Chapter Text
"How are you?"
"Okay,
Not good,
Probably bad" - Ilya Rozanov
Heated Rivalry
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Ten Year Plan Part 11:
One Thousand Years of TherapySeries
Going to the Cottage: Day One
(Timmy)
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We walk through the massive glass door of Barlochan Cottage, immediately experiencing many of the nostalgic elements from the series.
My partner has procured a surprise so big (something I never imagined was possible), time away from all the garbage going on in our lives where we can wind down and fuck like rabbits.
The 'fucking like rabbits' was the part that sold me.
We're also here for another reason: our therapist has suggested time away from the usual distractions that complicate how we communicate.
Armie, of course, insists we communicate just fine and that we should view this more as a vacation and less as a therapy session.
To which I agree - to a point.
Checking out the interior, the living room is exactly as we expected as Armie plops himself on the couch, tearng away more layers of the series in his insistence that "Ilya was far more tortured at first than Shane". His reasoning, while surprising and insightful, has me reassessing how I viewed Ilya in the first episode.
It also changes how I view Armie.
"Ilya could visualize fucking Shane from that very first cigarette, so it stands to reason he was more tortured." He states, pointing this out for the umpteenth time.
"Shane was simply enamored because he had no frame of reference as to the pounding he would take from Ilya's cock." Armie drives home his theory that Shane's innocence in matters of the flesh prevented him from experiencing a deeper need for Ilya.
I don't know that his need wasn't deep but can agree that it was different.
Shane experienced an initial yearning that it was abstract in nature, but it still doesn't mean Ilya was affected more. Only that he had more experience.
Armie doesn't quite see it that way and I wonder how he views us.
I also can't agree that it was somehow less; that Shane's inexperience made his emotions less substantial and less significant than Ilya's.
That's just fucking wrong, bro, and I tell him that in no uncertain terms.
But we're not here to dissect a fictional story.
We might have many similarities with the characters because I could clearly see from the get-go that watching other lives played out on the screen only hammered home that we can't live this way forever.
I need more from Armie; something personal and forthcoming that can actually help us move forward or we'll never get to the nitty gritty, bare bones of our relationship.
It all comes down to sex with him and that's why we're here; to break down some walls and fucking finally be truthful with ourselves.
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One Thousand Years of Therapy
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I ask Armie a question that's been on my mind for almost ten years; digging into my subconsciousness like a fucking mosquito on a hot summer's day.
"What were you thinking those first few days in Italy?"
An over simplification, I'm sure; but if something has been on your mind for almost ten years and you haven't sorted it out; it's on you to fucking fix that.
"What a bizarre question to ask out of the blue!" He deflects, not sure if it's a trap.
I sit beside him on the couch, taking his hand, pressing it between mine, almost as if trying to merge our spirits on a telepathic plane.
I mean, Armie must know that I wasn't yet privy to the complete handbook, so it follows that I'm not just curious, but that it means something to me.
"What?" He leans forward, softly bumping my forehead.
I give him a pass and recalibrate.
"Okay, then tell me what were you thinking." It's really important we get into this.
"About what?"
"Me. Us." It's like pulling teeth.
"I thought you were the most beautiful boy ever. But young." He admits as I preen at the word beautiful, because age in my estimation was and still is, ostensibly inconsequential.
"I was 20," And didn't make a big-fucking-deal about it.
"And I was almost 29."
He's really not addressing what needs to be addressed. So I recalibrate my line of questioning to get a more Armie friendly admission.
"Okay, I'll start."
He looks intrigued but grumpy he's been roped into this.
"I thought you were extremely tall and would dwarf me in bed."
"In bed?"
"Yes, I pictured us in bed the very first time I met you."
"Cheeky lad. And presumptuous."
"Are you saying you would have refused my advances?" What an antiquated term!
"I did not say that."
"I was here, of course you didn't say that, not really."
"Well then don't put words in my mouth."
I let him have his hissy-fit because I know damned well where this is headed if I so much as engage him in this battle.
Battle of words? Wits? Forget it, I'm not falling for this because I know he's just trying to steer me off topic.
Our therapist insisted we keep doing the work while we're away. Although, she did caution us in starting something we couldn't finish, or that it could blow up in our faces because we would need a mediator and she wasn't with us to intervene.
Or as the good doctor put it, pull us apart before we kill each other. Got to love a shrink with a sense of humor.
It's not that we're fighting; it's more that we're digging up long buried feelings that might get us in trouble.
The doctor was my idea. Armie wanted nothing to do with her. So we compromised and he caved into my ultimatum which was definitely not the best start.
The ultimatum was solely my idea as well and I've been told by our very own doctor that it was manipulative and could have gone horribly wrong.
I respect what she said, but after almost ten years together, I think I've perfected the Armie Hammer owner's manual.
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He follows me into the infamous bedroom, lowers the screens to pin me against the closet door.
How apropos that we end up in a closet to discuss this.
It's fairly dark in here with everything closed up and a very small part of me wonders if I can get him to the point of no return. I could egg him on, get under his skin, and then give him consent to take his rage out on me.
I've unleashed that small part in the trailer, had him beat me, choke me, brand me, even try to drown me. Not all at once, mind you, but I've done it all and lived to tell the tale.
I've even reciprocated a time or two.
He pulls the chair away from the wall, spinning it on one leg to straddle the seat, and hugging the ladder back, he starts talking.
"I thought you were beautiful."
"You said that already."
"It bears repeating."
"That kind of flattery will get you laid, you know."
He doesn't respond but continues his train of thought.
"I was sure I had no chance with you; that you we wouldn't want me. You were younger and so fucking hot you practically glowed." He says quietly.
Well, fuck me! I never guessed he'd come up with that.
"Let me finish," He puts up his hand, ready to cut me off and even in the shadows, I detect movement, "but I was ready to accept any crumbs you would give me."
He's making me out to be a monster. Was I?
"I fucking followed you everywhere like a fucking dog."
What an about-face! I never got that feeling at all. It felt more the opposite.
"But you were kind enough to put up with my antics."
Insecurities, he means. But I'd never say that. Not without the doctor present. If that makes me a pussy, I'll take it.
"What changed things?" I ask quietly.
"You kissed me."
"It was the character."
"No, in Luca's garden. And it was all you."
"I might have been enamored as well." I try not to blush.
"We didn't talk back then. All we did was fuck."
"It wasn't only about fucking." I insist.
"I didn't know I was making love to you. I had no experience with that."
"I didn't either," I sigh, "but you were tender and loving."
"How could I do anything else?"
"We operate a lot differently now." Why the fuck am I saying this? It's true, but fucking why go there?!
Armie grows quiet and I'm afraid I've lost him.
"I thought your skin was magic." He says after a while.
Wow where did that come from?!
"Don't shit me." I warn.
"I'm not kidding. I got hard every time I touched you. I got hard other times as well, but could control the urge to jump you."
Fuck, I want to touch him right now; feel the electricity he speaks of; find out if it's still there.
It's strange talking in the dark. I want to see him but Armie seems content to keep the light out. Maybe its better we say these things now when we can't see each other but at some point he'll have to let the light in.
I feel my way over to the bed and lie down on the rustic bedding; the striped Hudson Bay blanket and the quilt below.
The chair legs scrape on the floor as Armie turns towards me. I didn't think he would. I was sure he'd be more comfortable talking into the void.
I want to hug him but wrap my arms around my body instead.
"It was difficult." He says.
I stay silent waiting for him to continue.
"It was the hardest thing I've ever done, keeping my hands off your twink ass." He says it like he was tortured at the time, but I didn't get that.
I thought he was a big, friendly, but also frustratingly considerate (potental) lover who was driving me crazy with his hesitance.
His silhouette sits across from the bed, his big hands wrapped around the top rung; those same hands that couldn't help fisting my hair that first time on the grass.
He's right, it was magical. And nothing before this had seemed so perfect.
But it's his time to talk, and far be it for me to stop him from opening up.
His fingernails drum against the wood and know this must be extremely difficult for him. "Seeing you every day was torture, but it got better after we kissed."
That's all that happened at first; a passionate kiss that got away from us and captured our hearts.
"Why was it better?" I ask, shamelessly fishing for compliments.
"Because I had something to look forward to," He says simply.
Well fuck me! My man is full of surprises.
I try my damndest not to tear up because my lover is also the most sensitive and romantic person who ever lived.
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"What are you thinking?" He'd asked one day, early in the shoot; mirroring the dialogue we'd just filmed.
"Hmm?"
Armie raised an eyebrow.
"Just trying something," I shrugged.
"Something?"
"You don't want to know." Mainly because it would lead to 'something' I wasn't sure was a good idea.
"I think I do."
"Well, I was imagining your cock." And that's not all.
"I know where your mind goes."
"I was visualizing its shape. How wide you are and that you dress to the right."
He sullied up beside me.
"What are you doing?" I'd asked.
I visualize Armie from that day, self-consciously pulling the hem of his shirt over his groin as my eyes pierced through his clothing.
"Nothing."
'You're hiding."
"I have nothing to hide."
No he didn't. But he thought he did; my white night being circumspect when there really was no need.
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"Can we turn on a light?" I ask, because I really need to see his face.
"Not yet."
I feel a dip on the bed as Armie moves to lie down beside me.
Either he's ready to talk or hoping I'd get sleepy and our session (and it feels like that), would naturally come to an end.
There's a third option but we're not doing that right now.
"I like you." He states; his shoulder bumping mine as he moves beside me.
"I like you, too." I answer.
Well that's a hell of a start.
I don't move, waiting for whatever he does next. It's not so much a reluctance to intervene, but a matter of allowing him to dictate how he wants this to play out, and in his own time.
Personally I'd instantly jump his bones at a moment like this, but it's his tale to tell and I really don't want to interrupt him in any way.
It's a really unimaginably hard. (Get your mind out of the gutter!)
"No, I mean, I like you. You've been a good friend."
And I'd personally like to be more than friendly, but again it's time he spoke about this.
"The night you were sick-"
"Yeah-"
"I watched most of the episode alone-"
I nod in the dark, realizing he can't see anything. But he can feel me.
"Ilya's dad died."
I remember watching it again, but didn't say anything to him at the time.
"It made me think of Michael."
I thought it might.
"And how you flew home from filming," his voice hitches, "to be there," he pauses again, "with me." It all comes out fragmented and I want so much to hold him.
I reach out to squeeze his hand.
He squeezes back. "I don't know if I ever thanked you for that." It sounds like he's crying, my big, wonderful, sensitive man.
"I would have been with you earlier-" Fuck! I really need to hold him now.
"I know you had commitments," he sighs, "but it meant the world to me."
I lean up on one of the giant pillows dominating the bed.
"Come here." I say, pulling him closer, turning him on his side so I can hold him; cradling his head on my shoulder.
"I couldn't save him." He softy sobs, his body shaking in my hold.
I kiss his head, my hand immediately gravitating towards his heart.
"I didn't think it would hit me so hard." He speaks in a hushed voice; perhaps hoping I wouldn't notice his distress at ripping through layers of suppressed feelings.
"But having you there made it bearable."
"We're family now." I say, because it seems eminently vital in its importance.
"Thank you." He raises my hand to kiss my palm. "I was alone for so long. But you made everything better."
He says it like Shane, bet-ter, and it's a struggle in the moment not to kiss him, love him like he deserves to ne loved.
Armie rolls onto his back, pulling me over him; his hands reaching up to cradle my face.
"I love you more than life itself." His fingers spread out, the tips brushing away my own errant tears.
I mourn for the child who wasn't heard; the man who was broken because of that, and the partner I have now who is finally telling me how he feels.
I cried for him when he couldn't cry in those horrible days after Michael died and afterwards, when he was sure the whole world hated him. I cried for the times he felt ignored, silently invisible, and I cry for him now that he's finally letting go.
"Should we get up?" He asks, distressed at exhibiting his insecurities, being so vulnerable, and perhaps partially caught up in the moment.
"Let's stay here a little while longer." My finger traces his bottom lip.
He opens but I do nothing more than circumvent his mouth before tenderly laying my lips over his.
He sighs around my kiss and gently kisses me back.
We lay there for an eternity and yet it's only time and we've covered three stages of what amounts to, if one were into all the cosmic mumbo-jumbo he reads about, a healing of the hearts and a rejuvenation of the soul.
Armie needs to wind down, as do I, so we stay in a bed, a most famous bed at that, until the morning turns into afternoon and our stomachs tell us to get up.
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One Thousand Years of Therapy Series
Going to the Cottage: Day One
Capturing the Flag
[Armie]
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"You wanted an island, so I did the next best thing and found you land surrounded by a forest and a lake." My arm swings out towards the window indicating the extensive grounds with a magnificent view of the lake.
"Just like Woodstock." Tim says softly, reminiscing a time when there were few obstacles in our relationship, "but in another country."
"Without the Trans-Atlantic travel," I agree.
"I can call my mom and still be in the same time zone."
"You're not calling your mother."
"I didn't say I would. I said that I could."
"Semantics," I point a finger at him. "And don't think you can throw me off my game by placing your mother into the mix."
"Okay. No mother and no mix." He concedes.
"And no more games." I shake my finger at him, expressing an authoritarianism, I really don't feel.
"No more games." He makes the Eagle Scout salute and I envision him in short pants and a sash. But that's all a lie because there's no fucking way he was ever a Boy Scout.
"Prove it." I say.
"Prove what?"
"You know what." I run my hand over my hair, trying not to pull it out by the roots. "That as a kid you went scouting. That you can build a canoe, shoot a target, and start a goddamned fire from scratch."
"So what if I can't?" I swear his bottom lip trembled.
"We'll I can."
"Are you fucking off your meds? This place comes equipped with everything, we're not living in a godamned tent. At least this location is civilized."
The meds dig was a low blow and I'm not sure how to react; they calm me and make it easier to sleep, and take away the edge when my thoughts run away with me.
But he knows that.
"The property's worth several million, it fucking better be civilized." I point out.
"Did you have it inspected for raccoons?" He asks smugly, again stepping over the line about a valid concern.
"I've been assured that the only wildlife are the loons native to the area."
"Keep telling yourself that and maybe you'll believe it."
"Young man, I've stared down the face of a longhorn steer, I think I can handle whatever bumfuck critters live here." So there!
"Sure." He's so fucking smug about 'critters'.
"Why are you being such a prick?"
"Pointing out the dangers of the neighborhood makes me a prick?"
"No, but pointing out my supposed inadequacies does."
"So you're saying you're inadequate?" He tosses a pillow at me and the chase is on.
"You better run." I lunge at him.
But what he lacks in stride length, he makes up for in speed.
I tackle him in the hallway, dragging him back into the master bed room; apparently, the only one with an ensuite.
"Don't break anything." He warns.
"You should have thought of that earlier." I tear off his shirt, using the material to capture his hands for the time it takes to undress him.
"I only brought one suitcase." He squeals as he's upended over my shoulder.
"Then you better become more resourceful." I slap his rump.
I hold him steady with one hand pinning his legs to my body, while removing his shoes and socks with the other.
This strategy is twofold: one to keep him from running away in serviceable footwear, and two (and more importantly), to keep him from kicking me in the groin with the aforementioned footwear.
Tossing his shirt aside, I remove his pants, then march out to the great room, through the floor to ceiling sliders, across the lawn and towards the lake.
"Ready?" I ask a millisecond before I toss the lad through the air to land in the ice cold water.
"I. Will. Kill. You." He screams at me as I peel off my jeans to join him in the frigid lake.
"You can try." I laugh; certain this will play out in my favor.
For the first time in weeks, I look forward to the peace and quiet of time alone away from life's distractions and all the bullshit that entails.
And if dunking Timmy into the lake becomes a pathway to that, then my mission has already proven successful, and to that point, an excellent way to begin our vacation.
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One Thousand Years of Therapy Series
Going to the Cottage: Day One
Moose Meat and Cabbage Salad
(Timmy)
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Armie handles a grill like Bond handles a sports car: with ease, supreme confidence, and a flair for the dramatic.
He also twirls the spatula like a gunslinger in the old west; mindful of the power it holds; tentatively keeping the utensil away from the man beside him.
That said, Armie's cooking the burgers and I've been relegated to come up with a side and, of course, beverages.
We've arranged for the fridge to be stocked full of meals; some pre-assembled, and others not so much assembled as portioned, but appealing nonetheless.
I grab a bowl filled with a colorful cabbage and peanut salad accompanied by a soy dressing; a simple and easy addition to go along with the burgers.
The fridge was also well stocked with various wines and beer. We opt for the beer.
As we eat, I notice the burger has an interesting flavor; rich and a bit gamey, with a taste of the wild.
"It's moose meat." Armie explains. "The freezer's full of moose, venison, beef and bison."
"And you went with the moose meat?"
"I did." He replies.
"Have you had it before?" I'm sure he has.
He nods chewing his burger, "Why go with the mundane when there's variety?"
"It's good," but I qualify, "just unexpected." He could have given me a heads up on this.
"Finish your salad and we'll take a better look around the grounds." His statement comes across as dictatorial when we're supposed to be here as equals.
But I take it as an invitation, not the order it resembles.
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Aquatic Confessions
[Armie]
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We end up at the hot tub; the night sky especially vibrant; devoid of any light-pollution that might inhibit amateur star-gazers like ourselves.
The desert is like that. Texas and parts of LA are like that. And so, Cottage Country in Canada is apparently like that, too.
We slide into the bubbling water, setting our drinks on the edge; basically melting into each other as we take in the end of a pretty damned good day.
Tim would say awesome, but I'm holding off judgement on that.
The day's not over and my honey-badger lover seems far from finished with his inquisition.
"Arm-"
"Yeah?"
"Did I really save you when your dad died?"
"You did. But we covered that already."
"I want you to know it wasn't just you. I hurt just as badly for you, watching you deal with all the bullshit extra stuff when your dad was sick."
I know this, but it's especially hard realizing that I made him worry; that somehow I wasn't in a place to keep my head above water (literally), and that Tim was affected because of me.
This realization is unsettling at best. At worst, it's fucking unacceptable that he was dragged into this.
"Armie?"
My arms wrap around his chest, pulling him even closer if that were possible.
"Do you have any questions for me? This conversation has to be a two-way street." Fuck if he's adopting the doctor's lingo.
I feel put on the spot.
"Questions about our past?" That's fucking buried isn't it?
"About Italy. About me."
I sigh, "It would be helpful if you narrowed it down."
"My impressions. Of you. Of us."
He's trying to say something, I'm just not sure what.
"Okay," he says, "Let's do it this way. Did you ever regret fucking me?"
Hold up! Where is this coming from?!
"Never." I lie, thankful he can't see my face but he's not fooled.
It also helps a hell of a lot that I'm the one holding him.
"Then why-"
"It's not what you think." I quickly amend, "I had a lot of shit going on in my head that had nothing to do with you."
Fuck! I'm messing this up!
"I thought I was straight, or almost straight." This clearly isn't helping but Tim lets me continue. "And my mom-"
"Yeah, I get it. I've met her, I know how she is."
"It really had nothing to do with you."
"Only my gender."
And his age. And how our careers would collapse if anyone knew.
I mean, fuck, Brian was cock-blocking us at every turn. He fucking knew from day one and probably panicked that his meal ticket might be throwing his career away.
"Let's get this straight; I've never regretted anything that happened between us, personally, physically or professionally." That's one-hundred percent true. The fallout is where that gets murky.
"So what was your first impression of us, physically?"
"That we fit together better than I ever imagined. That taking your ass for the very first time felt so fucking right. That I was finally home."
Tim places his hands over mine and I'm thwarted from doing what instinct dictates: palming his cock and fingering his hole.
"I knew then that your mouth was made to take me; make me stiffer than anyone else; make me cum harder than anyone else; and that when I finished, I immediately wanted to do it again. That never happened to me before."
"Do go on." He laughs.
"Your hands were soft but strong, and I loved holding them when we came; lacing our fingers together; becoming one."
"We still do that."
"Yes we do."
"What about now?"
"I miss your hair." I admit. "I miss that I can't fist it while I plow my dick deep into your ass; that my fingers can't grip it so hard that you practically scream, and groan and howl at the moon."
"There's a full moon tonight." He points out.
"Yeah, but sadly you have little hair to grab."
"You can grab other things until it grows back."
"Have I told you that I love your ingenuity?"
"I believe you might have a time or two. You know what, my turn."
"You always say that."
"And you love it."
"Yeah I do."
I wrap my legs over his, pulling them further apart, his erection evident under the water.
"I love when you choke me; when your hand wraps around my throat and you squeeze ever so slightly and when you're fucking my ass so hard I see stars and I cum so hard I almost black out." He states.
"I love wearing your bruises; when my ass hurts so much from you belt that I can feel it for days and when my hole stays ready for your cock long after we're done."
That's when he's leaving for work and wants it rough enough that muscle memory has my cock permanently imprinted into his colon; ramming his ass so hard that he doesn't need a dong shoved up his shitter to remember how it feels.
Or so he tells me.
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One Thousand Years of Therapy Series
Going to the Cottage: Day One
Big Spoon Energy
(Timmy)
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"I never thought you'd jump at the sound of a loon." I tease.
"I never thought it would be so loud." He replies.
And wolf-like.
"And yet you stayed to protect me." He's always been my protector, and I his.
Armie hands me the designer pillows from the bed, inspecting a larger one for mass and density.
"They're probably worth a fortune." I remind him.
"Then we'll lose our deposit." He shrugs, tossing the surprisingly heavy pillow my way.
We turn down the bedding as I try to decide whether to close the blinds or not. I decide to leave them up for now as the night sky lights up the room.
I want to ask him what he has planned for tomorrow but figure he'll tell me in his own time. Or not at all. This is his baby and far be it from me to spoil his surprise.
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"So, you need something to grab when we have sex." It's a statement, not a question.
"Generally," He shrugs. "But not always so don't get your knickers in a twist just because your hair's too short."
I look up at him, batting my eyelashes.
"I can improvise just about anything. But then you know that, too."
Speaking of improvising, "Why did you set up the trailer?"
Fuck, where did that come from? I know better than this.
"Because certain things don't belong at home," He stretches his frame out beside me on the king-sized bed.
"Why not? We've had room for things like that in places we've lived." That's true and it's been on my mind as to why we now have to go to the trailer for shit like that.
"Think of it as a playroom." Look at him trying to compartmentalize our sex life.
"That still doesn't answer my question. I've got a big-assed house with enough room to play."
"The trailer is ours."
"And the house isn't?"
"No."
Well that's an answer I wasn't expecting.
"Are you going to yammer all night or are we planning to fuck?" As a defection, I must say, Armie sure knows how to get down to business.
I curl up into his side, placing one arm over his stomach.
"Why do you think my house is not yours?"
"Because it isn't."
"It is." I insist.
"No, it's not."
But if he really thinks that way; that the trailer (his idea, his money by the way), is communal property and my house isn't, why the fuck is he staying there?
I'm shocked and hurt and really don't know where to go next.
Armie rolls to his side, his body angled away from me and I'm fucked no matter what I do.
I bite the bullet and spoon my body around his, wrapping one arm over him like before.
He doesn't move, or resist, so I guess he's not too mad at the direction our conversation his turned.
I'm not going to fight him on this; I pick my battles and this will have to marinate before I say something stupid.
"Tim-"
"Yeah?"
"Let it go."
"Okay. But can I say something else?"
"If you must." He sighs.
"The first time you fucked me, I knew I'd be with you for the rest of my life." I hear his breathing grow heavier and hope he lets me finish. "Our bodies fit perfectly, even though you're much bigger. And the first time you let me top you, they fit exactly the same."
"I adjusted to you, just like you adjusted to me." He says as if it were a simple fact.
My hand wanders down to his cock and I lay my palm over him, just letting it settle, right there.
"Arm-"
"I love you." He states. "But please shut the fuck up."
He presses his palm over mine; not doing anything further but not retracting either.
My leg wraps around his as I redistribute my weight over his hip.
"Let me do the work." I say, pressing light kisses onto his neck.
I roll him onto his stomach, sliding my body downward to press deep kisses over each buttock.
My tongue travels his crack, not doing anymore than caressing and eventually landing at his sac.
I lave each ball, opening my mouth to take them in, spreading his legs slightly to facilitate more access.
He tries to roll over but I pin him down, sucking them, pulling them away from his body.
My mouth moves back to his asshole, tunneling inside but doing nothing more than stimulating him orally.
He tastes clean and slightly salty from the tub and I bury my face deeper into his crack.
Armie fights uselessly to hump the bed and I pause for the time it takes him to stop fighting.
Pressing a hand on each cheek, I lean outward to wedge him open.
I blow and his hole winks at me.
Drizzling spit into the opening, I let it completely disappear before I do it again, and again, and again until he's so full sputum bubbles out his asshole.
I lean over him, laying my cock in the crease as I press my body over his.
My fingers reach up to scratch his neck, leaving red marks from his ear to his collarbone.
He groans loudly but does not fucking move.
Trailing my nails over his shoulder, I dig deeply into the flesh.
He bucks up on the bed, trying to dislodge my weight and yet he settles quickly when my fingers land on his sac. I scrape one nail over his flesh, then pinch tightly, separating one ball from its twin.
This stops him in his tracks.
"I'm not going to fuck you." I rasp into his ear. "I'm not going to push my fingers into your ass either." I reach to scrape my nail around his hole, gathering the oozing spittle to bring back up to his mouth.
I shove my fingers in, letting him suck the juices off my hand.
Removing my fingers, I clutch his hair, dragging his face to the side.
"I'm not going to jerk you off, suck your cock, or let you touch yourself." I let that sink in.
"I'm going to lie here and hold you down until you cum."
I feel his ass clenching desperate kisses onto my dick and know I've got him.
My other hand circumvents his neck, pressing lightly, yet it's enough that he gets the message.
"And if I have to squeeze your throat until you pass out so be it."
I fist his hair above his neck, shoving his face forward and into the bed.
Licking his ear, around and over the top, I land at the lobe where I bite and suckle as my hand squeezes and releases his throat like a fucking milking machine.
I rotate my pelvis against his crack, sliding my cock up and down and over his hole; humping his ass in a lustful pursuit to get myself off.
But that doesn't begin to describe the need I'm experiencing; it's so accute that it hurts. Maybe that's the difference: it's fucking torture to both do this to him and experience it for myself and only a cataclysmic release will save me.
Save us.
I'm almost there when I feel a change; he's not just letting me ride him, but actively clamping down; his whole body clenching below me like a boa constrictor, or if I were to make the jump, like a sandworm.
Armie's sweating bullets; his body convulsing like his life depends upon it, and he finally cums, without my cock in his ass, or my mouth on his dick, but by his own choice to fucking let go of his shit-assed preconceived notions that have nothing to do with penetration.
He's reached his pinnacle because we love each other and trust each other and the rest of the world can just go fuck themselves.
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FIN Ten Year Plan Part 11: The Cottage - One Thousand Years of Therapy: Day One
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Next up... Ten Year Plan Part 11: The Cottage - One Thousand Years of Therapy: Day Two
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