over him, make sure that he’s real again.
“Almost done,” Damon says, squirting mustard onto a piece of bread, and slapping mayonnaise on the stack of meat, and tossing all the fixings back in the old, banged-up fridge. He grabs two bottles of water and tucks one under each arm, turning around with two plates full of giant sandwich.
As Damon walks toward him, Cole reaches up to touch the love mark on his neck, feeling the bruise, remembering the red glare of it in the mirror, stark against his white skin.
“You liked it,” Damon says, nodding toward where Cole’s fingers are mapping the wound.
“It feels real,” Cole says.
“Looks real, too,” Damon says, putting the sandwiches down on the bed, tossing the water against the pillow, and leaning over to check Cole’s neck. “I didn’t break the skin,” he says. “That’s good. Here, let me see your head.”
“It’s nothing,” Cole says, batting his hand away from the bruise on his forehead. “Just a concussion.” Saying the words aloud unnerves him. He’s got a head injury. Can he trust himself? Is he sure that this is real?
“‘Just a concussion,’” Damon mocks. “Head injuries are never ‘just’ anything. No double vision? Headache?”
“I’m fine,” Cole says, but his voice sounds uncertain even to himself, and Damon’s eyes narrow. “Hallucinations are associated with head injuries,” Cole says slowly.
Damon nods. “Lucky for you, this isn’t a hallucination. Though maybe it would be better for both of us if it was.”
“Don’t,” Cole says, denying it.
Damon leans close, and Cole can smell his skin, warm and fresh from the shower. Damon’s lip is swollen from his earlier bite test, but it’s stopped bleeding. He takes Damon’s chin in his hand and looks at the small wound. “What about your lip?”
“Mouths heal quickly,” Damon says, dismissing Cole’s worry. “Here. Eat this.”
Cole accepts the plate that Damon thrusts at him and holds it on his lap as Damon climbs beneath the covers beside him. Damon’s muscles move under his skin as Cole watches him get settled. His skin is soft, freckled lightly on the shoulders, and Cole wonders if he freckles more in the summer. He almost starts to cry again because now—now he can know.
Damon takes a huge bite of the sandwich, chews it, swallows, and takes another. He motions at Cole’s plate and says with his mouth full, “Eat.”
Cole doesn’t know if he can manage it. He was hungry before, but now his appetite is gone again, even looking at the sandwich makes his stomach balk. He feels wired, like every inch of him is on watch, and that if he relaxes even a little then all of this might disappear in a wave of despair.
