Healing The Scars From The Past (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 11: Our Relationship...??

Chapter 11: Our Relationship..??

First of all this is a chaper is a bit graphic... be warned.

Mike's mouth found mine, his lips molding hot and soft to my own. His tongue tentatively tested the seal of my lips; I parted them and he pushed inside. It was startlingly sweet and achingly familiar, like finding harbor. Like I had been waiting decades for this, traveling leagues, sailing through the memories of his beautiful blue eyes, never considering the trouble ahead.

I lifted my lashes and met his blue stare. My breath caught on half a sob; relief made me a little giddy, and I leaned against him, making fun of us both. But this didn't stop him. His arms wrapped around me and he questioned me softly.

"Okay?"

"Oh yeah," I breathed.

I craned my neck, seeking his mouth again, and he was right there, opening to my kiss, welcoming me home.

He tasted dark and bittersweet, like my memories-only more intense. My heart pounded hard, blood drumming away in my ears. I kissed him with all the hardness and hunger in me, letting him feel it all.

My anger and grief and frustration. When we finally broke apart Mike didn't look shocked; in fact he looked....predatory. Hot. Ravenous. His eyes glittered deep sapphire.

"Oh, Lucas," he muttered.

I laughed unsteadily as his hands slid beneath my T-shirt, shoving the thin cotton up to find bare skin.

And it felt wonderful, those big callused hands moving over me, stroking and petting, learning...

His dick was hard, rock hard through his jeans-he had to be practically in pain-and I pressed closer, rubbing against him. Briefly, I wondered how much of this was me wanting the past back, Neither of us were the same people, and this...was...pure madness.

And yet we were kissing . We were locked onto each other as though we had just discovered this incredible thing you could do with two mouths pressing close and moist against each other. And the taste of him...God the flavor of him...was horrifyingly, unbearably sweet. Sweet in the way crack must feel hitting the bloodstream of an addict after years of staying clean.

As our kiss deepened, one of his big hands slid down and palmed my ass, making me groan desperately for that closeness. Why the hell were we wearing so many clothes on a hot summer night? I wrapped my arms around him, and he moved right into them. He felt harder, leaner, fiercer than I remembered-all taut muscle and energy. He was smiling against my mouth, liking my hunger, my demand.

"Yeah," he groaned. "Oh, yeah."

He was agreeing with everything I wasn't saying. Huge mistake this, and we both had to know it-and I would have killed anyone who tried to get between us. His fingers fumbled with the top rivet of my jeans, worked it free as I shimmied my hips gently. My shaking hands fastened on his waistband, yanked at his belt buckle and managed to unclasp everything. He made a furious, desperate sound in the back of his throat; bit the curve of my neck and shoulder.

I sucked in a sharp breath, grabbed at his shirt while he bent to jerk my pants down. A couple of his shirt buttons popped off and flew across the room. My laugh didn't sound like me, although I thought the idea of him eventually staggering out the house with his clothes in tatters was pretty damned funny. He growled at my laugh and softly bit the side of my lip in a playful matter.

"I love it when you laugh like that," he whispered roughly as he shrugged out of his damaged shirt. "You know I dream about you."

I stopped for a moment and looked up into his soft blue eyes.

"I do too," I answered solemnly as I dragged my T-shirt over my head and threw it aside. I stood and placed my hands on the sides of his face. "Only my dreams turn into nightmares."

He looked apologetic for a moment but as he stepped out of his trousers and briefs, his cock bobbing up, looking red and somehow disheveled. Mike pulled me back against him, like any space between us was too much and his dick pressed painfully into my naked belly. I wound my arms around his neck again as he picked me up, backing me against the wall-hard.

"Ow," I muttered, wriggling into better position as he hefted me higher. I hooked my legs around his hips.

"Sorry...lucas," his hands smoothed the small of my back as he cradled me close, his face resting in the curve of my shoulder for a moment. "So sorry."

His voice sounded choked. But maybe it sounded that way smothered against my skin because when he raised his head, his eyes were dry-shadowy in this light-and there was nothing to read in his face. His breath warmed my face, a hint of beer but mostly just himself.

The blond downy hair from his armpits tickled my arms as I slid my hands behind his back; his dick was poking rudely up along my crack. I pushed back instinctively, but he shifted so our cocks were rubbing against each other instead. It felt good. Very good. Just that. Friction. It's not always a bad thing.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I replied ruefully.

He rested one hand against my face, cupping my jaw. I tried to look away, but he leaned in, licking my mouth and then nipping my lower lip, a delicate sting. I closed my eyes and he rubbed his face against mine, the rough velvet of his jaw rasping against my mouth and nose and eyelids.

"I missed you," he whispered against my face, and he kissed me again.A shiver ripped through me, and then another, and I was disgusted to find myself trembling-adrenaline overload, that's all that was. I lowered my brow to his shoulder, still humping against him. He humped back and we began to pick up the pace.

Ramming against him, breathing him in, I drew back enough to look down between our bodies and I could see his cock, wet-tipped and huge and flushed, driving against my own. It was fascinating watching us scraping and parrying with each other, hips rocking, slipping right into that old rhythm.

This was not a dream. This was Mike. Mike and me. It was for real. Painfully, exquisitely real.He hitched me more comfortably against the wall, I threw my head back, banging it, and hardly noticing as two family photos fell from the wall. Tightening my thighs around him, I arched my spine. We rubbed and ground against each other in what felt like an increasingly desperate race for release.

He grabbed me tight, hips jerking against me, face buried in my neck. There was wetness on his cheeks. Beneath his lashes. Tears? The idea brought a grim smile to my face, before a moment later I came in spurts of sticky moisture, wetting our already damp bodies. He kissed me again.

I wondered.. "What does this mean?"

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