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Turns out that Andre is actually fucking insatiable.
Not that Cal’s complaining. Since that first time in Andre’s car, he thinks he’s been perpetually on the edge: everything Andre does sets him off. Everything. A few weeks ago, Cal had sat and watched Andre take Milena apart to clean her, and he’d gotten so wet he’d jumped Andre’s bones the moment he was finished. Andre had pressed two fingers into Cal’s cunt and let Cal fuck onto them, still smelling like gun oil and solvent.
Andre unravels Cal thread-by-thread with methodical intent. It’s like he’s trying to memorise every inch of Cal’s body, past skin and flesh down to bone. He’s also, blessedly, a quick study. Like with everything, he takes to learning Cal’s body with academic ferocity.
Over Christmas break, they fuck everywhere. They fuck in Cal’s room, in Andre’s, in the car. On one memorable occasion, against the Kriegman’s kitchen counter, Cal dropping to his knees and yanking Andre’s jeans down. For all he loves the quick, desperate hookups, he also loves the slow moments: loves when they’re home alone and he can get Andre on his back, head arched back against the pillow as Cal moves against him in slow, languid undulations.
It’s so much, all the time. Cal thinks about it every waking moment. Like today.
A few days past New Years, it feels like Zero Day could come any moment now. Every day Cal wakes up, tense all over, waiting to hear that inevitable number. They spend every precious minute of daylight out in that forest clearing now, practising their aim on dollar-store stuffed animals.
The fact Cal is wearing his nice underwear (read: the lace boyshorts he’d shoved far, far into the back of his drawer the moment they’d come in the mail, because there’s no way he’s letting his mom ever see those) is completely unintentional, he swears. They were an unexplored fantasy, a passing thought he’d indulged in but never entertained in full. But, well, he was out of clean underwear.
If he thinks about it, it’s kind of Andre’s fault that Cal has to change his boxers twice a day.
The seam of it digs right into where Cal’s most sensitive, especially under his tight jeans. He’s been on the verge of coming for what feels like hours now, and Andre’s not fucking helping with how he’s wearing Cal’s favourite shirt on him. It hugs his arms all nice, and he’s got his watch on around his wrist, too, which makes Cal’s head spin a little for reasons he can’t quite explain.
The briefs are a little scratchy on his hips, all cheap, crimson lace. They were on sale, from the same place he orders lube and new toys when he feels like it. But (and Cal will never, ever admit this out loud), he kind of loves them. Loves the way they curve over his hips and ass, a little secret he can wear under his jeans that no one has to know about. Not even Andre knows.
“Is there a towel in the trunk?” Andre asks, stepping towards where Cal’s leaned against the little sedan, watching Andre pack away all their ammunition, “Got kind of dirty.”
There’s a smear of dirt on Andre’s cheek. It’s endearing.
Cal leans forward, rubs at the mark on Andre’s cheek.
“You had mud,” Cal says, grinning at Andre before turning to unlock the car trunk. He doesn’t think as he bends to rifle through the back, where they’ve shoved all of their supplies under an innocuous pile of school backpacks and random gear for Andre’s car.
“Oh, shit.” Andre says, suddenly. Cal moves to pull back, see what’s got Andre surprised, but a pair of hands land on the bare skin of Cal’s sides, where his jeans have ridden down and his shirt has hiked up. He feels Andre’s thumbs smooth over the thin strip of lace, now exposed, and flushes all over. Straightening, Cal presses up against Andre’s front.
“Are those- are you wearing-?”
Biting his lip, Cal tilts his head back a little to settle onto Andre’s shoulder. He can feel Andre’s breath against the side of his bared neck.
“Yeah.” He admits.
“Shit, Cal. Didn’t even know you did that stuff.”
When he presses back, he feels Andre’s hips grind forward in tandem, their bodies rocking. Andre is, unsurprisingly, already sporting a semi. For all Cal gets worked up over the smallest things, Andre is ten times worse. Cal’s pretty sure he could get Andre between his legs anywhere, even in broad-fucking-daylight.
“You like them?” Cal teases, as if he doesn’t already know the answer to that. Andre huffs a laugh that spreads across the skin of Cal’s neck, makes him shiver all over, goosebumps on every inch of his skin. He presses a kiss right to Cal’s pulse point. If his parents didn’t know he’s been out with Andre all day, he’d make Andre leave a mark. Andre’s certainly generous enough with them when he knows they’ll be hidden by Cal’s clothes.
“You’re so hot. Jesus. What do they- how do they feel?”
The burning curiosity in Andre’s tone flares a spark of interest, low in Cal’s gut. If he wants to know how they feel, maybe he wants to try them on some time, and the thought of getting Andre in red lace is enough to make his cunt throb, heat and wetness pooling at the apex of his thighs. He hums, knows Andre can feel the tremble of his throat under his mouth.
“Weird. Kinda scratchy. Kinda hot. I’ve been- fuck- been wet all day.”
Andre groans. His hips cant forward, uncontrolled, like he can’t even stop himself from trying to rut into Cal. This Andre is Cal’s favourite, all desperate and needy and willing to do anything Cal asks if it means he can get Cal off by the end of it. He’s half-sure Andre could sit between Cal’s knees, lathing and lapping away at him for hours if Cal asked him to.
Andre’s hands slide over Cal’s hips, teasing the lace waistband with delicate, callused fingers over and over and over. He lets them inch right across Cal’s soft stomach, over the dusting of fine blond hair that just peeks over Cal’s jeans, but doesn’t make any moves to go lower than that. Andre is sickeningly, disgustingly considerate. He won’t fucking touch Cal without express permission. Sometimes, Cal wants to just tell Andre to do it, to grab him and do whatever he wants, use Cal to indulge every sick fantasy he knows Andre’s harbouring beneath the surface. He moves to cover Andre’s hands with his own, savouring the comfortable weight of them.
“Let me blow you.” Andre says. Cal’s brain goes blank. He’s pretty sure all the blood in his head has rushed straight to his cunt, clit swollen and frictioning against lace. His hips twitch on instinct into it.
“What? Now?” He asks. It’s more for posterity that anything. A pretence of apprehension. He’d do whatever Andre asked.
“Yeah, shit, Cal. Let me get you off. So fucking hot.”
Cal’s nodding before the words can even form fully. All he can feel is where Andre’s touching him, where he’s hard against Cal’s ass.
“Okay. Yeah. If you want, yeah.”
Now that he’s been given permission, Andre doesn’t hold back. He drags Cal by the hips until he’s got Cal pinned to the side of the car, mouth crashing in a heated slide about Cal’s. When Andre kisses, it’s like he’s starving – he licks into Cal’s open mouth, along the seam of his swollen lips, along Cal’s braces, tastes every part of him like he wants to commit every sensation to memory. It’s all-encompassing, like so much of Andre is. It’s easy to get lost here.
Andre wrenches away from Cal, but he looks like it physically pains him. He presses his face into the crook of Cal’s neck, hands dropping to start working at Cal’s jeans. With little finesse, he yanks them down to Cal’s calves, before dropping to his own knees. Then, there, right in the dirt.
It’s something he’ll never admit out loud, but he fucking loves looking down at Andre. Andre’s all too willing to put himself below Cal, too, on his knees or under Cal as they fuck, on his stomach or his back, whatever way Cal wants him. There’s something so right about it. When Andre looks up at him, hands ghosting reverent over Cal’s scarred, downy thighs, it’s like he was born to be under Cal’s gaze.
Even in the nipping cold of January, Cal feels hot all over. It prickles at the back of his neck, seeping down his back all the way down to the base of his spine.
Andre curls his hands around the back of Cal’s thighs to tug him close, and then his mouth is there. Panting hot and wet against the fabric clothing Cal’s dripping cunt. He knows he must be soaked through, knows Andre must be able to smell it, taste it in the millimetres of air between them, the sour tang of it that he seems to lap up so willingly. Andre groans.
“Jesus,” Andre says, before ducking in and swiping over Cal’s heat, tongue catching over the wet fabric.
It is- it’s fucking insane. Cal’s knees buckle, so wanting that the displaced sensation of Andre’s tongue to fabric to flesh makes him fuzzy all over.
“Sh-shit, Andre. What the hell?”
Andre nuzzles his cheek into the soft prickle of Cal’s thigh. He brings a hand up to press his thumb right over where he knows Cal’s clit must be.
“Just gotta let me- let me-”
He ducks down again, licks right over the scratchy lace. In the silence of the clearing, punctuated only by Cal’s laboured breath, the scratch of his tongue seems to echo out for miles. Cal can feel it in his fucking bones.
It is, terrifyingly, enough to set Cal off. He’s been so fucking worked up all day that his orgasm wracks over him quick, his body shuddering and bucking into Andre’s mouth where he’s licking, hot and wet against the fabric. He feels like he’s been struck by lightning.
“Fucking freak,” He says, still panting as he comes down, but runs a hand through Andre’s hair anyway. He presses his hips up into Andre’s face, just like he knows Andre likes it. Andre’ll bring Cal to the edge again eagerly enough, he knows.
“Yeah,” Andre speaks right against Cal’s cunt. The words quiver out across the junction of Cal’s thighs, and he punctuates the agreement with another lick. “You’re into it.”
Seemingly growing impatient after another minute of teasing Cal, Andre curls his fingers to tug the panties down Cal’s hips. From where the elastic is a little tight, the panties too new to have much give to them, they’ve imprinted red lines right under Cal’s abdomen. They follow all around Cal’s hips, dig twin-circles around the tops of his thighs. Andre runs a thumb over them.
“Been thinking about doing this to you all day,” Andre says, too far gone to care about exposing every want, need, desire out to Cal. He always lays himself bare when he’s turned on, “Wanted to- shit- wanted to bend you over the hood and eat you out from behind, just let you- fuck- let you fuck back onto my face.”
“Shit,” Cal groans, because god, does he want to do that, “You’d be so good. Make me come over and over, I just know you would.”
Andre grins. He hikes one of Cal’s legs up, situating it over his shoulder as he kneels closer to press a wet, tongue-heavy kiss right to Cal’s clit. It punches the breath out of Cal, hollowing his lungs out clean. He’s still a little sensitive all over from coming so quick, so hard.
“Can’t wait to get you home,” Cal says as he twists his fingers, pulling Andre’s hair, “Want you on top of me, riding me-”
Andre whines into Cal’s cunt, probably barely able to breathe with how he’s pressing his face right up between Cal’s legs. He licks up along the seam of Cal’s heat, lapping up the wetness that’s gathered there. Over the last few months, he’s started having to shave in the mornings, getting lazy over the breaks-- the bristle of Andre’s beginnings of stubble against the most sensitive point of him makes Cal ache all over.
One hand moves to circle a thumb slow, teasingly, over Cal’s clit; Cal doesn’t miss how the other has wandered down Andre’s own body, pressing against his growing bulge to satiate his own growing need. Andre can get off just from eating Cal out, has, but the sight still makes Cal burn all over every time.
“Want it,” Andre says, “Fuck. Can’t get off without you anymore-”
Which, okay. Cal’s going to have to take a long time unpacking that statement later tonight, and then possibly even longer jerking off to the notion.
“You’re always so good for me. Take it, no complaints. So fucking good. Let me do whatever I want.”
Andre licks deep into Cal, then, tongue diving deep like he wants to swallow Cal alive – even when Cal moans loud, rolling his hips down onto the intrusion, Andre seems to enjoy it even more. The desperate, needy sound he makes rumbles through Cal. Cal nudges Andre’s head with his thigh.
Andre’s hips are still humping the air frantically. With every arc forward, he fucks forward into Cal’s cunt, thumb running laps around where Cal’s hottest, most sensitive, practically begging for it. Cal watches, awed, as Andre’s hips piston forwards into his grip once, twice, and then Andre is practically crying into Cal with the force of his orgasm.
It’s what sends Cal tumbling over the edge into his second orgasm of the afternoon— the force of it is enough to make Cal’s knees give out, until he’s only being held up against the car by Andre’s broad shoulders under his thigh, steadying him. He cries out loud into the dim silence of the forest, wishes there were something to stifle it. This isn’t a moment he wants to share out into the world. He wants it between just them, just them, another secret kept. God knows they’ve got enough.
When he can stand on his own two feet, albeit wobbly as a newborn calf, Andre sits back on his heels. His face is so wet he has to wipe at his chin with the back of his hand. Cal steps forward, has to put a hand on Andre’s shoulder to keep himself upright.
“Start the car,” he urges, “Start the fucking car. We’re going home.”