Illegal Arms

I get a good grip and a rhythmic stroke going and now he's the one groaning, losing it. Frank never lasts long while I'm on my knees - I guess it does things to him, too - so I don't mess around too long with my hands before slipping him into my mouth.

The feel of him in my jaws blows through the last of my fucking resistance, and I grips his cock my the base and suck half of him into my mouth, darting my tongue in and out of his hole and making him cry out. He's warm and salty and firm, and both my hands and my tongue can feel the pressure, can feel him trying to hold back.

I speed up the pace of my strokes and keep licking and sucking and look up into his eyes. He's bracing himself against the wall above my head and I can tell it's taking everything he's got not to ram himself down my throat.

It only takes a few more strokes and another five laps of my tongue to break him.

The first squirt bursts into my mouth, but I know Frank likes to watch himself come on me, so I slip him out of my mouth and let the second jet hit me on the cheek. He watches and lets out a long groan as he watches the rest of his come squirts land on my lips and nose and chin, and I fight the urge drop his cock and stroke my own until I spray his calves.

Suddenly I'm thinking about the men who are after me, and what they'd say and do if they could see me now, sitting here sucking dick and taking it in the face. Just the idea of it makes my cock throb and my body tense up, and Frank can tell I'm almost at the end of my rope.

He drops down to my level and pulls my legs out from under me and makes me spread them like he's gonna fuck me missionary. But he doesn't. My back's against the wall and he's lying on his belly, his face right next to my cock. He runs a single finger over the head, grinning like a devil.

His whole hand wraps around me without warning, and the sight of his tan skin against my brown makes my nuts draw up. My hands are in his hair again, shoving him toward the mass of tension between my things, but he's not gonna suck my dick, I know it. He wants to watch me come, watch me lose control, especially after all of that teasing. I press my head back into the shower wall and moan and squeeze my eyes shut and keep my death grip on his hair because there's just nothing else I can do.

He loosens his grip on me strokes me gently, taking extra time to tease around the rung just under the head, and he laughs when moan and wiggle around, trying to get off.

"Are you ready to come, Derek?" he says, all off-hand like he's asking about the forecast. "Are you gonna squirt come all over my hand?"

Fuck.

"Frank...Frank please..."

"Look at me," he whispers, and I open my eyes and look down at him, at myself. I'm swollen and throbbing in his hand, and he starts stroking again, for real this time. "Watch yourself come, Derek."

He grips me tight and pumps me, and he's not messing around anymore. I open wider and get ready to let go, and it builds and builds inside as his hands twist and stroke me. He's grinning like a wolf and looking me dead in the eye and speeding up, knowing about to blow. And before long, I do.

I've never been one who thought much of sex before we started...whatever this is, but right now, I can't imagine living without his touch. He turns me on so much and he can make me come so hard that I wonder how I've gone so long without seeing him. Without this.

It squirts out of me like a small fountain, running over his hands and my prick. One wave after another, and even after I've stopped squirting I'm still coming, still pulsing and twitching. When my pulse is finally back below a hundred and twenty, he climbs up to kiss me, pulling my legs together on either side of him. His kisses are tender, sweet, but even though it's hard, I usually stop him and leave right after we're done coming. I didn't want to catch feelings. Guess I caught them anyway.

So when he pulls me into his arms, I go without a fuss.

*****

The sheets and the blanket are half off the bed.

His head is on my stomach as he lies crosswise, looking up contentedly at me. One of his arms is wrapped around my waist and the other his holding my hand, tracing patters on my palm.

"Don't go back out there," he says.

I freeze.

He feels it, but he doesn't stop.

"I can help you."

His voice is so soothing, so sure, and I'm flooded with how much I love him.

I swallow hard.

"I don't think you can."

"Won't you at least let me try?" he snaps.

"I have a lot of enemies, man. It's a dangerous line of work - "

"I love you."

Tears pool in my eyes.

"You have to know that, right? We've been doing this for fifteen years, Derek. Do you really expect for me to just walk off into the sunset while you get mowed down by...I don't know, the fucking Mafia?"

"You don't have a choice."

He sits up abruptly and climbs up beside me, stroking my face.

"Is it really that scary for you?"

I don't answer.

"I'm right here. I've always been right here. The truth is, I can help you. You know I can, but you won't let me because you're fucking scared of this, of us. Would it really be so terrible to at least try? I'm not saying we have to get married and have fucking wedding bells and matching suits but I don't want to lose you, Derek."

His voice is steady, but I know he's crying, too. And he's right. I love him so much it hurts me to even think of leaving here again like I always have before, and all I want is to run away with him to Europe or Asia and do whatever guys like us do when we're gallivanting all over the world. It's fucking stupid and I feel like an idiot even thinking of it, but I can see us holding hands and kissing in parks and doing shit like that and I have to swallow hard again before I start bawling like a baby.

"I..."

"What, Derek?" He's glaring at me, waiting for my stupid excuse so he can shred it to pieces. He keeps waiting there in the silence, and an hour passes, then two.

But I can't think of anything to say.