Whether the ‘it’ in question was where his next meal came from, how he was going to buy his next bottle of liquor, how many times Cliff was going to steal his cigarettes, or the way James tasted in his mouth, it was simply better to focus on other things. His guitar, for instance. His guitar was a perfect example of one of those other things that were ideal for distraction, and…
And it was pointless. He couldn’t forget any more than he could undo what happened that night, and forgetting was the only way he’d ever avoid thinking of it. James’s lips, James’s smell, the way James’s broad chest felt under his curious fingers. He’d only dreamed about it once or twice, thank god, but both times had resulted in inhuman amounts of sweat and an erection that could split rocks.
The most infuriating part, of course, was the fact that James didn’t seem to have any such difficulty forgetting him. He’d seemed uncomfortable for all of two days, and then things had reverted back to normal. Daily fights with Lars, some worse than others. Constant scribbling on whatever scraps of paper he could lay hands on. Friendly banter with Cliff.
Kirk was starting to hate James. A lot.
They were still in Mississippi, though they’d managed to make it all the way up to Tupelo courtesy of a twenty dollar bill Cliff had found. No one asked where exactly he’d located it, and he didn’t volunteer the information. No one gave a fuck. They were moving on. That was plenty good enough.
The hotel this time around wasn’t nearly as low class, and it was cheaper. Granted, the rooms were smaller, but fuck it. Everyone got his own place to crash and that meant Kirk didn’t have to look at James until they were forced to pile into the van and slog off to some shitty show at some shitty club so they could afford to pay for the rooms. Lars talked about saving money and moving on for real, but every night the excess cash got dropped on booze.
Booze was really Kirk’s only friend at this point and, in a moment of irritable drunkenness, he had discovered Southern Comfort. It was way too sweet and the alcohol content wasn’t nearly high enough, but he continued to drink it for two reasons. One, of course, being the name. Kirk simply couldn’t resist the delicious cynicism, particularly in light of what had happened. The second reason was more of an unanticipated bonus; all of the guys had tried the liquor and all of them had been completely repulsed. It was the first time in months that Kirk’s booze hadn’t been stolen outright.
They’d been pushing their luck in Tupelo nearly two weeks when it finally happened. Kirk was on his way to being wasted, about halfway through a fifth of Southern Comfort and feeling a fire in his belly. He was drinking alone tonight; Cliff had invited him over to play poker, but the thought of Cliff and cards in conjunction with one another made Kirk want to spit nails. So he’d declined politely enough and wandered off to his room to be miserable. Tonight’s goal was to drink so much that he couldn’t get it up. He was getting sick of jerking off and seeing James’s face when he came.
The knock on his door came just as he lit the first cigarette out of a new pack. Usually, he tried not to smoke, but lately he hadn’t had the willpower to resist. They’d all be gone tomorrow, smoked away in a haze of drunken misery. He spent more money now on liquor and cigarettes than he ever had before. It was getting pathetic. Groaning, he lifted himself off the bed and shuffled over to the door, fifth clutched in his hand, cigarette dangling from his lips. It was probably Cliff, come to cajole him into being social. The carefully constructed retort died on his lips as the door swung open.
It was James.
“You look like hell!” The singer strode into Kirk’s room, swaggering cheerfully and seemingly totally oblivious to the shocked expression on Kirk’s face. “When’s the last time you slept, Kwirk?”
“I… wha… James?” God. Way to make an ass of yourself, Kirk. “What are you doing here?” He sat down on the bed to keep from toppling over. He couldn’t decide between being nervous that he was alone with James or being pissed off that his solitary brooding had been disturbed by the very object of his angst.
“Came to see you,” James answered easily, sitting down on the bed beside Kirk. “You’ve been kinda weird lately. Lars and Cliff noticed too…” Glowering, Kirk scooted further down the bed and took a long swig of Southern Comfort.
“I’m fine,” he said curtly. James shot him a doubtful look.
“Is this about the.. thing?” Kirk was stunned. The thing? James couldn’t even say ‘kiss’? Good god. He’d been right to skulk around and not talk about it. James was treating the situation like it was a fucking hot potato.
“The kiss?” Kirk asked icily, taking a long swig from his bottle. He was slightly disappointed that James didn’t flinch.
“Yeah, that,” James said, cool as a fucking cucumber. Kirk contemplated knocking him over the head with his liquor bottle, but decided to wait until he’d actually finished drinking it. James wasn’t worth wasting precious booze. “Look, if you’re gonna be all fucking freaky about it, we can forget it ever happened, okay?”
“I thought that’s what we were doing.” Kirk glared and tucked his legs close. He was well aware that it was a very defensive gesture, and he was slightly ashamed for indulging in it. Only slightly, though.
“No, I was trying to act normal and you were running around acting like you’d cut someone’s fucking head off and buried it in the backyard.”
“I wasn’t!” Furious, Kirk ground out his cigarette and lit a new one. “I was trying to avoid causing conflict!”
“By acting like I killed your dog and fed it to you.” James’s voice was infuriatingly calm. Kirk wished he had the balls to just punch him in the eye and get it over with.
“Asshole,” Kirk muttered, and James rolled his eyes. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it. It happened, it’s over, let’s just… leave it like that.”
“Are you gonna act normal now?” James cocked his eyebrow the way Kirk’s fifth grade teacher used to, and Kirk snickered a little. James would look excellent in an awful sort of way wearing a paisley sack dress and a ratty old cardigan.
“Yeah, I’m gonna act normal,” he said. Orthopedic shoes, too. She’d worn orthopedic shoes and smelled like lavender all the time. Kirk wondered what James smelled like. Cigarettes, probably, and whiskey. James always smelled like whiskey, even when he hadn’t been drinking.
“Can I kiss you again, then, or would that ruin it?”
“Yeah, sure, you—wait, what?” Kirk stared, askance, the fifth nearly falling out of his hand. “James, don’t be a dick!” But James didn’t look like he was trying to be a dick, he looked totally serious. Scary… “Fuck off, man! That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” James shrugged, standing up. “I was just curious.”
“Curious.” Kirk’s voice was totally flat as he said it, and James reacted immediately, eyebrows drawing down, face settling into a scowl.
“You know? Fuck you, man,” he snapped. “What do you want me to say?” His voice raised to a mocking impersonation of Kirk’s own softer voice. “’Gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to enjoy myself when you shoved your tongue down my throat!’ Go to hell.”
“I shoved my tongue down your throat?” Kirk demanded, rising. Perhaps a little too quickly, because his head swam and he teetered a little as he faced James, a fierce scowl twisting his features. “Maybe you’d better revise that memory, because I distinctly recall something tickling my fucking tonsils. Which, by the way, is disgusting! No one wants to deep-throat a tongue, James.”
“You sure as hell did.” James was openly sneering now and, weirdly enough, it was more comfortable than when he’d been calm and sane. Kirk was used to foul tempered James. He could deal with that.
“It was the storm,” he retorted, knocking back another slug of SoCo and raising the bottle to gesture with. “It was the storm and that fucked up little motel and… it wasn’t me, okay?”
“Whatever, Kirk,” James answered, shaking his head. “When you’re done with your little whiny fearfest over being a fag—“
“Excuse me?” He hated James for getting him this angry. He didn’t know how to cope with it and his voice tended towards the bitchy and high-pitched. It was humiliating. “You think I’m afraid of you?”
“I think you’re afraid that if I kiss you again, you’ll like it,” James accused. Kirk could only stand there in silent shock. James had always been pretty presumptuous, but this was getting ridiculous.
“You’re full of shit.”
“Prove it.”
Kirk should have been expecting the challenge. He knew how James was, knew about his stupid competitive streak. He’d just never anticipated it also applying to matters of sex. “I don’t have to prove anything to you,” he said faintly, unconsciously lifting the fifth as though to ward James off.
“You know it’s the truth,” James countered, taking a step forward. God, what the fuck was this, the Twilight Zone?
“James, stop it. You… I…” It would have been so much easier to say no if James hadn’t been standing there. It was like in elementary school when you cushioned the blow of rejection by sending little notes. Check Yes or No. Except there was none of that here. James wanted an answer and Kirk was, yes, afraid.
“C’mon, Noisy Thing…” Kirk melted a little at that, and he could tell from the flash in James’s eyes that that had been the desired reaction. He tried to be pissed about that, and it didn’t work. “Just once more.”
“Why do you care so much?” Kirk demanded, twisting a little to set the fifth down on the nightstand. He knew he’d lost as soon as his fingers released the bottle, and he knew that James knew it too. It was hard not to shiver as James stepped closer.
“I don’t know,” James answered. His arms hesitantly circled Kirk’s waist, warm and weirdly reassuring. “Guess I don’t want to have to worry about what might have happened.” That made sense, or at least, enough sense for Kirk. Nodding, he settled against James’s chest. It was comforting to hear that James’s heart was pounding nearly as fast as his. It reminded him of that night, of the way the thunder had vibrated in his bones.
Sighing, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. It was now or never, and James seemed to realize that too, because his hand rose to cup the back of Kirk’s head. Their lips met again, a hesitant little brush that sent a shiver down Kirk’s spine. This was such a terrible idea, but at the same time, such a good one…
His lips parted and James accepted the invitation, tongue sweeping into Kirk’s mouth. It was stranger than Kirk remembered it being, harder and sharper. James bent his head back, kissed Kirk like he owned him, drew out little soft, shuddering moans like no woman had ever been able to do. Just a kiss, and already Kirk was so hard that he ached, prick trapped painfully inside his tight jeans.
“You taste like candy,” James rasped against his lips, and Kirk smiled. “What?” A note of amusement entered James’s voice and his arms tightened around Kirk. There was a brief surge of panic at the motion; Kirk was certain that James would feel his erection and bolt like a scared rabbit. No such bad luck. James’s cock pressed hard against Kirk’s belly, as full and aching as Kirk’s own.
“Southern Comfort,” Kirk purred, indicating the bottle behind him. James raised an eyebrow and shook his head, bemused.
“And here I just thought you were sweet.” It took Kirk a minute to realize that James was teasing him, and his lips parted in a beaming smile. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. He started to lean up for another kiss, but paused, confused, as a low rumbling noise reached his ears.
It wasn’t until James cracked up and toppled back onto the bed that Kirk realized it was the door. “Oh, WHAT THE FUCK?” The pounding paused for a second and the doorknob rattled. “I’m not answering that,” Kirk said. James just laughed. “Fine, I’ll answer it. But only to scream.”
The door slung open and Lars rolled his eyes dramatically. “Jesus, finally. I thought I was gonna have to wear a fucking hole in the door before you answered.” Kirk glared at him but Lars, as usual, was impervious. “Have you seen Hetfield?”
“No,” Kirk said shortly, slamming the door shut. He wasn’t about to relinquish James, not now. Lars could just look for him all night. And if Cliff came by… well. That would be extremely interesting to explain to the cops.
“Fine! You don’t have to be an asshole!” Lars called. Kirk could hear him muttering to himself as he stalked away and, satisfied, he turned back to James. Who was, naturally, in tears.
“Oh come on. It wasn’t that funny,” Kirk protested, padding back across the room and sitting hesitantly on the bed beside James. James wiped a few tears off his cheeks and sat up, still sniggering as he wrapped an arm around Kirk’s shoulders and pulled him close.
“It was fucking excellent, Kwirk.” The admiring tone in James’s voice encouraged Kirk, and he crawled into James’s lap before he could give himself a chance to think about it. Within the space of about five seconds, he decided that he very much liked it there. Well, except for the sizeable bulge pressed against his narrow ass. He wasn’t entirely sure what to think about that.
“Thank you,” he purred, deciding for the moment just to ignore it. Things would progress however they would progress. No sense giving himself an ulcer over it. He almost laughed at himself. Clearly, it was only okay to fret over James if he wasn’t getting what he wanted. Spoiled brat. “Does that mean I get another kiss?”
“You get whatever you want,,” James murmured, broad hands traveling up the curve of Kirk’s spine. He wished that they were on his bare skin, and quickly clamped down on that thought. It wasn’t going to go that far tonight. Maybe later, though. If there was a later.
“Can I have a million dollars?” He grinned, bounced a little on James’s lap until a soft groan clued him in that that might not be the best idea in the world. James recovered quickly, though, and flashed a lewd grin.
“Yeah, sure, just let me get him out…” and his fingers descended to the fly of his jeans. Kirk gave a muffled little shriek and jumped back a bit.
“Too fast! Too fast!”
“Jesus, Kirk, calm down.” James stared at him as though he’d suddenly sprouted another head. A head that resembled Lars. “I was joking. You do know what a joke is, don’t you?” Kirk’s face twisted into a sulky scowl. Of course he knew, but… it was scary shit they were dealing with. He was envious of James. Nothing seemed to phase the singer. “No, come on! Don’t make the sad face!”
James’s lips covered his again, sucking at his pout, and he melted into the kiss. It was hard to stay irritated with James at this juncture. In spite of his earlier claims, James really was a hell of a kisser, possessive and dominating. It made Kirk want to go pliant and soft, made him want to please James no matter what.
Or maybe not. James’s fingers stroked down, resting for a moment on the hem of Kirk’s old t-shirt, and then slipping up under it. The shock of skin on skin drew a keening whimper from Kirk’s throat and he tried to shy away from the searching fingers. The only place to go, though, was forward, and he ended up pressed tight against James’s chest, gasping softly.
“Shh, man, it’s okay,” James murmured. His voice was a low rumble, like the thunder had been, and Kirk could feel it shivering through his bones. “Do you want me to go?” It was clear from James’s tone that he didn’t want to go. Still, Kirk hesitated.
“What… I mean…” There was no good way to frame the question. So, Het, are you gonna fuck me now or what? Cause that’s kinda scary and I’m not sure I’m up for it. Hell fucking no.
James understood. “Rein it in, Speedy Gonzales,” he said, and despite the words themselves, the tone of his voice was soothing. “I’m not gonna try to fuck you or anything. I just wanna touch.”
“Yeah…” Kirk leaned back slowly, drawing a breath. Just touch. He wanted James to touch him. He wanted James to lay him out and stroke him like a cat. His skin ached for it, tingling and hyper-sensitive. Somehow, it didn’t seem fair. “Just touching.” He bit his lower lip and slowly pulled off his shirt.
Before he even had the shirt over his head, James’s hands were on him, stroking gently down his chest. Calluses rasped against his skin, coaxing out soft little moans, and his head tilted back as his spine arched forward. Now that James’s hands were traveling down his chest, he regretted his earlier reluctance. He wanted more, so much more, but he was hesitant to ask. It seemed unfair somehow to suddenly demand.
Then James’s lips touched his bare skin, hot and wet along his collarbone, and Kirk forgot all about fairness. There was no room in his mind for anything but need in its most base form. It was simultaneously exhilarating and frightening; he hadn’t felt so desperate since the first time he’d gotten laid, and it was James doing this to him, James making him feel like he could crawl out of his skin.
“God,” he managed to choke out, long fingers fisting tight in James’s pale hair. James laughed softly as his hand skimmed up, curving along Kirk’s ribcage, thumb stretching to brush across Kirk’s nipple. An undignified little squeak escaped his lips and James laughed again, eyes flickering up, silently asking permission. Kirk nodded slowly, well aware that he had no idea what he was getting himself into.
James ducked his head, strong hands pressing Kirk back, balancing him carefully. It was like being in a strange sort of freefall, trusting James implicitly. Kirk shuddered a moment and then held perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe. This was James’s game now. He was just following along.
It seemed like an eternity before he felt a hot breath gust against his chest. The sensation teased a mewl from his throat and an answering groan from James. Then James’s lips brushed across his nipple, stubble scraping across sensitive skin, and Kirk jerked up, gasping. James adjusted immediately, shifting his grip to hold Kirk still as he closed his teeth around the nub of flesh, tugging gently.
“Jesus, James!” Kirk’s hands rose, tangling in James’s thick hair and tugging viciously. He wanted to sit back up, wanted to watch James’s lips travel across his skin. Just the thought was unbearable, enough to make his prick throb painfully. It was probably good that all he could see was the opposite wall.
“You talk too much,” James muttered gruffly, shifting to bite and suck at Kirk’s other nipple. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. None of it should have. He could have put it down to the Southern Comfort and his own loneliness, but he knew it would be a lie. He wanted James, pure and simple.
“You’re a cocktease,” Kirk shot back. There was a long pause, then James slowly pulled him upright again. There was a strange expression on his face, a mix of confusion and dawning hope. It almost made Kirk laugh. “What?” he murmured. “Can’t a guy change his mind?”
“You’re not a guy,” James answered. “You’re a little fucking bitch.” But his hands slid down, fingers slowly unfastening Kirk’s jeans. On some level, Kirk understood that James was giving him time to back off, and he appreciated that. He wasn’t functioning on that level now, though, and with a little growl, he batted James’s hands aside.
“Take too long, Hetfield,” he taunted, sliding off of James’s lap and unfastening the jeans. He had to do a little shimmy to get them off his hips, and was gratified when James groaned loudly. In the back of his head, some cautious part of him screamed. This was going way too far, crossing a line that should never under any circumstances be crossed. He hesitated for half a second, jeans around his ankles, gaze fixed on James’s hungry blue eyes.
“You coming back or what?” In spite of James’s flippant attitude, there was a spark of apprehension in his face and manner. Strangely, it was more reassuring than anything that had happened so far. Kirk liked knowing he wasn’t the only one having doubts about the wisdom of what they were doing.
“Yeah…” Slowly, he stepped out of the jeans and shoved his boxers down. He gasped a little as his cock bobbed free and flushed, dropping his eyes and biting his lower lip. He and James had been naked in front of each other plenty of times before, but never under such strained circumstances. It seemed like the stress of the situation only added fuel to the fire, though, and Kirk’s skin tingled with exhilaration.
James was impatient with his hesitance and, growling softly, he leaned forward and gripped Kirk tight by the wrist, pulling him close again. Kirk gasped softly but didn’t resist, even when James spun him around and tugged him back down. “Hold still, man,” he whispered, voice low and rough in Kirk’s ear. His breath sent shudders down Kirk’s spine and, moaning, he pressed back against James’s chest.
“What’re you… FUCK!” The question ended in a yelp as James’s rough hand closed around his prick and squeezed. It was overwhelming and alien, and Kirk instinctively pitched forward, legs closing.
“Be still,” James insisted. His other hand rose to press against the center of Kirk’s chest, holding him upright, and he shifted to hook Kirk’s legs over his knees. “Just wanna make you feel good…” His legs spread, slowly, forcing Kirk’s to follow suit. Kirk moaned shakily, eyes rolling in half-panicked arousal. James couldn’t possibly have picked a more vulnerable, exposed position to put him in, and he loved every second of it.
Slowly, Kirk tipped his head back to rest on James’s shoulder, lips parted in awe. He caught a movement to the left, out of the corner of his eye, and shifted slightly to examine it, heart racing. Jesus… The mirror, hanging above the shitty dresser, was angled so that he could see everything. His own face, flushed and sweaty. James, eyes closed and breathing rapidly. James’s arm curled across his chest, his hollow stomach fluttering with each gasp, his narrow hips flung out as James’s callused hand worked his shaft.
“Fuck,” he whimpered, then again. “Fuck…” They looked beautiful together, James cast in gold by the feeble yellow light radiating from the room’s one working lamp, and himself a writhing, wispy shadow in bronze and black. Kirk stared, meeting his own eyes in the mirror and gasping as James dragged a thumb across his weeping slit.
His hand rose and Kirk whined at the brief loss of sensation, every muscle in his body going tense. “Shhh,” James soothed, hand rising to press against Kirk’s full lips. Kirk opened his mouth willingly, pink tongue darting out to flicker along the pad of James’s thumb. The taste of himself against James’s skin was too much.
“Please!” he wailed, arms curving back, fingers fisting again in James’s hair. James laughed low and the sound rumbled against Kirk’s back. Just like before, he thought dimly, and then James’s hand was on his cock again and he couldn’t think anymore.
Every stroke broke him down further, stripping away everything but need and pleasure. He was dimly aware of individual sensations; his hips snapping up to drive his aching prick into James’s tight fist, sweat rolling down his back and chest, the soft growls and snarls that seemed to stick in James’s throat, the way James’s jeans rasped against his hyper sensitive skin. Every breath seemed like a struggle, harsh and needy. It was all he could do to keep from screaming.
And then he was coming, faster than he’d thought possible and so hard that his vision flooded white. He was aware, somehow, of James muttering to him, lips pressed against his ear, telling him how fucking beautiful he was, how much James wanted him. He tried to look back at the mirror, tried to see what James was talking about, but his eyes didn’t want to open, so he forced himself to concentrate on just riding out the mind-numbing ecstasy.
Slowly, the waves of pleasure lessened, and slowly, he came back to himself. As he peeled his eyes open, he became aware of the scream dying in his throat, and he flushed bright red. Behind him, James shuddered and then his arm was lifting, hand pressing against Kirk’s lips. Kirk only hesitated a moment before opening his mouth and licking James’s hand clean. He felt like a cat, loose-limbed and thoroughly sated as he drew his legs up and settled in James’s lap.
James tolerated the snuggling for about five minutes, stroking Kirk’s hair back from his face and waiting for his breathing to slow. Kirk was surprised that it lasted that long. Perhaps James was simply trying to be nice, knowing how hesitant Kirk had been about the entire situation. At any rate, Kirk had just started to relax and let himself think that perhaps it hadn’t been such an awful idea after all when James stirred.
“Hey, not to disrupt your nap or anything,” he said, the faint grin evident in his voice, “but I kinda have a… problem.” Kirk lifted his head, puzzled. His expression prompted an eye roll from James, and the singer’s hips shifted.
“Ooohhh…” Kirk bit his lower lip as James’s erection pressed against his bare ass. In the lazy warmth after his climax, he’d utterly neglected to process the fact that James, too, would want to come. “Um. I don’t think you’ll fit in my lap…” He tried to laugh, but it choked off at the hungry gleam in James’s blue eyes.
Slowly, James pushed him onto the floor, legs spreading pointedly. Kirk shuddered and shook his head, starting to scoot back, but James’s hand darted out and caught him by the hair, holding him fast. “Kirk…”
“I don’t think I can,” Kirk protested softly. He’d never sucked dick before, never wanted to suck dick before. In theory, he knew what to do. He’d watched enough porn and had enough blowjobs to have the basic technique down. But there was a world of difference between knowing how and actually doing. “I mean… I’ve never…”
“First time for everything,” James said, pulling Kirk forward a little. Whimpering, Kirk looked up into his face. It was obvious from the way James watched him that he had no intention of forcing himself on Kirk. It made Kirk want to try, at least.
Hesitantly, he leaned forward, hands sliding up James’s thighs to rest against the fly of his jeans. It felt like James was on fire underneath the fabric, skin feverish with need. Kirk moaned softly and unfastened James’s pants, deft fingers making quick work of both button and zipper. James lifted his hips slightly, shuddering and reaching down to curl his fingers around his prick as Kirk set his jeans aside.
Kirk could only stare helplessly for a minute as James stroked himself, hips rolling up lazily. He was much too big, too thick and swollen to possibly fit in Kirk’s mouth. He’d choke. He’d have to dislocate his fucking jaw. “James…” But there was no time to protest further. James, fully absorbed in his own pleasure, reached down and guided Kirk’s head forward, pushing the slick head of his prick against Kirk’s full lips.
With a little gasping moan, Kirk opened his mouth and the flared tip of James’s cock slid in. The taste was distinctly alien, but not repulsive at all, and the smooth skin was almost silky against Kirk’s tongue. Curious now, he pressed forward, closing his eyes and lifting a hand to curl his fingers around the thick base of James’s erection. Above him, James moaned and muttered something, shifting so that both hands rested against Kirk’s curly hair.
Cautious still, Kirk eased James into his mouth slowly, testing every inch. He’d been right about the size; maybe halfway down James’s shaft, his gag reflex kicked in and he had to back off. James didn’t seem to mind, though. James didn’t seem to be particularly coherent, really, a fact which lent Kirk a certain amount of pride. With a little moan, he hollowed his cheeks and began to suck gently. It was awkward at first, like when he’d been an idiot kid and tried to cram his entire fist into his mouth.
Then James began to thrust forward and the entire dynamic changed. Before, it had been an experiment, a gentle testing of uncharted waters. Now, it was an act of pure need, and Kirk moaned low in his throat. He wished he could step away from his body for a moment and watch himself, watch James’s hands in his hair and the way he choked and struggled to hold down his gag reflex as James pressed in deeper and deeper.
For a brief, panicked second, he was afraid that James was going to go too far, that he was going to choke on the thick prick in his mouth. James seemed to sense his sudden nervousness, and he backed off a little, thrusts growing shallower, quickening slightly. Kirk whined, breath coming in short, sharp pants as James’s cock dragged across his tongue over and over, heavy and strange in his increasingly battered mouth.
Just when he thought he couldn’t stand it anymore, just when he was certain he’d have to push James away or risk his jaw falling off, James gave a sharp, low cry. It wasn’t nearly enough warning and Kirk had barely started to pull back when the first jet of thick, hot come spilled into his mouth. He squealed in protest, but James was lost in his own pleasure, teeth grinding audibly as shot his load into Kirk’s mouth.
As soon as the hand on the back of his head eased up, Kirk fell back, clapping a hand over his mouth and bolting for the sink. He spat into the dingy porcelain, gasping and shuddering as James toppled back onto the bed and laughed. The taste lingered in his mouth, even after several mouthfuls of water, and he finally gave up and shuffled back to the bed.
“I’m sorry,” James offered, turning his head to face Kirk, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. He looked more relaxed than Kirk had seen him in a long time, and a little thrill of accomplishment ran through Kirk. “Should’ve warned you.”
“It’s okay, man,” Kirk answered, bemused by how rough his voice sounded. He settled gingerly on the bed beside James and drew a breath. “So… what happens now?” There was a long, awkward silence, and then James spoke.
“I guess… I should go find Lars,” he said slowly, sitting up and reaching for his jeans. “He’ll lose his mind otherwise.” Kirk nodded silently, both relieved and upset that James didn’t intend to stay. “And then… well, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Suppose you will.” Kirk forced a little smile as James got dressed and combed his fingers roughly through his hair. “Listen, man… thanks.” It seemed an entirely inadequate thing to say, but James smiled.
“Any time.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving Kirk to contemplate the meaning of that last statement and attempt to chase away the taste with Southern Comfort.
