"Don't come, don't come. Not yet." The words came strangled out of Jack's mouth.

Jack liked it rougher than Randall liked to give it, but Randall did what Jack wanted, which was how they ended up like this, Jack facing the headboard, knees spread, Randall behind him, inside him, against him, about ready to explode. Jack knocked the headboard into the cabin wall ferociously with his gasping and longing, but Randall did his best not to come as Jack's muscular insides clamped around him.

Randall dug short-cut nails into Jack's should. "Jack, I can't."

"Can you just say it?" Jack's plea wasn't even a question, but a demand.

"Jack, I-"

"Say it, dammit." Jack ground back onto Randall's cock, and Randall knew he would say anything Jack asked in that moment.

"Little darlin'," Randall sobbed, knowing the words made him not himself, meant Jack was not in this bed with him.

Jack shot all over the pillow with a started cry.

Randall's own ejaculation was late and anticlimactic, but still better than with LaShawn. "Fuck," he sputtered.

Jack pulled away and withdrew soundlessly to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Randall laid back across the unsoiled part of the bed. Whenever that happened, he always thought maybe he'd give Jack up and find someone else. But then he got to thinking, if he could just hold out a little while longer... it seemed that other fella was letting go of Jack, and Randall could be there to catch him.

Randall got up to get beers for both of them. Maybe one day Jack could still be his, if he could hold on long enough in this brutal game of tug-o-war.