Page 94 of Make the Play
“Boyfriend,” Emerson croaks.
Jason stills, hand hovering in midair. He drops it to the back of Emerson’s neck, smoothing his fingers back and forth. “Um, yes? I thought that was kind of what the ‘be mine’ thing meant. That’s what it meant right?”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Emerson whispers, unsure if he wants to smile or cry or hide.
“Me either,” Jason says, curling the fingers around his neck and offering one of those firm, reassuring touches that Emerson likes so much. “We can figure it out together though. I bet we’re going to be fucking awesome at being boyfriends.”
As always, Jason’s conviction is unshakable, and it soothes the part of Emerson that needs to know what to expect. Whatever happens, good or bad, he knows Jason isn’t going anywhere.
If Jason King were a book boyfriend, he’d almost think he was too perfect. Except Jason isn’t a character in one of Emerson’s fictional stories. He doesn’t have to fall asleep with the words of his favorite novels in his head, imagining what life might be like if he were better at being a person or if he had someone who cared about him. This is real life, and it’s better than anything off the pages of one of his books.Jasonis better because he’s real.
Emerson desperately wants to feel that realness. He wants to feel every inch of Jason’s perfectly imperfect body, to feel his dips and hollows, the muscle and softness. He wants to hear the rich timber of Jason’s voice, to know what another man—what hisboyfriend—looks like when he comes.
For the first time in Emerson’s life, he wants to try something messy, emotionally and physically. He wants to taste Jason’s release, wants to sleep in a bed that’s not his own, in the arms of the one person who feels more like home than anyplace in his entire life ever has.
Emerson wants to love Jason King. Emersondoeslove Jason King. That, certainly, is too soon to say. So he says something wildly different instead.
“Can I still suck your cock, please?”
Emerson holds his breath, heart thundering against his ribcage. For a dizzying second, he feels like maybe he might pass out, and he really wishes that his brain understood that fight or flight is meant for actual near death experiences and not asking if you can suck your first dick.
“I think that’s the most polite proposition ever directed my way.”
“Is that a yes then?” Emerson prompts, seeking a more explicit answer despite Jason’s earlier consent.
“It’s a yes.” Jason’s eyes crinkle, his hands roaming over Emerson’s side. “Everything is a yes with you. Today, tomorrow—yes.”
“Remember, I’m going to be bad at this.” Emerson scoots down Jason’s body and settles in the space between the spread of his legs. “I’ll learn though.”
“Whatever you do, I’m going to like,” Jason assures him. “I’m uh, embarrassingly close to coming already. Just fair warning.”
“But I haven’t done anything yet.”
“I know,” Jason huffs. “I don’t think I’ve been this turned on since I was a teenager, sneaking extra boxes of tissues and lotion into my room so my parents wouldn’t know what I was doing. Except this is better because it’s not my right hand, it’s you. Sorry, I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”
“I like that you talk a lot,” Emerson admits, skimming his fingers over Jason’s stomach. It quivers under his touch, and he curls his fingers under the waistband, heart in his throat when Jason lifts his ass so Emerson can tug them down. It requires a bit of maneuvering to get them all the way off, but when he does, there is very little oxygen left in his lungs and all the blood in his body has gone south, south, south.
If Jason in nothing but his boxers was a sight, then Jason completely naked is his every fantasy come to life. The treasure trail he saw a peek of above Jason’s boxers is on full display now, the path leading down, growing thicker and darker. Emerson’s eyes trail lower until they settle on where Jason’s cock is nestled in a thick patch of dark hair, its girth as impressive as the rest of Jason.
Eager to touch, he lets his hands wrap around it, marveling at how thick it is and how little of it he can cover with one hand. Jason makes a strangled moan when Emerson strokes up, the hold loose and exploratory as he focuses on the sensory delight of Jason’s erection in his palm.
Touching another man’s dick is very different from his own; Jason’s is thicker, with the foreskin at the end that exposes the slit with every downward stroke.
Curious, Emerson bends down, letting his tongue dart out to lap at the precome that's collected there. Jason lets out a low string of expletives that Emerson is ninety-nine percent sure are in Spanish and also likely meant to be favorable, if the way Jason’s big body quivers is any indication.
Delighted by the feeling beneath his fingers, and the way Jason falls apart, he wonders what will happen when he actually puts his mouth on it. Bending himself in half, he means to swallow Jason’s cock—or at the very least the tip of it—but almost immediately gets distracted by his body hair. The dark curls surrounding his dick are so different from the wavy hair on Jason’s head or the soft fuzz on his chest. Without even consciously making the choice, Emerson’s hand relaxes its hold on Jason in favor of letting his fingers drag through the hair around the thick base.
Wondering if it might feel the same against his cheek, Emerson lays himself flat on the mattress, long legs hanging off the end of the bed so that he can rub his cheek against it. The position is definitely awkward but oddly satisfying, since the base of Jason’s cock butts up against his mouth and other cheek, flooding his olfactory senses with the thick scent of Jason’s arousal. This close the scent is stronger and sharper, but not at all unpleasant, and Emerson breathes in a shuddery breath, his own dick achingly hard in his boxers.
The softness of Jason’s skin is a contrast to the coarse hair around the base of his erection, and Emerson lets himself explore, hand trailing up and down in lazy strokes as he mouths against the side and watches a bit more precome dribble down, glistening over the thick vein that runs along the underside of his cock.
It’s not until Jason makes an inhuman sound halfway between a grunt and a whimper that it occurs to Emerson he’s probably not doing a very good job. He hasn’t actually done more than stroke and lick, and he kind of even forgot he was supposed to be making Jason come, more interested in the sensory experience of touching another man, especially one with a lot more body hair.
“Sorry,” Emerson huffs, wiping away the spit that’s dripped down the side of his chin on the back of his arm.
“I’m not sorry, that was great,” Jason grunts
“You liked it? I wasn’t sure if, well—it’s not weird?” Emerson presses, wanting the truth even while he dreads it if the answer isn’t the one he wants. He rises onto his hands and knees, eyeing Jason’s cock with a fortifiable mix of desire and apprehension, unsure how exactly he’s supposed to fit it in his mouth.
