latermaybe | (no subject)

The words send a shock of pleasure through me and I grab at his hips, fingers digging into his flesh as I nod and give him a fierce kiss, dragging him around to the back of the of counter and leaning against it. I drag his shirt up out of his waistband and kiss him again, biting gently at his bottom lip and tugging.

“Does that mean I’m in charge?” I ask in a low, seductive voice, smiling as I let go of him to drag my suit jacket back off of my shoulders. “You’ll do what I say?”

"You're in charge," I confirmed, and to prove it, I let my hands fall to my sides, giving him the freedom to do what he wanted while I waited for instruction.

"I'll do anything," I said, with a faint smirk twitching briefly across my lips.

Oliver smirks and I return it, giving him an amused, knowing look before sharpening my gaze, lifting my chin as I look him up and down. Leaning back against the counter, I undo the buttons on my shirt cuffs and make a show of rolling the sleeves, watching him as I consider what I’d like from him.

“Get on your knees for me, I tell him in a low, commanding voice, reaching up to push my hair back from my face. My palms press into the counter behind me and I bite my lip, eyes bright. “I want my cock in your mouth before I fuck you.”

Without hesitation, I slid to my knees, my hands framing his narrow hips. I kissed his belly through his shirt, just beneath his navel, then lower, lips trailing the top of his waistband. With a quick flash of a grin, I caught his fly in my teeth, tugging open the button, then reached between us to draw the zipper down.

"Are you going to take it out for me?"

Oliver sinks to his knees so seamlessly, like there was nothing he wants to do more, and I hum my approval as his big hands frame my hips. Just seeing him like this makes blood rush south, eyes darkening as he tugs my slacks open with his neat white teeth. I let out a shaky breath and reach out to cup his cheek, fingers sliding through the hair at his temple.

“Oh, you want me to feed it to you?” I ask in a low rumble, smirking and giving his hair a gentle tug, pulling his head back a few inches. My other hand slides down into my underwear, curling around my half-hard cock and tugging it free. Oliver’s lips are parted, cheeks flushed, and I use my grip on his hair to pull him close enough to tap the head of my cock against his chin.

“Ask me nicely,” I tell him, slipping easily into this role. So much feels out of my control and while I don’t want to control him, I know he won’t deny me. In this, I’ll get to have exactly what I want. Which is him.

"Please," I murmured, fingers curling into his waistband and tugging it down around the top of his thighs. Setting my palms on his bare hips, I looked up at him with naked adoration. My lips parted, I said, "Give it to me."

One corner of my lips twitched into a faint grin. Even in these moments, when we were playing a part for each other, we were still inescapably ourselves.

Elio and Oliver. Two that were one in all the ways that mattered.

As sexy as he looks, I can't help smiling back at him, amused as I am aroused. I love you. I mouth the words as I stroke his chin with my thumbs, urging his mouth open wider. Taking my cock in hand, I pull back the foreskin with a quiet grunt, sliding the head between his lips and across his tongue.

My own mouth falls open on a silent moan and I pull my hands back to rest my elbows on the counter, arching my back and tugging my shirt up so I can watch him suck me off.

All of my worries seem to melt away as he sucks my cock, mind going blank of everything but him-- how good he looks, how good he feels, how much I love him. "Fuck, Oliver. That's good."

It was good. It was always good. I set my hands gently at his hips and sucked him slowly, methodically, my eyes lingering on his face before finally drifting shut. I hummed, my own cock straining in my slacks, and took him as deeply as I could.

I considered helping him out of his clothes, at least pushing down his pants and unbuttoning his shirt, but there was always something about keeping our clothes on. The urgency, here in the middle of the shop, left us both aching.

“Fuck, you love this, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, one I already know the answer to. I’ve known just how much since that first summer, perhaps even that first night, even though at the time I was too awed to notice. Oliver looks so content with my cock in his mouth, and I would bet money that there’s a wet spot at the front of his own slacks.

He bobs his head and I reward him with my fingers in his hair and on his face, trailing reverently across his skin while murmuring praise in low Italian. My cock nudges the back of his throat and I tighten my fingers in his hair before he can pull away, cupping the back of his head and holding him there as I press deeper, groaning and hissing as my cock sinks into the tight grip of his throat. He looks up at me, eyes shining in the low light, and I shudder as pleasure blooms outward from that point of contact, threatening to undo me if we don’t stop.

“Such a good boy,” I tell him, lingering there for another long moment before letting him go so he can pull back and take a breath. My hand curls under his chin and I thumb at the wet, swollen corner of his mouth, wiping saliva from his skin. “Stand up. I wanna see how hard you are.”

My eyes watering and drool coating my chin, I swallowed past the reflex to gag, my hands gripping his waistband tightly enough that I heard the rip of a few threads.

When he released his grip, I sat back with a gasp, teeth catching on his thumb as I rose to my feet.

In a rusty voice, I murmured, "See for yourself," and let my hands fall loosely at my sides.

Oliver goes pliant, hands at his sides and mouth swollen, waiting for me to do whatever I want, and yet again I have to marvel at how compatible we are. We enjoy all of each other, switching back and forth between top and bottom to suit our mood. Tonight I’ll fuck him, and perhaps tomorrow he’ll fuck me. I love it all.

He stands before me and I look down at the obvious bulge in his slacks, just as obscene as I thought it would be, and I reach out to cover it with my palm, squeezing gently through the fabric as I press up onto my toes to kiss his wet, puffy lips.

“Is this all for me?” I murmur against his mouth, squeezing again before tugging open the button of his slacks and yanking at the fabric until the zipper slides down. My hand slides into his underwear, curling around his wet cock and humming my approval, thumb circling the rim of his foreskin. I toy with him a while, giving him filthy kisses as I stroke his cock, and then pull away entirely.

“Turn around and put your hands on the counter, darling,” I tell him, stepping to the side to make room for him to do so. My cock is still achingly hard, jutting up out of my open fly, and I take a slow, deep breath as I watch him move.

Breath catching in my throat, I leaned in towards him, submitting to his hands and demanding mouth. In those early days, he took the reigns uncomfortably, unaware that I wasn't so much more experienced than he was, but we knew each other now, and we'd left embarrassment and uncertainty behind a while ago.

Turning away from him, I rested my palms against the counter and shifted my feet apart, huffing a laugh as I was reminded, briefly, of where we were. "Is this how you want me?"

Oliver twists away from me and I watch as he positions himself for me, hands against the counter and legs spread. I inhale the scent of old books and leather bindings, his subtle cologne and our shared laundry detergent, and in this moment I am perfectly content. Earlier I had felt so troubled, like there were so many things that I must be missing out on, but I know that I have everything I need, because I have him.

He asks me a question in Italian, words coming easily because he learned it for me, and I smile in a way that’s at odds with our little game because yes, this is exactly where I want him. Right here with me.

“That’s good,” I tell him as I step up behind him, pressing slow kisses to the back of his neck as I reach around him and curl my hand around his cock again, stroking slowly as I grind my hips against his ass.

“I’m trying to decide how I want to fuck you,” I breathe out, letting my teeth press gently against his skin, a suggestion of a bite with no pressure. “Maybe nice and slow, hm? See how long you could take it?”

I slide my other hand down the back of his pants and into his underwear to touch two fingertips confidently to his dry hole, rubbing without pressing in. “Since you can’t come until I say. Maybe I could get you close over and over again. Because we never said that I couldn’t come whenever I wanted.”

"Whatever you want," I said breathlessly, my weight shifting impatiently, bent half over the counter with my head hanging low. I wanted so badly to touch myself, my cock aching to the point of pain, but I kept my hands pressed tightly against the counter, my knuckles going white.

"I want whatever you want," I reiterated, the distinction suddenly important. We only ever had control of each other when we freely gave it. We had the freedom to explore each other, and our own desires, because we trusted each other more than either of us ever thought possible.

His words make me groan low in my throat and I press my forehead to the back of his shoulder, biting at him through layers of fabric. The declaration itself is sexy, but it’s the easy trust that he displays that makes me feel hot all over.

I need this right now, just for tonight, and he knows that because he knows me. I love him so much that for a second it hurts to breathe, chest seizing up until I let out a harsh gasp and kiss the back of his neck.

“I knew I’d thank myself for this one day,” I say with a breathless chuckle, blinking the sting out of my eyes as I crouch down and reach toward the back of one of the shelves under the counter. My hand closes around a small packet of lube that I stashed away on one hopeful afternoon and I pull it out, holding it between two fingers as I grab at his waistband, tugging his pants and underwear down to his upper thighs.

“Wider,” I tell him, shouldering his thighs farther apart and pressing my face between his cheeks to lick at his hole. The lube falls to the floor as I get my hands on his ass, spreading him open and lapping at him obscenely, tongue pressing in against tight muscle with a hungry moan.

"How many of those do you have stashed around?" I asked, my shoulders shaking slightly with my own breathless laughter as I moved to comply with his direction. A startled gasp of a moan escaped me as he pressed his face against my ass, and I muttered, "My God," as I reached down to tug at my cock, forgetting his earlier instruction to keep my hands on the counter.

"Are you fucking me, or torturing me?"

"I've honestly lost count," I reply with a laugh of my own, because it's become a habit of mine to hide packets of lube whenever we have to restock. It's become something of a game that I play with myself, but thankfully it's come in handy time and time again.

As distracted as I am with my face between his cheeks, it takes me a few moments to notice that Oliver's hand is around his cock. Once I do, I pull back and reach up to give his ass a sharp smack, just hard enough to leave a pink echo of my fingertips against his skin.

"Hey, what'd I say?" I reach up to hook my fingers in the crook of his elbow and tug his arm away with a disapproving click of my tongue. "And here I was being so nice to you."

"The customers probably think they're... some kind of sex-positive freebies," I decided, grinning that the thought of some unsuspecting person finding one tucked inside one of their books.

I was startled from my reverie by the sting of his palm, and letting out a sharp gasp, I said hurriedly, "Sorry, sorry," and forced my palm back onto the counter.

“I do try to be a little discreet,” I assure him, smiling at his reaction to the slap. There’s a faint pink smudge on his pale skin and I drag my tongue over it, then blow cool air to soothe the burn. “I am somewhat respectable.”

As I slowly get to my feet, I tear open the lube and get half it it on my fingers, leaning against his back and reaching between his legs to press my slick middle finger into him all at once.

“It’s okay, pesca,” I assure him, moving my finger in and out of him a few times before pressing in with two, humming as I feel him relax enough to let me in. My chin hooks over his shoulder as I finger him, the sound of it almost obscene in the quiet shop. I kiss his neck, nose behind his ear like we have all the time in the world. “You trust me to take care of you, don’t you?”

"Of course, what was I thinking," I teased, a groan catching in my throat as his tongue dragged across my bare ass. The moment, standing under the dimmed lights of the shop, was more than a little surreal, and as he leaned in to whisper in my ear, I felt myself nearly swoon.

"Always," I murmured, pressing back against him and falling heavily onto my elbows, my forehead nearly touching the counter top.

“Oh my.” A chuckle escapes me as he folds himself over on the counter, like he’s unable to hold himself up. It’s a low, soft sound, hoarse from my own arousal, and I slide my free hand soothingly up and down his back as I work my fingers in and out of him until I feel he’s ready for me.

“Okay, pesca. Okay,” I say soothingly, slowly pulling my slick fingers out of him and using the remaining lube on my own cock, biting my bottom lip hard as I stroke myself. After wiping my hand on my slacks, I grip him by the hip and position myself behind him, in awe of the way he’s displaying such open need.

The tails of his shirt are a little in the way so I let go of his hip to drag them up, exposing his lower back as I nudge the head of my cock against his hole. I can’t help but to tease him a little, pressing in and withdrawing a few times before sinking all the way into him, bottoming out with a stuttering moan. I told myself over him, pressing kisses to the back of his neck before biting hard at it, like a possessive animal in the middle of a rut. “You feel so good.”

With a breathless laugh, I said, "Brat," in a way that had only ever been an endearment. He pressed against me and I trembled with the effort to hold still, blunt nails scrabbling on the scarred wood of the counter and my toes curling inside my loafers.

"Oh, God," I groaned, my breath fogging up the wood beneath my cheek. "Just for you," I murmured, my brain a buzzing haze of always and yours and more, God, more. It was absurd, how well we could play one another— all the fine-tuning of having been together for years, with none of the loss of passion.

“Damn right,” I growl out, biting his neck again and curling my arm around his hips, dragging him back against me. “All mine.”

There’s no point in denying that I feel possessive of him. It’s an unseemly quality to have, but I have plenty of those already. What’s one more?

He’s mine, mine, and I am just as much his.

“Mm, I’m the only one to ever do this,” I murmur in low Italian, sliding one hand down the center of his back as I straighten up a little. After gliding my palm along the small of his back, I move it up to curl around his shoulder, holding him in place as I start to fuck him with slow rolls of my hips. “I love that, Oliver.”

Possessiveness was an ugly trait, but we'd stopped trying to hide our flaws from one another a long time ago. And was it really so terrible to belong to someone? To want a piece of that person, all for yourself?

"How could I have ever trusted anyone else to do this?" I pointed out, arching back against him, my hand reaching back blindly to grasp at his hip. "Only you."

“Only me,” I repeat on an exhale, fingers digging into his hips as I snap my hips forward, picking up the pace. My forehead goes to the back of his neck and I put my hand over his on my hip, slotting our fingers together and biting at his sweat damp ski. I want to suck a bruise there, mark him for everyone to see, but I manage to pull myself away before I can. Later, upstairs, I’ll leave bruises on the insides of his thighs where only I can see.

The counter rattles a little with the force of our lovemaking, seeing ballpoint pins and highlighters rolling to the floor, and I laugh under my breath as I work my hand between the counter and his body so I can grab his cock. It’s so hard, so wet, and I let out a possessive grunt against the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Not until I say,” I remind him, stroking him with a loose grip, counterpoint to the rocking of my hips. “Remember?”