Playing for Keeps (Glasgow Lads Book 2) (24 page)

He broke the kiss to say, “I want you, John. I want you inside me.”

“Not yet.” John kept kissing him, moving his leg across Fergus’s crotch with a delicious friction, his erection straining against Fergus’s waist.

Fergus slipped a hand between them to stroke it. The hot, solid weight against his palm was more than he could take. “Come on, don’t torture me. I’ve been thinking of this all week.”

John hesitated. “Right. Okay.” He shoved off his trousers and boxers, then stripped Fergus naked as well. As he retrieved the condoms and lube from the bag near Fergus’s feet, John said, “I’ve been thinking of this all week too. In fact…” His voice trailed off, then he held up a condom with a trembling hand, its silver wrapper glinting in the lantern light. “Can I—can I put this on you instead?”

Fergus’s momentary confusion turned to delight. “Yes. Please.” He sat up, his cock echoing the sentiment with a hearty nod. Fergus had been the eager recipient both times they’d fucked last weekend, so he’d assumed that would be the usual way of things. But variety was even better.

John looked relieved and nervous at the same time. “The thing is, see, I’ve never done it…that way. Sorry.”

“Oh.” Fergus felt honored, but didn’t want his own enthusiasm to pressure John. “Are you sure you want it to be tonight?”

“Aye. I’m still slightly pished, so I think that’ll help.”

“I’m not doing this if you’re drunk.”

“I said slightly! Just enough to relax. Or maybe sleep, if you don’t do something to keep me awake.”

Fergus proffered a sobriety test. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Both the ones I want inside me.”

“John—”

“I’ve never wanted this before, but I want it with you.” He took hold of Fergus’s big toe and gently shook his foot. “Please be the one?”

Fergus sighed. “You know I can’t resist when you say please.”

“Why would you want to?” John reached forward and glided the pads of his fingertips down Fergus’s cock, tip to base, then feathered them over his balls, which grew heavy with longing.

Fergus groaned and removed John’s hand while he could still think. “All right, but we’re taking it slow.”

“I’m good at slow, remember?”

“You’re good at
giving
slow.” He guided John to lie on his stomach. “Let’s see how you are at taking it.”

“Shouldn’t I be on my left side the first time? That’s what all the internets say.”

“What part of slow do you not understand? I’m giving you a massage first.”

“Yaldy!” John waved his feet in the air.

“You’re an adorable half-drunk.” Fergus straddled his back, palmed some lubricant, then started with John’s shoulders. The tension there relented under Fergus’s long, easy strokes. “I’ve been wanting to do this since we first met.” He reached forward to massage John’s right shoulder and upper arm with both hands. “I love your muscles.”

John flexed his biceps. “Like this yin?”

Fergus let out a growl. “That’s one of my favorites.” He bent over and kissed the bulge, then ran his tongue along the vein that stood beneath the skin.

“You’re making me the opposite of relaxed.”

“Right. Sorry.” He drew his hands down John’s forearm, smoothing out the tension. Then he shifted to the left arm, reminding his fingers to massage, not grope.

Fergus moved down John’s back, one muscle at a time, focusing on giving instead of taking. John had bestowed him with an awe-inspiring responsibility, and he was determined to make every moment a pleasure. Fergus’s own first time had been ill-informed and poorly choreographed—the resulting pain and awkwardness had almost put him off the whole business for good.

He took extra time with John’s glutes, at first stroking gently with his palms until the muscles loosened enough to take pressure from his fingertips and knuckles. Then he spread his hands across John’s arse and squeezed, sweeping his thumbs up under the curves where his cheeks met his thighs. John let out a soft moan that nearly shattered Fergus’s patience.
Soon this will be yours
, he reminded himself.

He moved on, down John’s legs, grasping the powerful thighs and calves, their dark hairs so much coarser than the silky strands on his head. He finished with John’s feet, tugging the last bits of tension from his toes and heels. Then he kissed each foot, softly, on the tenderest part of the arch.

Fergus moved to sit beside John again, gliding one hand up the length of his body. John didn’t even twitch.

“You still awake?” he asked.

“Mm-hm.” John’s voice was smooth and serene. “That was a good idea.”

“Are you cold?”

“Maybe a wee bit.”

Fergus drew the blanket around them, creating a warm cave, then turned them on their left sides to spoon. John’s body felt languid in his arms.

“Now what?” John asked dreamily.

“Now I”—Fergus fumbled under the blanket with the lubricant bottle’s pump—“hopefully don’t spill this everywhere. Ah, got it. Now try and relax.”

“What if I’m already relaxed?” John murmured.

“Then stay that way.” He drew his littlest finger between John’s cheeks, cautiously. When he found the tight bud of his hole, he traced around it slowly, thoroughly wetting it. Then he teased a bit, nudging his fingertip against the opening.

“You’re driving me mad,” John whispered, squirming against him.

“Good. Be still.” Fergus kissed his shoulder until he settled again. Then he simply pressed, not pushing, just waiting, until John opened up, drawing him in.

“Yes…” John arched his neck. “More.”

“Patience.” Fergus applied nearly microscopic strokes, pushing forward a millimeter or less each time, until he’d gone as far as he could. He switched to longer strokes, as slowly as John would let him. The feel of his tight, slick arse was making Fergus’s cock throb, but he kept his focus on the here and now.

“More,” John sighed. “Please.”

Fergus withdrew, then pressed his two middle fingers together. “Deep breath now.”

John obeyed, and when Fergus found the right moment, he slipped his pair of fingers inside.

John jerked suddenly. “Oh!”

Startled, Fergus barely stopped himself from yanking his hand away. “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

“Aye, fine. I just nearly came.” He turned his head. “Didn’t mean to alarm.”

Fergus gazed into John’s shining eyes. “It feels okay, then?”

“It’s magic. You’re magic.” He reached back to stroke Fergus’s face. “You’re so good to me.”

Because I love you.
The words wanted to leap from his throat. To keep them inside, he pressed his lips to John’s. He wouldn’t complicate the simple beauty of this experience with what might be an unwelcome admission. But he would happily admit this love to himself, let it flow out through his fingertips and into John’s body.

Fergus went deeper, exploring the angles and curves as their breath quickened together. He began to slide his cock against the rise of John’s arse, dying to enter but holding out as long as it took to be certain.

When at last he felt John was ready—which was long after John
claimed
to be ready—Fergus prepared himself with condom and lube. Then, since it was dark under the blanket, he navigated his way back using his fingers.

John lifted his head. “That’s your hand again, aye?”

“Aye. You’ll know the difference. God, I hope so.” He guided himself to the edge of John’s opening. “Ready?”

“You gonnae remind me to breathe?”

“Not a bad idea.”

“All right, then.” John took an overly dramatic inhale, and as he let it out, Fergus felt him relax enough for him to slip inside.

F
UCKING
HELL
,
IT
hurts
, John thought.
Like, really really hurts.

“Stop.” He reached back to grab Fergus’s hip. “Don’t pull out. Don’t move at all.”

“I wasn’t going to. I was going to stay right here a wee while.” Fergus stroked his arm soothingly. “Remember breathing?”

John couldn’t remember breathing. Every internal organ, including his lungs, wanted to seize up and shrink away from this invasion. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s normal. Did you think it wouldn’t hurt the first time?”

“I knew it would, but only in the abstract. And then when your fingers felt so incredible, I thought, ‘Ah, this’ll be easy.’”

“It will be easy one day. And if it’s not, that’s fine too. You know I love having you inside me.” Fergus kissed his earlobe. “Shall I tell you what it was like?”

John’s prick twitched with interest. “Aye.”

Fergus caressed John’s neck with his breath and his words. “Our first time, in our kilts, from the moment it began, we just…fit.”

“We did.”

“I’d been dreaming of it, literally, but the way you—” His breath went shaky. “The way the tip of your cock glided so slowly over that first…horizon inside me, it was beyond all my dreams. You’ve no idea how close I was to bursting right then, all over that ghastly hotel bedspread.”

John closed his eyes and relived that instant as himself, then put himself in Fergus’s place, envying the immediate pleasure he’d taken in receiving John. He wanted them to fit
now
, too.

“You were so careful,” Fergus continued, “even though I begged you not to be. You knew better, and that made me feel…I don’t know, safe? No, that’s not the word. I felt free. Free to take every second as it came and not worry about the next.”

As Fergus spoke, John focused on his own breath, on relaxing every muscle, as he’d done during that long, slow massage.

Fergus glided the backs of his fingertips over John’s arm, making his skin tingle. “Then remember when we were face to face and you were kissing me?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And giving me your cock so slow and deep.” Fergus brushed his lips against John’s ear, then his neck, as softly as John had kissed him that night. “It was like you were lighting me up from the inside and the outside at the same time. I was…combusting.”

“I could feel it,” John whispered. And he could feel it now, but from the other side. It was like they were becoming each other, blending their memories and desires, the past, present, and even the future, all into one. If this wasn’t love, he couldn’t imagine what was. “I want to feel it now.”

He pressed back, taking a bit more of Fergus. There was one last wave of pain, but he let it roll over him instead of fighting it. It was replaced by a sudden, overpowering pleasure. “Och!”

Fergus froze. “Is that a good ‘Och’ or a bad ‘Och’?”

“Good!” Every nerve in John’s brain and body seemed to fire at once. “I’m—I’m gonnae come!” He reached for his cock to make it happen. He
needed
to make it happen.

“Not yet.” Fergus took John’s hand and held onto it. “You’ll be glad you waited. Trust me.”

He did trust Fergus, else he wouldn’t have been in this position to begin with. But as the slow, smooth strokes continued within him, the sensations grew ferociously intense, until John thought he would go blind or mad or both. He heard himself make new noises, felt his face contort into new shapes. He released Fergus’s hand to claw at the grass beyond the blanket, nails digging into dirt to keep him on earth. A stream of incoherent words left his lips—was he speaking in tongues now?—as he soared higher than any drink had ever taken him.

Through it all Fergus held him close and told him it was all right, that he was beautiful, that he felt so good. John thought it ironic that the man launching him into outer space was also the one keeping him grounded—barely. Each time John thought he’d reached the utmost limit of pleasure, it would rocket to a higher level.

Just as he felt about to break the space-time continuum, the peak leveled into a plateau. John opened his eyes and caught his breath. Something resembling English came out of his mouth. “More. I want more.”

“Okay, but just a wee bit.”

“No, much more. All the more.” He tried to buck against Fergus, who held him off with a firm hand on his hip.

“Don’t be greedy, love. You’ll get hurt.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“Never,” Fergus whispered. He curled his arm under John’s and laced their fingers together. “I’d die first.”

John mouthed the words
I love you
, releasing them into the night. Perhaps the breeze would blow them back to Fergus so he’d hear them with his skin if not his ears.

As if in response, Fergus eased forward, giving John more of what he wanted, what he
needed
, what he never wanted to live without again. It went on and on, a slow, delirious, spiraling climb into heaven. John nearly wept at the thought of this ever ending.

“Oh!” Fergus kissed John’s shoulder. “I need to show you something. Something spectacular.”

As Fergus carefully withdrew, John gave a resentful whimper. “This better be good.”

“It is. Hold on.” Fergus slipped an arm beneath John’s left side, then rolled them onto their backs, with John lying atop his chest. “Look, the sky’s cleared.”

“My God…” John had never seen so many stars in his entire life. Glistening like sugar crystals, they spread across the slice of black sky left visible by the trees.

Fergus reached back and switched off the camping lantern, bringing the stars into more brilliant relief. Then he tugged the blanket over their double-decker body and held it in place with his arms about John’s waist.

As they lay in silence, John opened all his senses to the world, inhaling the forest and fields, listening to Fergus’s breathing and the soft chirp of crickets. The city felt a million miles away.

“Thank you for showing me this,” John said. “Everything. The countryside, your home, these woods. It’s so peaceful here.”

“It’s why I try to come back as often as I can. Not just to work in the studio or see family, but to, I don’t know, reconnect with myself. Does that make sense?”

“This place made you. It’s completely different to the place which made me.”

“Glasgow’s got its own beauty. Its people are its beauty.” He nuzzled John’s hair. “Especially you.”