The second Peaches closed the door behind us, I was on him like a cougar, pushing him back against the wall and grabbing a handful of his groin until he moaned. I didn’t do this shit slowly or carefully, especially when pent up.
“Where’s your room?” I gasped into his probing mouth.
“I don’t have a room.” He pointed over my shoulder. I turned and saw a futon in the living room, dropped down to look more like a bed. “I’ve been sleeping on that.”
“Are you sure the twins won’t be home?”
“Nearly sure. But if they do, serves them right. I’ve walked in on Oliver a couple of times doing it in the kitchen… or on the floor.”
Straight dudes. No shame. I wasn’t hot about fucking on a futon, but who was I to complain? Just yesterday I’d been sucking off Beefhead on a bar bathroom floor. This was practically the Hilton in comparison.
I grabbed a handful of Peaches’s shirt and led him to the futon, shoving him down seconds before I climbed on top of him. Even in his baggy jeans, I could tell he was hard as hell. I spent a few minutes kissing him on all fours, then dipped my hips down and curled my free hand under his belt. He jolted and moaned as my hand came in contact with his cock. Oh, the things I wanted to do to it. Without preamble, I sat straight and jerked on his belt and zipper, unwrapping him with violent impatience. Peaches didn’t stop me or tell me to slow down. His face was flushed and his lips parted in pleasure, so I took that as consent.
It would have been smart to demand a condom, considering my condom policy. But fuck it. Peaches had dated the same person for a few years, so I could be less cautious, right? It had been a long time since I’d tasted actual dick, as opposed to latex or whatever passed as “grape flavor”. With only a brief pause to admire Peaches’s weaponry, I ducked down and sucked him deep, forcing him to cry out. To my delight, Peaches did not grab me and shove me onto his dick. He touched the top of my head, but he didn’t push, and so I was allowed to demonstrate the cocksucking skills that got me a bit of a reputation in high school. Peaches’s mouth dropped open but all he could manage were abortive gasps. I tried not to smile in satisfaction.
Peaches didn’t last long, and despite his stuttering attempt to warn me, I didn’t heed him. I kept my mouth on him through it all, swallowing it all before sitting back up and sweeping away my sweaty curls with a hand.
“Jesus Christ,” Peaches whispered, rubbing his face.
“I learned something in high school, I guess.”
Peaches scrambled to a sit, starting to pull at my clothes. I removed my tank top, kicked off my cowboy boots, and peeled out of my black leggings before he grabbed me around the waist and tossed me onto my back. I didn’t mind a little aggression, and I groaned with appreciation when his hands wrapped around my cock. Right when I was about to ask him if he had any lube for this hand job, he lowered his head and wrapped his mouth around the head of my dick. Okay then. That worked, too.
So Peaches wasn’t an expert on blow jobs like me (who was, really?) but it became increasingly obvious that he paid attention to me as he worked, because any time I showed any sign of enjoying a particular maneuver, he repeated it until I couldn’t even pretend to keep quiet. This fucking guy. I wondered if this was a skill that came naturally to him or if he’d been taught.
Do not think about the man he’s still totally in love with, I chided myself just before my orgasm hit and wiped my thoughts clean.
As I laid there trying to catch my breath, Peaches climbed up the bed and collapsed next to me. He was still wearing all his clothes, except his dick hung out of his jeans. I couldn’t help but laugh a little at the sight. With a sheepish smile, Peaches tucked himself back into his boxers but pulled off his jeans. I tugged at his T-shirt until he removed that as well. He wasn’t any more muscled than I was, but he did have plenty of chest hair, which I had fun carding my fingers through because I barely had any of my own.
We didn’t spend much time cuddling, because exhaustion dragged us down to sleep. When I woke, it was still dark. I dug around for my messenger bag in hopes of finding my phone. Once I pulled it out, I swiped at the screen to see the time. Four in the morning. My bladder was pretty convinced it was later. Trying not to wake a lightly snoring Peaches, I wandered around the dark apartment like an idiot, trying to locate the bathroom. In a two bedroom apartment, how hard could it be? I was finally able to find it, but I couldn’t help but marvel at all the hair products spilling over the tiny sink. They obviously weren’t Peaches. Whoever said that only gay men were obsessed about their hair was lying. Obviously the twins put in plenty of effort, and why not? Women deserved to fuck men with nice hair.
When I returned, Peaches was sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. He’d turned on a side table lamp so he could see.
“Did I wake you up?” I asked as I climbed back onto the futon.
“Maybe, but it’s fine.” He yawned, stretching his arms over his head. His hand landed on my hip, and he spent a moment looking at the small tattoo I had there of two hearts. “I didn’t see this before.”
“Yeah, I got them done when I was a stupid sixteen-year-old.”
“Is that legal?”
“Nope.”
“Ah.” Peaches rubbed his thumb along the hearts, and my cock stirred. There was no hiding it, so he lifted his gaze to meet mine.
The hard and fast fucking had been fun, but I actually liked Peaches for more than just a good dicking, so I craved something meaningful. I leaned over and kissed him softly, sliding my fingers through his chest hair and down his stomach. Peaches accepted my tenderness with some of his own, and once the kissing started, I began to regret it. I could fuck strangers with no regrets, but once my emotions were let out of their cage, they took control, often crashing me into a wall and mangling me past recognition. I really liked this guy. With more tattoos, more bulk, and maybe a better hairdo, he was my dream guy.
What I should have done was ended the kiss, excused myself, and driven home, promising never to talk to Peaches again. What I did do was throw a leg over Peaches and sit down on his hips, slowly grinding down into him with a soft, vulnerable moan. Peaches ran both hands through my curls and pulled me down into a harder kiss, his cock rising up and resting against my ass. At that point, we all knew what was gonna happen.
“You a top?” I murmured against his lips.
“I’m a whatever,” he replied.
Eddie fucked him? It would be no shock to me if Eddie had a big, beautiful dick just like the rest of him. I tried to murder the image before it came to mind, but it formed anyway, making me imagine Peaches getting driven into the mattress by his Adonis of an ex-boyfriend.
“You got condoms?” I said, hoping to talk over my own brain’s nonsense.
“No. But Oliver definitely does. Let me go check.”
“You know where he keeps his condoms?”
“He’s got a huge tub of them. Can’t be that hard to find.”
I lifted myself up so Peaches could roll off the futon, watching his ass with appreciation before he vanished down a short hallway to Oliver’s room. The condoms must have been easy to find, because Peaches came back moments later with a bottle of lube and a rubber.
“Thank God for slutty friends,” Peaches joked, climbing back onto the futon. He retook his place on his back, and I straddled him again. I had a slight preference for bottoming—I was a “whatever,” just like Peaches—but no matter where my cock went, I wanted to be on top when possible. I liked having control of the situation, and it was either because I enjoyed domination or because I thought so highly of my fucking skills and so poorly of others’. I’d had enough morons like Beefhead fuck me doggy style with no finesse or attention to detail that the position was no longer on the roster of my favorites. Unless things got rough. Which, at least with the guy I’d dated the longest, it sometimes did.
I went ahead with my usual party trick, sliding the condom on with my mouth. It had been a few weeks since I’d gotten skewered, so it took a moment to loosen myself up. Peaches watched me intensely as I did it, and I gave him a sultry look that may have looked demented; I hadn’t washed off my eye shadow from earlier, so it was probably smeared all the way across my face.
With all preparations made, I lifted myself up and sank onto Peaches’s length. I let out a long sigh as I did so, taking a moment to appreciate the feel of it. Then the fucking started in earnest. Halfway through, Peaches sat up to grab me around the waist, and we swapped hot, slightly slobbery kisses as I bounced in his lap. His hand wrapped around my dick, and when I threw my head back, he dug his face into my neck, kissing me there instead. Thanks to all the hand action, I came before him, but I kept rocking on top of him until his whole body tightened with completion and he let out a muffled cry into my shoulder.
The crash felt more gradual this time, and we stayed entwined for a minute, breathing hard and trying to put ourselves back together. When Peaches finally lifted his face from my shoulder, I leaned and kissed him slowly. He pushed my sweaty hair away from my forehead and after pulling back, just looked at me in a way that my heart soar and my stomach plummet. God fucking damnit. I could not lose my shit this time.
I clambered off his lap, regretting the cool emptiness his length left behind. Peaches slid off the futon again and headed for the bathroom. When he returned, he brought with him a cool washcloth to clean us both with.
“Please tell me you all have your own washcloths,” I joked.
“Even wearing a hazmat suit, I wouldn’t touch Oliver’s towels.”
I chuckled, stretching out on my back to enjoy Peaches’s doting. Once the condom was tossed out and bodily fluids were wiped away, we laid beside each other, staring at the ceiling. After a long and somewhat awkward silence, I turned on my side and rested my head on Peaches’s shoulder, not caring if it made me seem clingy and overly affectionate. In response, Peaches wrapped his arm around my shoulders and trailed a thumb along the lines of the tattoo on my deltoid. How fucking long had it been since I laid in a bed like this with someone while sober? Since I dated Josh a few years ago, maybe. Peaches didn’t seem to think anything of it, even digging his nose into my hair until half of his face was lost in it. He ran his hand through the damp curls, pushing them away from my face and away from my temple and ear where they were the sweatiest.
A memory of Eddie wandered forward, brief as it was. I recalled his hair, too gold to be dyed. I also remembered the lazy curls around his ears and neck, not thick enough to complete a full curlicue like mine but too tight to be considered “waves”. I wondered if Peaches was thinking about that as he carded his fingers though my hair. I wondered if he was missing Eddie right now, if he’d imagined fucking Eddie instead.
I pressed my face harder against his chest and wished sleep would fucking arrive already.
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