My key slides easily into the lock, the faint scratch and click of the tumblers disengaging filling me with a sense of relief from my overactive paranoia. The door swings inward, providing me entrance. A crucifix, hung eye level, assaults my momentum, yet I hesitate only for a moment. It's not as if I have never seen if before.

A pair of thin, outstretched arms envelope me, a lithe body presses flush against my own. My name is murmured through delicious lips against my ear.

"Welcome home," he says, his fingers stroking my hair. I shut the door behind me, lean against it as he kisses my cheek.

"Dinners ready." The scent of lightly burned vegetables catches in my throat and makes me gag inaudibly.

I groan as he pulls away, fingers lingering at my tips, a coy look gleaming in his eye.

I watch his ass as he walks away, clad in new jeans that still hold fold lines. His Polo shirt is tucked in, a sea green color that matches his eyes perfectly.

"I'm not hungry, Zeke," I say, and it is as if the tension melts from his spine, and he coolly looks at me.

"Well, then, let's go to bed."


My fingers press against my throat, sucked red and raw, blotchy with purple marks, and then to my collar, slowly unbuttoning it. A light moan breaks the silence, and my eyes meet his, darkened with lust and want. I pull the shirt over my head, and my fingertips dance over my chest and stomach, and rest on the button of my pants.

The article of clothing is shed, and I stand, nearly naked in my simple black boxers, staring down at him, my lover of five years lying on the bed. His chest heaves beneath his thin, cotton shirt, his eyes are glassy and shockingly dark and his lips are red and swollen from furious kissing.

I gently stroke myself through my boxers, breath hitching as his eyes travel to that area, a low groan pulling from his throat. I shed the underwear quickly.

I settle myself beside him on the bed, laying an arm over his clothed midsection.

"Should I undress?" he asks nervously, and I glance at him. For as long as I had known him, my lover had never been nervous, or even shy. This vulnerable side of him reaches into the pit of my stomach and sparks a fire that I will not extinguish.

I shake my head, liking the way his cheeks flush scarlet.


He is silenced by my mouth on his as I slowly unbutton his shirt.


His hot tongue slides over mine, rubbing against the roof of my mouth, skimming across the teeth. A hot moan breaks from his throat, and it spikes my arousal. I slip a hand through his amber locks of hair, tilting his head for a more pleasing angle.

"Fuck," I grind out when he pulls away for a breath. My shirt is tangled around my arms, my chest pale in the moonlight that slats through the blinds over the window. "Fuck, Zeke, you make me want to…" I trail off as his fingers graze over the front of my slacks, sucking a new breath that makes me dizzy.

He hums deep in his throat against my ear, a husky, nearly tangible sound that makes me shiver and stifle a loud moan. His tongue darts out, hot and quick, to taste my skin before he goes back to his ministrations.

My pants are dragged down to my ankles, and I grip his hair in one hand, my breath coming in uneven gasps.

He seizes me through my shorts, the slit in the front slipping open a bit so that his fingers brush against my swollen skin.

"S-stop," I whisper against his neck. He hesitates, and then pulls down my shorts, baring my erection to the warm air.

I fumble for the lubricant, finding it and pouring much of its contents onto my fingers. It has been a while.

I make a move to stroke myself, but his hand stops mine, a pleading look in his eyes. I understand, nod, and begin to caress his arousal, nervous anticipation fluttering in my stomach.


His hand, cool with lubricant, brings me close to climax. So close, in fact, that I have to beg for him to stop.

I press against him; feel him tense at my intrusion. No words are exchanged, and pain does not register on his face.

I am gasping for breath by the time that I am hilt deep into him, and he is fighting to control the erection-stroking moans that threaten to overwhelm him. He finally commands me to move in a husky breath, and I do just that, picking up speed as I go along.

My fingers trace the contours of his sides, counting ribs as I go, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck. I smell his cologne, beneath a layer of sex that smells more like him than the scent he's been wearing for the last six years. The scent I'd grown used to, occasionally mixed with one that was unfamiliar, and I press back tears, pretend that it's only the pleasure that I feel that's causing them to prick my eyes. He knows I fake; I can see it. Our movements are never anything less than fluid, though. If he cares he doesn't let the mask of lust fall away.

It isn't long before he tightens around me, hands clutching at my shoulders and hair as he throws his head back against the pillow, eyes squeezing shut and a scream ripping from his throat as he shoots his seed onto my chest. His tightening elicits a loud moan from me, and I thrust one final time before coming hard inside of him, making his insides slick and hot with me.

I collapse on his chest, panting heavily with my eyes closed, his fingers still in my sweaty hair.

"I love you," I whisper, stroking his chest with the tips of my fingers.

He is already asleep. At least, that is what I like to believe.