pace again. His cock is swollen, huge and hard and hot. He lifts his hips and groans, a ragged, mindless sound. I cup my palm around his head. He’s slick there. I trace the rim of him with delicate precision.
“Squeeze,” he growls. “My balls. Squeeze hard.”
He thrusts his hips. “Harder,” he begs. “Please... fuck, Cleo.”
With one hand wrapped around his sac, I take his cock between the base of my thumb and the inside of forefinger. Then I jack his rigid shaft. Up and down. I pump as my hand fists his balls with measured force.
He writhes. “Cleo—fuck... oh fucking shit.” The words are low and hard. He thrusts his hips. “Oh God...”
I want to take him further. Take him away. I struggle with my idea for a moment, then decide to take a risk. I lean under the blanket and lick up and down his thigh, my hand still holding his firm sac, my fingers grasping the base of his cock.
I pick up the pumping on his dick and guide one swollen testicle into my mouth. Good move. His hoarse voice fills my ears. “Oh fuck... Cleo... Ohhhh... I’m gonna blow... inside your mouth...”
Kellan groans. His legs tremble. I leave him like that, panting. I race over to my bag and grab a flavored condom I bought for this purpose.
I can’t suck him bare; one of the rules. He twists his hips, moaning, as I roll the condom on.
“Oh fuck... God. Cleo... please...”
I roll the condom down to his thick base and he thrusts against my jaw. I open up. He slams into my mouth, his hand grabbing my hair. I take him deeper than I ever have and roll his balls and lick the underside of him.
He bucks. “Ah—my hips.” My heart hammers. Is he in pain? “That motherfucking mouth... motherfuck...” I squeeze his balls again, and suck his head. I twirl my tongue around him. His thighs grip my body.
“Squeeze my dick. Right now, squeeze hard.” He’s panting. “Harder. Press... down under. The underside... press... aaaah... ahhhh.”
When my fingers press down underneath his cock, he moans and twists his hips. “Pull... on my balls. Harder...”
When I’m squeezing his sac so hard it has to hurt, his hand comes over mine, working from his head down to the base of him, smoothing like he’s trying to keep his load inside. He growls. “Suck... me. My cock... in your mouth. Right... now.”
I start to worry someone will come in—but I don’t have much choice. He’s got me by the hair. I feel his balls tighten, but then he stops me, urging me to rub my fingers down the underside of his cock and squeeze his balls again.
Each time he makes me do this, he seems lifted further from here. My mouth and hands make him forget the world and finally, the third time I drag my thumb along the underside of his cock, I realize: I’m prolonging this.
I do it one more time—until his monitors have started beeping and my heart is pounding hard, and then instead of stopping me, he plants his palms on each side of my head and fucks my mouth like it’s a sport.
He comes with a sharp cry, his cock twitching hard before his cum fills the condom. By the time I pull it off, his eyes are closed.
I cover him back up and rush into the bathroom to take care of myself. As soon as I see the blue tiles and the rail by the toilet, I don’t think I’ll be able to do it... but I sit inside the shower, stuff two fingers inside myself, and focus on the memory of Kellan’s hand around his cock.
“IF ALL ELSE PERISHED, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn into a mighty stranger.”
–Catherine, from Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte
I’ve taken to dramatic quotes. So sue me. When I placed an order at that 24-hour random shit delivery service, I came across an origami kit, and of course, I had to have it. I remember mentioning an origami sparrow in one of my first letters to R.
R.
Kellan.
I still can’t wrap my head around it. Kellan Walsh—Drake, it legally is—is R. And he has cancer. My sweet, dirty lover, with the .gif body and non-stop boner, has cancer. Not only that, he has relapsed AML that he was just... ignoring. What the actual fuck?