Track 24: Side A

Sixty-Nine is For Lovers

Jace

I’m still shaking when I climb into bed and wait for Linc. I listen to the sink running in the bathroom, and for a moment, I wonder if I need to run and check on him again. He’s happy right now, right? He’s not going to hurt himself when he’s happy, will he? Not that I agreed to try for real just to keep him from hurting himself. I’m not delusional; I know he has a problem and while a happy moment might keep him safe for now, there are a lot of bumps in the road to come.

The sight of Linc bleeding on my bathroom floor nearly made me faint. I may be a lab geek now, but I went to medical school; I can handle blood. What I couldn’t handle was the realization that had I not gotten up to check on why the sink had been running for ten minutes, Linc could have died. He could have kept cutting; he could’ve hit an artery. I pull my blankets tighter around me, my whole body feeling cold from the reality of how close things came.

A sigh of relief escapes me when the water shuts off and my bedroom door creaks open. I hold up the blanket and pat the bed.

“Come on in, baby.”

Linc stills, and in the moonlight, I can see a smile stretch across his face. Some of the pieces of my broken heart knit themselves back together at that moment.

He slides between the sheets and cuddles up close to me. His warm breath tickles my skin and sets my nerve endings buzzing. My cock shifts as it fills, taking Linc’s nearness as a sign. His scent fills my nose and—I hope—permeates my bedsheets. I don’t know how things are going to work between us in the long run, but I meant it when I told him I wanted to try. Getting closure was a pipedream. I’m sure part of me knew that when I set eyes on him two weeks ago at the grocery store. I could hold onto my hate forever, or I could listen to what my heart wants and see where it goes.

Linc nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck, and his hands roam over my bare torso. His fingers pause in certain spots, and I wonder if it’s where his favorite freckles are.

“Will you make love to me?” he asks in a shaky whisper.

I brush my lips against his, running one hand through his hair and tangling our legs together to maximize our contact. I run my free hand along the slope of his back and over the curve of his ass, cupping one firm globe and pulling him even closer. Linc moans against my lips as our mouths move together, tasting each other.

His cock bumps against mine through our underwear, and we both moan. My fingers dig harder into the soft flesh of his ass, desperately needing to get as close as possible. Linc’s lips trail along my jaw and down my throat, kissing and nibbling at my skin, and heat spreads through my veins. No one has ever made me feel the way Lincoln does. I always assumed my memories of our sexual fumbling as teens were being too generous. There was no way the best I’d ever had was when I was seventeen and neither of us knew what the hell we were doing. I figured since Linc was my first, I was putting him on an undeserved pedestal. But even our heated kissing and fumbling in the dark now is better than anything else I’ve ever felt.

“Please, Jace,” Linc begs against my collar bone, one hand sneaking inside my briefs and wrapping around my cock.

I groan and buck into his touch.

“I need…” I mumble. What do I need? Something surely, but it’s difficult to remember while Lincoln’s thumb gathers the pre-cum from my slit and rubs it around the sensitive head of my cock.

“Condoms and lube in the nightstand?” he guesses.

“Yeah,” I murmur, massaging his ass cheeks and thrusting into his grasp. “Oh fuck, no. I don’t have any condoms, Amanda and I hadn’t used them for ages.”

“Shit. And I didn’t think to grab the ones I bought when we booked it from the cabin this morning.”

“Well, that sucks,” I laugh because what else is there to do in this situation?

“Do we really need—”

“Yeah Linc, we do. At least until we get tested.”

Lincoln sighs dramatically. “Fine, sixty-nine instead?” he suggests hopefully. Before we were ready to go all the way back in the day, sixty-nine had been a definite favorite for both of us.

“Did you know most people hate to sixty-nine? I haven’t been able to get a single partner to do it since you,” I muse.

“Then they are stupid,” Linc declares, wiggling out of his underwear and tossing them aside while I do the same. Then, I roll onto my side, and he gets into position.

Lincoln’s masculine scent hits me and settles low in my stomach, making my balls tighten and my cock flex as if seeking his mouth.

Instead of going straight for the main event, Lincoln places open mouth kisses on my thighs, biting and licking in equal measure.

“God, you’re such a tease,” I complain.

“You’re too impatient,” he counters, and I chuckle. How many times did we have this pseudo-argument? Being with Lincoln feels like being in a time warp, but at the same time, it feels like finally moving forward. It’s like I’ve been stalled for ten years, just waiting for him to come back, and I never realized it.

Lincoln’s tongue finally laves over my balls, and I curse and do the same to him. I lick from his balls to the base of his cock, and then drag my tongue all the way to the tip. My tongue remembers the bump of every vein and exactly where the rough texture of his circumcision scar starts and ends. And my taste buds remember the salty, tangy taste of his pre-cum as I wrap my lips around him and take him into my mouth.

It’s difficult to concentrate on pleasuring Lincoln when my own cock is being expertly worked by his lips and tongue, the heat of his mouth surrounding me and sucking me so perfectly. A moan vibrates around my shaft when I suck Lincoln deep, relaxing my throat to take him all the way in. My hips twitch, and a moan rumbles up from my chest as well, creating a feedback loop of hard sucking and stimulating moans from both of us.

I can tell Linc is getting close when he starts to thrust into my mouth, his hips twitching before he shoves himself deeper into my throat and grinds his balls against my nose. I grab his ass and hold him there, swallowing around him and savoring every ragged breath and desperate whimper it earns. When I let him pull out, I hollow my cheeks, sucking as hard as I can.

“Oh fuck,” Lincoln gasps just before a salty burst hits my tongue. The feeling of his cock pulsing against my tongue causes my own orgasm to rip through me, my balls drawing up tight and emptying down his throat.

We don’t release each other until we’ve both milked every drop from the other.

 

 

Linc

“Hey Freckles,” I murmur against Jace’s neck as he strokes his fingers slowly through my hair, tugging me to the edge of sleep. I’m boneless from the intense orgasm he sucked out of me and in heaven with his arms around me.

“Yeah?”

“I lied,” I whisper. I feel the instant his muscles stiffen against me as he runs through every single word I’ve uttered in the last fourteen days, trying to decide what the most painful lie could’ve been. “It was a suicide attempt. When I cut myself back home and almost bled out in my bathroom, I wanted to die. I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. Everything was supposed to be perfect; I was supposed to be living my dream. Who can’t be happy with millions of dollars and sold out stadiums of screaming fans? What’s wrong with me?”

“Oh baby,” Jace coos, resuming his strokes through my hair. “You can’t fix depression with external things. That’s not how it works.”

“How does it work?” I ask with a desperate edge in my voice. “I know the darkness will seep in again, and I don’t know how long I’ll be strong enough to fight it. I don’t want to die, Jace. I thought I gave up caring about whether I lived or died a long time ago. But being near you again reminds me of what I have to live for. I don’t want to let the darkness win.”

“I know this therapist. Would you be willing to talk to him?” Jace asks, and I mull the idea around in my mind for a while.

Every time any of my bandmates or Archer suggested seeing a therapist I always bristled. Crazy people go to therapists. I’m not crazy, I’m just…sad. Okay, maybe it’s more than your run of the mill sadness. It’s more of a hopeless, bottomless pit of emptiness and despair that can become all-consuming and suffocating until I literally can’t breathe.

“He’s a great guy—smart, understanding, a great listener,” Jace presses, misunderstanding my silence.

I bristle a little at his glowing description of the man. “Have you dated him or something?” I know I have no right to the swirling, possessive rage in my chest but that doesn’t stop it from living there.

“No, asshole. Wyatt and I never dated; he’s just a friend. Not that it’s any of your business who I’ve dated in the last ten years.”

I grumble my disagreement with that sentiment, but decide it’ll be better to just let it go rather than press the issue.

“Anyway,” Jace moves on. “Wyatt is a friend I met in college. He’s a great person. He spends his time volunteering at a local LGBT+ youth center and halfway house, it’s called Rainbow House. He’s a therapist there, but he also has his own practice. I’m sure he’d make time to talk with you if I give him a call.”

“Can I sleep on it?”

“Sure,” he agrees. He brushes a kiss against the top of my head, and a content rumble rolls through my chest. I tighten my grip on his waist, every cell in my body crying out to never let Jace go again.