His first orgasm felt like glass shattering. Splinters of pleasure engulfed all his pulse points simultaneously. A heat rush swept up and down his spine in an instant. All his senses were on red alert.
Fight or flight?
Pleasure or pain?
His natural responses went into over-drive. His synapses short-circuited momentarily.
Pleasure it is then.
He turned his head to the left and opened his eyes. He had clenched them shut as soon as the first shards of glass had broken across his shoulder-blades. As soon as the prickling started. The tearing of his skin had distracted him; had made him forget one of his senses.
Then he saw him. Saw the mass of red that crowned the head of the boy who'd just fucked him.
The boy who's sweat was still splashing down onto his neck.
Into the pillow he cursed loudly. He released the last of the residual tension with a guttural groan.
His fist hit the bare mattress. His hips bumped the dislodged sheet. This set off a chain-reaction.
He received one last thrust.
The fog was beginning to clear.
The sweat was beginning to cool, he needed to get up, but the kid clung.
He tried to twist around, but his hands slipped in the slickness and diluted dirt. An auburn-halo edged towards him, he swiftly moved his head.
A kiss glanced off his ear.
He's gotta go.
He flipped him; but the twisting became squirming, became wrestling, became tingling, became panting, became floating, became, became,
his second orgasm.