Page 22 of Beneath the Stain
Grant closed his hand over his cock, and Mackey gasped, “No! Not yet!” He wanted to cry. God, this whole day and it would be over?
Grant breathed hard into the hollow of Mackey’s neck. “All night,” he managed. “It’s not even seven. We’ve got all night.”
“But what if we don’t….” Mackey’s groin wason fire, he needed so bad.
Grant settled him with a light touch, not teasing but not fulfilling either. “We have to,” he said, voice cracking. “I don’t want to lose my virginity with Sam. I want to lose it with you.”
And Mackey found himself comforting his lover, stroking his shoulders, whispering in his ear, because Grant was coming apart like Mackey was. They were young and in a bed and their hands rested on each other’s cocks, but the pain slowed it down, made the sex precious. When Mackey arched his back and watched in wonder as his come shot across his stomach, Grant was in his arms doing the same thing, and the wonder of it, of giving a man the same thing he was getting, that was etched in Mackey’s brain too. He’d learned two lessons about love that day, and the day wasn’t even over. It had to be a good day, didn’t it?
Didn’t it?
Their breathing slowed, and Grant made him get up so they could huddle under the covers in the unfamiliar Bay Area chill. Mackey backed up against him and accepted the kisses on his shoulders and tried not to yell at him and ruin the night.
“Why?” he asked when his body had calmed down a little. “Why do you have to sleep with her? Why can’t you just break up with her?”
Grant sighed eloquently. “She’s going to tell people I’m a fag if we don’t do it. She already threatened to tell my mom.”
Mackey closed his eyes tight. “What would your dad do?”
“He used to go to bars,” Grant said, so quiet Mackey could barely hear him. “I heard him brag to his friends about being young and going out and beating faggots up. I… I’m not like you, Mackey. You…. Music is… it’s the center of you, and it’s all okay there. I… I need my folks to love me.”
And there it was again. That cracking voice, the reminder. Grant wasn’t that much older, and Grant wasn’t that much stronger, and Mackey still loved him even though he was weak.
Mackey rolled over and kissed him, and Grant opened his mouth and took.The rest of the night, Grant said, and Mackey had a confusing idea that they’d fall asleep at midnight with parts of lovemaking unexplored.
The fact was that from the moment of that kiss, time stopped in the little hotel room. Every kiss was forever, every touch was a brand, an invisible tattoo, marking Mackey as property of Grant Adams until the end of time.
Somewhere in the middle of that magic bubble of timelessness, Grant put both his hands on the backs of Mackey’s thighs and shoved them up and performed gross, obscene,amazingacts on Mackey’s body with his tongue and mouth. Mackey was beyond protest, beyond morality. It should have been bad. It should have been nasty. But Grant’s mouth feltawesome, and the things he did—his mouth around Mackey’s delicate balls, his tongue down the crease of his ass, dancing in his hole—were things Grantneededto do to him. When Grant pulled a little plastic bottle out of his pocket and used it on Mackey’s asshole, all he could do was shudder and hiss.
“Don’t worry about rubbers,” Grant whispered, penetrating Mackey with one finger and rubbing around his rim. “I’m a virgin, you’re a virgin, we’re good.”
“Can’t get pregna—ahhhh!” Mackey’s lame joke was cut short when Grant added another finger and Mackey started shaking, terrified of the tidal surge threatening to roar through his body. “Grant!” He was afraid. This was frightening.
“Sh, Mackey, I’m coming.”
At first Mackey thought he meant climax and was almost reassured. If Grant was coming, then Grant could stop touching him, and he could stop shaking, stop needing. But he’d pulled out both his fingers and that terrifying pleasure was gone and the shaking didn’t get any better—maybe he should keep touching, and keep touching, and….
And then Grant was there, his cock pushing against Mackey’s butthole. Mackey closed his eyes and cried out. “Grant!”
“Sh, Mackey, relax,” Grant crooned. “It’ll feel good. You’ll stretch. Just push against me and you’ll… ah!”
Mackey still hurt, but Grant was right, the pushing helped. Grant kept thrusting inside and Mackey opened, slowly, painfully—so painfully he was sweating, tears slipping through the corners of his eyes. Grant kissed them, kissed him, and Mackey kept crying.
Grant pushed himself up and wiped a palm down Mackey’s temple. “You okay?” he asked, his voice tortured. “Mackey, you okay? Do I need to stop?”
“Keep going,” Mackey grunted, even though it didn’t feel good. Grant wanted it. Mackey would give him anything he wanted.
Grant kept moving then, slowly, making low groans of pleasure, and his noises made Mackey happy. Grant felt good. Mackey was doing it right.
The ache and burn in his ass began to feel better, to work inside him, and Mackey reached down to his semihard cock and started stroking. Oh… oh yes.
That pressure/pleasure surged back. Mackey was even more scared of it now. He fought against it even as Grant groaned and sped up. Oh God, it hurt, but it didn’t, and Mackey was afraid, but it felt good, so good, ouch, but good, it hurt,so good—
“Grant!”
He screamed it, and Grant’s voice caught on his next moan, and his hips shifted. That tidal wave crashed down on Mackey, and he knew what climax felt like, but nothing this big. He screamed again, wordless and afraid. Grant devoured him, mouth hot on his, rabbiting his hips back and forth and—
Both of them groaned, and Grant spasmed.
