through the sticky hair on his stomach.
“I came,” he says stupidly.
And Alejandro smiles. He actually smiles, something warm and bright—it seeps into his eyes and makes him look like an entirely different person. He’s so fucking beautiful that Avery loses his ability to breathe for a moment. He wants to get lost in that expression. He wants to be able to see it every day.
He feels something big inside him, knowing that he was the cause. And he lays there frozen, afraid that any movement will shatter this moment, and it’ll be gone forever.
A heartbeat passes…then another.
Alejandro’s face softens, but the smile doesn’t leave. He shifts so his dick is resting in the cut of Avery’s hip, and he thrusts a little—but not like he’s chasing pleasure, more like he just wants to feel him. His fingers are soft now, pressing into his skin, just holding him.
“I need a bit,” Avery finally says, because he has to say something, “before I can go again. I’m young, but I’m not that young.”
Alejandro’s smile widens, though his eyes get a little sad as they lock on to Avery’s. His finger draws a line around his nipple, his nail catching on the metal, sending faint sparks along Avery’s nerves. “Yes, you are. But I said I wanted to take my time with you, and I meant it.”
It feels like a long goodbye, but Avery doesn’t let himself think about it too hard. Instead, he focuses on the fact that he’s still stretched out on the plug, that Alejandro’s still hard. That his hands are warm, that his eyes are open in more ways than one. He loses himself in the next kiss Alejandro eventually takes, and their bodies relax into each other.
They settle onto their sides, and Avery ignores the mess that will be a huge pain in the ass to clean off when it dries. He wraps his leg around Alejandro’s hips and keeps him close, keeps his hardness there as proof that this isn’t over. Not yet. He squeezes around the plug in his ass, then he digs fingers into Alejandro’s back and thinks, I love you. And I hate myself for it.
14
Never Ready
Alejandro feels when Avery falls asleep, and he takes a minute to roll away carefully. Avery murmurs a soft complaint, but he just burrows deeper into the pillow and shifts his hips a little restlessly. Alejandro wants to reach over and expose him more—to see the plug stretching him. He wants to drag his fingers through the mess that’s dried on his stomach, the mess mirrored on his own that’s tugging at his skin uncomfortably, but he doesn’t want to wash off.
He feels shaken—he feels broken apart and reformed. Everything he believed was good for him—for them—feels wrong now. This is over tastes like blood in his mouth. He swallows against it and curls his fingers into his palm. As he watches Avery’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, he thinks, he’s worth it. Whatever the consequences, he’s worth it.
The thought is wholly consuming and wholly terrifying, so he stands up and grabs his dressing gown from the hook by his wardrobe. It’s soft against his skin, an indulgence he doesn’t think about very often, but his body feels hypersensitive right now.
Letting go the way he did, unburdening himself both physically and emotionally, drained him, but he needed it. And now he needs a moment. He slips out of the bedroom and goes to the kitchen for water. The penthouse is dark, lingering fry oil on the air, and he can see the chanukiah in the window reflecting against the glass. The flames have long-since burnt out, and only a little bit of the wax is left on the windowsill below it.
The moon is out now, but it’s surrounded by fat clouds, and he thinks it might snow by morning. He lets himself imagine standing out on his balcony, holding Avery against his chest, kissing him as they’re decorated with melting flecks of white. He’ll look beautiful that way—but then again, he looks beautiful all ways. Alejandro loses his breath every time his eyes fall on the younger man.
Moving to his office, he sits down at his desk with a soft sigh. The chair creaks, and he’s glad he’s across the room where he won’t wake Avery. The dark is soothing in a way, even as his fingers brush across his mousepad, and his laptop screen lights up.
The document put together the week before for is there—looking so much