(I've got to say, I was surprised by the outcome - it came down to a difference of five votes!)

6

When we last left our guys…

“I want to take you home now,” Gray says. “And I want to fuck. Any objections?”

It’s hard not to grin, so I just shake my head.

“So, big decision of the night.” Gray leans back like he’s considering me. “Who’s topping?”

Gray

I’m out of the borrowed jacket in the stairwell, and Sammy is laughing as he works the key in the lock.

“You’re going to wake up Mrs. Mays,” I tell him, but the words are muffled because I’m pulling the bro-cut shirt over my head.

The door opens, and I stumble into our apartment—stumble because my shorts are around my ankles. I bump the little table where we throw our keys. The leather tray slides. A candle wobbles. Sammy catches me by the hips, his fingers warm on my bare skin, and he’s not laughing out loud now, but I can feel him shaking with it.

“What is wrong with you?” I demand as I kick the door shut. “Come on, come on.”

Then I start on his sweatshirt, peeling it off him. I kiss Sammy’s chest and then drop to my knees. His belt snakes out of the loops. I undo the button on his waistband. That monster he keeps in his briefs is starting to wake up, so I lean forward and mouth the shape through the denim. Sammy’s breathing changes. His hands come to my head, working their way through my hair. Sammy’s not rough—not unless I want him to be—but he is still Sammy. And that means he likes to do things right. Including, it turns out, even things like skull-fucking.

The jeans slide down his thighs. For a moment, his dick is tenting his briefs. Then I roll the waistband, and they drop to puddle with the jeans. His cock is huge and somehow still filling out. He’s started grooming himself down there over the last few months, basic stuff, but it makes him look even bigger. I press my nose to the root, breathe him in, and lick his balls. Sammy grunts because he likes that, but the next moment he’s pulling my head back and lining up with my mouth. The tip of his cock rubs against my lips before I open, and he’s slick with pre. Then I take the head into my mouth.

For a few seconds, that’s enough for both of us: I’m running my tongue around the ridge of his dick, and he’s rocking his hips. Then I try to take more of him. Not to brag, but I give pretty good head. I relax my throat, and I swallow him by inches. There’s the usual gagging and coughing, sure, and Sammy eases back when I need him to. His fingers massage the back of my neck, but he feels tenser than I do. I can’t quite get all of him—it’s the angle, and that’s just what happens sometimes, and honestly, I’m probably too excited—and maybe Sam’s feeling that way too because his hands slide to my ears like I’m just some toy for him to fuck, and that’s what he does: he fucks my mouth, he fucks my throat, and then he’s not fucking me at all. His dick is hanging in front of me, shiny with my spit, and he’s got this embarrassed smile that runs all the way up to his eyes.

“I was getting close,” he says like an apology.

“Fuck, baby.” I touch the front of my trunks; they’re wet. “Me too.”

Then his smile gets bigger.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ve never sucked me with your shoes on before.”

I burst out laughing. My throat is sore, and I’ll feel it more tomorrow, but it’s a good sore.

And it’s not the only part of me that’s going to be sore tomorrow.

“You liked that?” I ask as I get to my feet.

He shrugs, but he’s still wearing that big grin.

I kick myself free of my shorts and trunks, but I leave the shoes on. It’s definitely giving fuckboy vibes, and I wonder next time if I should tell Sammy to fuck me with his jeans barely pushed down around his thighs, like he doesn’t have time for anything but to drop a load in me and get out of there. Tonight, though, Sammy toes off his sneakers and finishes stripping down, and then I take him by the hand and lead him into the bedroom.

While Sammy goes around the room lighting candles, I’m already on the bed, legs spread, working lube into myself. Then he’s done, and he crawls onto the mattress between my legs. He checks me out, all the way down to the sneakers again. His grin is more shadows now, and the light dances across his face. He puts his hands on my knees and rubs gently up my thighs, and he spreads me even farther.

“Hey,” he says softly from behind that shadow smile, “that’s my job.”

So, I let him take over. Sammy starts with one finger, then two, and he knows how to alternate, stretching me for a while and then playing with me—making me cry out when he presses down on my prostate, and then catching the tip of my dick in his mouth, looking up at me from under hooded eyes and the mess of his dark hair, and in the next movement, twisting his fingers, spreading me on them, my hole starting to burn.

“Fuck me,” I say.

He kisses my knee.

“Samuel Yarmark,” I said, “fuck me right now.”

His eyes are heavy-lidded, and he doesn’t do anything except what he’s been doing, which is drive me crazy. Doesn’t even move any faster. I slide down, trying to take more of his fingers into me, and he laughs.

“Did you have a good night?” he asks, and then he presses on that spot again, and the world short-circuits.

“Oh Christ!”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, yeah.”

“I’m glad we got to do something fun.” He bends lower this time and kisses my stomach, following a line up my chest until his lips find mine. Between kisses, he says, “But I’m glad we get to spend some time together, too. Just the two of us.”

“And your dick,” I say breathily.

“We can do this all night,” he says, and he kisses along my jawline. “We can spend all night with me showing you how much I love you.”

“Uh huh,” I say. “Sammy, I love you. I want to be romantic with you. I am literally an attention whore, and all of this is really doing it for me. But right now, I need you to fuck me before I explode.”

He’s got a look on his face that’s about an inch away from rolling his eyes, but he rolls his hand around his dick a few times, lubing up, and then there’s that moment of hesitation—not fear, not anymore, but wanting to be sure. Because he doesn’t want to hurt me.

But he knows me now, knows my body, knows how we fit together. So, his dick finds my hole, and he presses in.

There’s a stretch.

There’s a significant stretch.

But half of it’s prep and half of it’s a fucking mind game, so I breathe through it as he fills me up. He’s got my legs over his shoulders. Even through the haze of taking Sammy—signals ricocheting through my body, telling me too much, and somehow still not enough—I’m weirdly aware of the sneakers I’m still wearing, how they hang against his back, and so he must be aware of them too. Right then, though, Sammy’s just watching me. And then he starts to move.

Sex with Sammy was never bad. Ever. But he’s gotten so much better. He starts off slow, long-dicking me as I adjust to having him inside me, and somehow that makes the pressure against my prostate seem unrelenting. It’s like someone has turned on floodlights, and I can’t see. I’m hot, and I’m moving, and even I can’t tell you if I’m trying to grind down on him for more of it or if I’m trying to get some relief.

He shifts his weight, sits up a little more, and changes his pace: short thrusts, punching into me over and over again, and every punch ringing my little bell. My fingers are clenched. My toes are curled. And then I make this sound, like somebody punched me, and my cock starts to shoot: once, twice, splashing hot on my belly. Not a full O, but like he shoved me over the edge and then yanked me back. Part of me wants to watch myself, but my neck is a noodle, and I can’t keep my head up.

Sam slows. But after a moment, he picks up the pace again. Sam is a lot of things. He’s smart. He’s diligent. He might be the hardest worker I’ve ever met, and he wants so badly to be the best possible version of himself.

On the other hand, he’s also a natural top, and that means no matter how generous he is as a partner, no matter how much he cares about me and wants me to get off and is determined to make it good for me too, at some point, he tips over into top territory, and then all Daddy wants is his nut.

Hard, fast thrusts—long ones, short ones, Sam moving closer to me until his balls are pressed against me and I can feel him deep enough that he’s barely thrusting at all, and it’s more like he’s rubbing off inside me, like we’re so close that there’s nowhere left to go. He’s got me bent in half so he can kiss me, and I don’t know how great I’m doing because I’m having an out-of-body experience on his cock. Then he straightens up again and grabs my ankles and spreads me like a wishbone, and I know this is it. His face tightens like he’s running a race or finishing a set of reps, like there’s this end in sight and he’s almost there. His eyes screw shut. His mouth softens. And then he drives into me, grunting, as he unloads.

I jerk myself off; that little half-O from earlier should have let off some steam, but it didn’t, and I come almost as soon as I touch myself.

Sam is breathing deeply, and his chest and neck and face are flushed. He’s still holding my ankles, so he lowers them now, rubbing my shins as he checks me, wanting to make sure I’m okay. I pat the mattress, and he gives a tired smile and collapses next to me.

After a while—when my brain is back inside my skull—I kiss his forehead and smooth his hair back.

He opens his eyes sleepily. What did I say about Sammy being a natural top? But then he touches my cheek. “Thanks. For tonight.”

“I think I’m supposed to thank you.”

It’s there again, that almost-roll of his eyes. He presses his lips to my shoulder.

“Maybe we could make a thing out of this,” I say. “Not just the fucking. A date night. Once a week. Even if we’re tired.”

His eyes are dark in the candlelight. He nods. “I’d like that.”

I’m about to say something else, but my phone buzzes somewhere out in the hall. I groan.

“I’ll get it for you,” Sammy says.

“No, I got it.”

It’s dispatch, so when I answer, I say, “Moraes is on call for—” I check the time. “—six more hours.”

Ehlers, who is always on dispatch, says, “Moraes is sick. Got a burglary, and they need a detective.”

“Fucking hell,” I say and disconnect.

Sammy’s up on one elbow, watching me when I come back into the room.

“Duty calls,” I say sourly.

And for some reason, Sam grins. “Same time next week?”

That's the end of our story! Next week, patrons will begin receiving a new serialized novel, IRON ON IRON: FOOLS DASH IN.

As you can probably tell from the title, this is another crossover story: Emery and John-Henry, North and Shaw, Theo and Auggie, Jem and Tean, plus - now - Dash and Bobby .It's a lot of characters, to say the least. In this story, the gang ends up at a Disney World-knockoff amusement park, and of course, mayhem ensues. It's very much supposed to be silly and fun.

Thanks for joining me for Sam and Gray's Date Night!