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I’ve seen him. Thursday night, Friday morning. He’s seen me. But the looking now has a different quality because his eyesmove down my body and stop and come back up and what’s in his face isn’t curiosity. It’s intention.
“I want to be inside you,” he says. The words land in the room like something that’s been waiting.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve been sure for six years, Damián. The specifics are new. The sure isn’t.”
The half-smirk on his face starts and dies. What replaces it is open and raw and looking at me like I’ve said a thing he’s going to hear for the rest of his life.
“Have you done this before?” I ask. “With anyone.”
“No. Not like this.”
“Then I’ll show you what to do.”
I reach for the nightstand drawer. Lube. I hand it to him. I reach for the condoms. Pause. We look at each other. Team physicals, both clean, neither of us sleeping with anyone else. The conversation happens in the look. I put the condoms back. The choice is its own intimacy.
I slick my own fingers. I reach back to start opening myself up because someone has to start and I know what I’m doing and his face when he watches me is worth every second of the last six years I have wanted him.
“Let me,” he says. “I want to do that.”
One finger, careful, the hesitation of a man who has never done this and is terrified of doing it wrong. His eyes stay on my face, reading me the way he reads a striker’s body, looking for the thing that tells the truth.
“Slow,” I say. “Deeper. Yes. Curl your finger. Yeah, like that.”
“Like this?”
His fingers hit the spot, and my body arches off the bed. “Fuck. Yes. Exactly like that.”
He adds lube and a second finger joins the first. The stretch is good and his face when he feels me open around him is focused and reverent and slightly wrecked.
“You’re so warm,” he says. “I didn’t. I didn’t know it would feel like this.”
“What did you think it would feel like?”
“I didn’t think. I just wanted.”
“That’s the best answer you could’ve given me.” I smile up at him.
His fingers move. He’s learning the angle, learning to read the way my breathing changes, and when he curls his fingers and finds the right spot my hips come off the bed.
“There,” I say.
“There?”
“Right there. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t stop. His other hand wraps around my cock, stroking slowly while his fingers work inside me, and the combination is devastating. A third finger. More lube. The stretch wider now, fuller, and Damián’s eyes are dark and his breathing is rough and his cock is hard against my thigh and I can feel the heat of it.
“I’m ready,” I say. “Come here.”
He moves between my legs. His hand on himself, slicking, and I watch him touch his own cock with lube and the watching is a thing I’m keeping. He positions himself. The head of his cock against my hole. He pauses.
“Tell me if I need to stop.”
“I’ll tell you.”
