Gasping into another fag's open mouth, lips brushing together as we share the same breath back and forth. This morning's shave was a lifetime ago, but in this moment, the beginning bristles and mutual friction against eachothers lips, cheek, chin, doesn't feel like dysphoria. It feels like life, the millimeter between us more palpable with every second
Mirroring one another, left hands go up, right go down. A firm hand on the back of my neck moves briefly upward, against the short hairs there, before tightening its grip as I match it, pulling against eachother until our foreheads are cemented together, chins tilted down so as to keep our gasping mouths just apart enough to allow the desperate breath between our lips.
Right hands fumble along one another's body, eventually finding purchase once belts and cloth is hastily stomped down. I grin and mumble a swear into the other mouth as I feel a warm hand trace down my length and engulf me in tender pressure. As I find my own goal, clinging hungrily, I feel the girth swell in my hand, pulsing once, twice, before I've even moved, and the hand on the back of my neck tenses. The reaction I've elicited makes me weak in the knees, and I cling to the other's neck for balance. And so we start to feed off eachother.
It's easy to get overeager at first, a firm grasp is met with a swell, which is met with a pumping fist, and we mirror eachother in desperation for a minute. Someone growls against the other, I'm not even sure who, and we start to come to ourselves, intimacy winning out over impulse. We had been matching eachother's fervor, but with a little attentiveness, it's clear we each need slightly different things from the other.
Our mirror shatters. I tighten my grip into index and thumb, focusing just behind that sensitive ridge. The hand on me relaxes, softens and slows, as my head goes hazy with the caress I wonder how such a calloused hand can be so soft? The word "please" slips from me into the other mouth, where it transforms into a grin I can feel against my lips. The other body stiffens against me with pleasure and hunger as I start to melt from the same, hands clamped like iron keeping our heads together, almost wholly supporting me, as if to say "not one micron further, we stay close and experience eachother for this."
It's not me first, thank gods, I don't think I could have stayed upright. It starts in the breath, a hitch, then a flex and rolling of shoulders, and then our lips finally close onto one another, and I feel everything between us bulge and harden with pressure. It feels almost to double in size again somehow, my hand feels small around it, and with a low moan and a shudder, I feel a wet warmth hit my stomach, just where my own pleasure has been swirling, growing, and with that, it's too much. I feel the hand that's been so kind to me pause to swipe the fluid and use it to lube me, and I whimper into our embrace.
It must be obvious I'm collapsing into the moment, because suddenly my right hand is guided up to clasp a stabilizing shoulder, the hand on my neck sliding down to my mid-back. And I start to gently cry, a relieved smile smearing my face, as fire runs from my thighs up to my chest, and out into the hand firming its grip on me.
