Page 62 of Try Line Hearts
Eli moved closer. Slow. Careful. A hand braced beside Lucas’s hip.
“Last chance,” he murmured. “Luke.”
Lucas leaned in.
The kiss started soft and went hungry fast. Control unraveled. Lucas found himself pressed back into the couch cushions, Eli over him, solid and warm, mouths meeting with an urgency neither of them tried to disguise.
Shirts came off. Hands mapped skin like they were memorizing it.
Their bodies aligned—briefs still on, friction immediate and devastating. Eli rolled his hips experimentally and both of them broke at the same time.
“Oh,” Eli breathed, forehead dropping to Lucas’s shoulder. “Okay.”
Lucas arched into him, fingers digging into Eli’s back, breath gone. The grind turned instinctive—pressure on pressure, heat building, rhythm finding itself without permission.
Eli’s mouth found Lucas’s again, messy and desperate. The couch creaked. Lucas’s vision went white at the edges.
Eli whispered his name like a warning and a promise. “Luke.”
He wasn’t ready to listen.
Underwear were yanked off without ceremony, the fabric scraping roughly against their skin as Lucas's thick cock sprang free, already leaking precum from the slit, veins bulging along its length. Eli followed suit with an excited grin, his own hard shaft slapping against his thigh before standing rigid, the head flushed dark and glistening. His eyes dropped unabashedly as he took in the view—Lucas's balls heavy and drawn up tight, a faint musky scent filling the air between them on the worn couch cushions.
He laughed airily, voice thick with lust. “I’ll be fucked.”
Lucas looked at him, all heat and wildness now, his pupils blown wide. “If you play your cards right, yes.”
Eli grunted greedily and wrapped one hand around both throbbing cocks, his fingers barely closing around their combined girth. The heat of their shafts pressed together, slick with shared sweat and precum that smeared between them like lube. He stroked them in tandem, rough and insistent, the foreskins gliding back and forth over sensitive heads with wet, the feeling delicious.
Leaning down, Eli rested his forehead against Lucas’s, their hot breaths mingling, ragged and desperate. He swore softly, breath hitching, as the friction built—each pump sending jolts of rawpleasure ripping through their cores, cocks twitching against each other, balls brushing with every grind.
The couch creaked under their shifting weight, Eli's free hand digging into Lucas's thigh, nails leaving red marks on the skin. Eli leaned back and spit into his hand, making the strokes even sloppier, dirtier. Lucas's hips bucked involuntarily, thrusting into Eli's grip, the tips of their cocks bumping and sliding, smearing sticky fluid across bellies and groins. “Shit, this is so good,” Eli growled, his voice breaking as he pumped faster, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. Sweat beaded on their chests, trickling down to mix with the mess below, the air thick with the salty tang of arousal.
It didn’t take long. Eli’s breathing stuttered, his strokes faltering as pressure coiled tight in his gut. A whimpering cry broke from him—raw and needy, like he was getting split open. His cock pulsed first, hot ropes of cum erupting from the tip, splattering across Lucas’s stomach in thick, white streaks that clung to the hairs there, warm and viscous. The sight and feel of it—Eli's seed marking him—pushed Lucas over the edge without mercy. His body seized, hips jerking wildly as he came with a sharp, guttural “Fuck!”
Cum shot from Lucas's cock in forceful spurts, hitting Eli's abs and chest, some landing on his own hand still gripping them both. Eli let out a low, wrecked laugh, milking every last drop from them, their spent shafts softening in his cum-slicked palm. The mess pooled between them, sticky and cooling on their skin, as they panted against each other, the couch damp beneath their asses.
When Lucas came back to himself, his forehead was pressed to Eli’s shoulder, both of them breathing like they’d just finished a match.
Eli laughed softly, reverent and unguarded. “Well.”
He winked—wicked, unapologetic—and without breaking eye contact, licked his fingers clean, tasting their combined mess.
Lucas let out a slow, shaken breath. “Fuck—that’s… hot.”
He knew, with sudden clarity, that image would stay with him for the rest of his life.
Later—dressed, cleaned, calmer, sitting side by side with a safe, careful distance that still felt like a decision—their phones buzzed at the same time.
Lucas glanced down and felt his stomach do a small, traitorous flip.
Maeve: (attached is the housewarming photo from a fan account online)
This is an ADORABLE photo… and now the internet is writing fanfic about you two.
Lucas stared at the screen, heat creeping up the back of his neck.
Of course she’d found it.
