Page 92 of Make the Play
“Is this okay?” Emerson asks, unsure why he feels like he’s doing something naughty just from his hands under Jason’s shirt.
“Very fucking okay,” Jason says, the pitch of his voice shaky when he pulls his face out of Emerson’s neck to hover above him. “Full permission to touch me anywhere you want.”
The weight of Jason’s gaze is palpable, but the idea of eye contact right now, even with Jason, makes his skin feel itchy. He focuses instead on Jason’s mouth, memorizing the shape of his lips and the dip of the dimple in his chin as he smiles down at Emerson.
Through skyrocketing nerves and growing arousal he continues, gliding his hands up Jason’s belly. The skin is smooth then it’s not, the hair all over Jason’s chest a delight beneath his fingers. He knew Jason had chest hair—has seen it peeking out of the top of his shirts—but knowing something exists and feeling it are entirely different, and Emerson can’t stop touching it, stroking his hands over the swell of his pecs and biting on his bottom lip.
Eager to touch more, he rucks the shirt up, exploring Jason’s chest with eager eyes and equally eager hands—pausing just to stroke the hair on his chest.
“I can take my shirt off,” Jason offers.
“Please,” Emerson whispers, still not able to look him in the eyes.
For a disappointingly long few seconds, Jason is out of reach, sitting back on his heels to tug his shirt off in one swift go before he’s tumbling down on top of Emerson again without an ounce of insecurity. Not that he has anything to be insecure about. Jason’s body is a thing of glory, his biceps as massive as his broad chest and the muscles in his body honed from years of physical activity and dedication. There’s nothing hard about him though, the places that might be nothing but muscle in someone else are softened by Jason’s love of Pop-Tarts and that Mexican peanut butter candy that Emerson always forgets how to pronounce.
“I like snack time,” Jason grins when Emerson’s hands give his middle a squeeze.
“I like your body,” Emerson replies. “It’s big and strong and safe.”
“Yeah?” Jason balances himself on one hand so his other can stroke the hair back on Emerson’s head. “Not too big and hairy for you?”
Emerson shakes his head, ready to revel in Jason’s body any way he’s allowed. He wants to shove his face between the swell of his large pecs, to feel the scratch of all that chest hair against his cheeks. He wants to touch this big, beautiful man everywhere. Jason said sex didn’t have to be on the table tonight, but Emerson has waited twenty-six years for this and he’s pretty sure dying is a real possibility if he’s not allowed to finally have sex.
With a sudden burst of clarity, Emerson knows exactly what he wants, but getting the words to come out doesn’t seem to happen. The question is right there, hovering at the edge of his consciousness and sitting heavy on the tip of his tongue. Yet, no matter how many ways he rephrases it in his mind the words won’t come out.
“If talking is too hard, you can just do whatever it is you’re thinking about,” Jason suggests.
Were it anyone else, Emerson might be alarmed at his mind being read, but this is Jason who knows him, who can likely tell from the way he’s tapping his fingers against his chest and opening and closing his mouth that being verbal is suddenly far too difficult.
“How about this,” Jason says, reaching for one of Emerson’s fidgety hands and lifting it to his mouth. He kisses each finger before bringing it to his chest. “You just do what feels good, whatever that looks like. If I don’t like it, which between you and me is statistically impossible if you’re the one touching me, then I promise to tell you. Can we do that?”
Can Emerson do that? Can he just touch and explore without overthinking and worrying? Can he take what he wants without needing to ask permission or fear it’s too much? Can he make Jason feel as good as he makes Emerson feel just through his existence? He isn’t sure, but he wants to try.
“Emmy,” Jason whispers, clearly unsure what to make of Emerson’s silence. “I’m not going to rush you. We can take this as slow as you want.”
Emerson shakes his head vehemently from side to side. Slow is not what he wants. He might be a virgin but it’s not because he’s averse to sex. He’s just never met anyone who felt worth being this vulnerable with, but Jason makes the rush of arousal and anxiety bearable. It’s not scary, not in the way he always feared it might be.
“Alright.” Jason bends down kissing his forehead, then his nose. He kisses each of his cheeks then takes his lips in a kiss so sweet that Emerson’s toes curl beneath the blankets they’re tucked under.
There have been countless times in Emerson’s life when he is hyper-aware of his own body, usually when overstimulated. Times he suddenly feels every place the seams of his clothing are touching him or the wind is too abrupt against his skin. Times where his heart seems to beat too fast for his own body or his senses are on high alert in the worst way possible.
He’s hyper-aware of his body now, except it’s not painful or uncomfortable; it’s intoxicating.
All Jason is doing is kissing him, and Emerson can’t keep still, the cool cotton of the sheets beneath his legs a stark contrast to the heat of Jason’s body. He wants to feel more, doesn’t want Jason holding himself up. He wants to be crushed under Jason’s bulk, wants to feel those gloriously thick thighs and strong legs against his own. Jason’s only wearing loose boxers, so if he changed the position, his legs might rub against Emerson’s. The idea takes hold until Emerson is driven mad with the need to touch more.
Unable to put words to the desire he takes action, wrapping his own legs around Jason in a silent plea while tugging on his hips. Thankfully Jason seems to get the message, his kisses turning into moans when their clothed cocks rub together.
“You’re hard,” Jason marvels, as if he can’t believe it. Emerson echoes the sentiment even if he can’t seem to say it. Jason’s erection is firm, clearly bigger than his own and every time Jason shifts, it rubs against him in the most delicious pressure.
If Emerson were a cat, he’d roll Jason over and rub himself all over him, but he’s not sure if that would be weird. Except, Jason said he could do what he wanted. He promised to tell Emerson if he didn’t like something and Emerson trusts that Jason meant it.
Summoning all of his courage, Emerson gives Jason’s hips a push. For a second, Jason looks like a puppy someone kicked, confused and sad. Emerson doesn’t give him time to worry, pushing him until their positions are reversed, and Jason is the one on his back with Emerson seated on his lap, Jason’s cock firm beneath his ass. His dark hair is in disarray, his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving and Emerson feels more powerful than he ever has in his life.
Jason is wrecked from a few kisses, his boxers damp from his arousal, his body flushed and wanting. Emerson did this.
“I want to see if I can fit your cock in my mouth. It feels really big, so I probably can’t, but I want to try.”
Jason’s mouth falls open, the pink on his cheeks deepening to a dusty rose that highlights the warmth in honey-sweet brown eyes. “Uh, yes. Definitely yes.”
