Page 46 of Cattle Stop

“What’re you doing?” Whit asks.

“Oh, did you—” Cooper looks back over his shoulder. “Dunno, kinda just figured, but you wanna switch?”

Whit just looks down at him. Lightning flashes, shadowing corded muscles over the ladder of his ribs. And he’s still wearing his pants? Dammit.

“I’ll just suck your dick, if you’d rather,” Cooper says.

“No, I—yes, but.”

“But what?” Cooper wiggles his ass. Then he sighs. Okay, maybe Whit’s not into this. Or he’s actually starting to think this through. Or Cooper’s doing this wrong, somehow. That’d figure.

Or…

“Have you done this before?” Cooper asks.

Whit flicks open the bottle of lube. “I’ve done this before.”

“Dude, just asking, no judgment.”

“Stop talking.”

“First time for everything.”

“I’m serious.”

“If you haven’t, you can tell me, ’cause—”

A slick finger touches him. Cooper arches into it, letting out a breath. Oh, fuck yeah, this is what he wants. And Whit’s just as slow as he was with the kissing, like no matter how Cooper squirms, he’s going to take his damn time.

And he does, kneeling between Cooper’s thighs, his finger exploring as Cooper focuses on relaxing. Whit’s good at this. Gentle when he needs to be, and then he presses his other hand to the small of Cooper’s back, holding him still when he crooks his finger and Cooper jerks.

“Fuck.” He bites at the back of his wrist.

“Yeah?”

“Okay, maybe you’ve done this.” Cooper tries to get his knees under him, but Whit’s hand on his back is too firm. And it feels pretty good to be held down like this, no matter that he wants to rock back into the finger inside of him.

“Like that?” Whit asks, still moving too damn slow.

“You can put your dick in there, you know.”

“I know.”

Though Whit’s still holding out on him, because he just circles gently with his finger against Cooper’s prostate. The pace is too leisurely to do more than bring a harshness to Cooper’s breath over the pleasure it sparks and to make him grind his hips down into the mattress, his cock hard.

When Whit finally stops, Cooper whimpers into Whit’s quilt. There’s the rustle of pants being stripped off and the crinkle of the condom wrapper. Cooper scrambles to his knees, and the bed squeaks as Whit kneels behind him.

“Do you want to turn over?” Whit asks.

Cooper braces a hand on the wall above the headboard, his other fisted in the quilt beneath him. “I want you to fucking fuck me.”

Whit sighs, loud enough to hear it. And Cooper waits for the argument, but instead there’s the touch of Whit’s fingers again, slick and a little cold, and then a bigger, blunter pressure.

Cooper reaches for his own cock, but the headboard smacks into the wall as Whit pushes into him.

“Put your hand back,” Whit says.

“No.” Cooper wants to touch himself. He flexes back on Whit, his big hands framing Cooper’s waist and the pressure almost deep enough, almost as hard as Cooper wants it. “C’mon, would you?”