So, I have decided to make this a multi-chapter project. Gave this chapter a little polish while I was at it. No major changes, just minor language tweaks. Enjoy!
Jesus CHRIST! I think when I feel what turns out to be a tire iron nudging my back. Can I please just take a nap without some annoying assho-huh?
"I want the gun back, Mickey."
"Gallagher?" The freckle-assed fuck's got balls, I'll give him that.
"The gun!"
No way. "All right." You're gonna regret sneaking into my house, you ginger piece of shit. I reach for the drawer, figuring it'll be enough to get the stupid kid to drop his guard. I'm right. He's totally unprepared when I grab him and throw him into the wall by my bed. Turns out though, the scrawny fuck adapts fast. And he's stronger than he looks. You aint gonna give up easy here, are you? Our scuffle moves from one side of the room to the other. I assume Gallagher's gonna run away pissing himself once I got in a few good punches, but no. He's determined. We end up back on the bed, and by now my pulse is racing. In no universe did I imagine kicking Ian Gallagher's ass would be even remotely difficult-which means I have to win. Finally I wrench the tire iron out of his hand, get him pinned underneath me, and swing back fast, ready to crack open the motherfucker's skull. But then I realize something, and freeze.
Fuck! I'm getting hard, and there's no way Gallagher hasn't noticed, his face is right between my legs. No one's gonna miss a partial sprouting up literally right under their nose. But before I have time to panic the look on his face goes from fear to . . . Oh . . . . oh! He knows I want him, he obviously wants me, and I don't give a shit anymore about winning the fight. I've only ever been fucked twice before, and it felt great both times-though I played it off like I was only letting the guy do it as an alternative to owing him a crazy stupid amount of money for several lost guns I was supposed to sell. Anyhow, taking it up the ass showed up in my jerk-off fantasies pretty much all the time, and Gun Dude just happened to be my first chance to try it out. Nothing about him in particular appealed to me aside from his having a cock.
This situation with Gallagher is different. It's like I can feel the whole room heat up as we stare at each other. I could easily beat him up just for the sake of follow through, then go out and pick up some other random guy, but I don't even consider the option. I want him inside me. Him or no one. I drop the tire iron and we both get to work taking our clothes off. 'What's happening here?' woulda been a stupid fucking question for either of us to ask, so I'm relieved as hell when he doesn't. Just lets me help him get naked without a word. "Condoms are in the drawer," I say as I get on all fours, hoping to god Gingershit doesn't wanna be topped.
"Lube?"
"Fuck," I hiss. "Don't have any." I'm breathing heavy, hard as hell, and seriously considering letting him go bareback on me.
"S'okay," he says with a lopsided grin I refuse to acknowledge as adorable. He picks his coat up off the floor and reaches into a hidden interior pocket. "I got us covered."
Secret slut? I wonder as he withdraws a small bottle of lube.
"What?" Gallagher shrugs. "I can't fuck guys at home, so the basic necessities gotta travel with me."
Smart plan. "All the fuckin' time? You're gross." I scoff at him. Damn if I'm gonna let this guy walk outta my house thinking I'm impressed with anything but his cock.
He climbs onto the bed behind me and I try not to shiver, or sigh too loud when his hand runs down my back, and I feel his breath close to my ear. "At least I'm a great fuck."
I moan way too loud when he says those words. GodDAMN, the confidence on this kid! Sure, Gun Dude got me off, but he never really turned me on, or even tried to, not like this. Have I EVER been turned on like this? "AH!" I gasp as a slick finger thrusts into my ass and starts moving around.
"Yeah," Gallagher chuckles, thrusting again. "I figured Mickey Milkovich wouldn't want it gentle." Thrust. Thrust. Second finger. Thrust. Curl. Stretch. Thrust.
No hesitation, no bullshit. Like he's taken everything he knows about my personality and translated it to sex. Yup, this obnoxious motherfucker is 100% aware how much I fucking want what he's doing, and the way he's doing it. I try to downplay how good it is, how hot he's got me, but it's a pathetic lost cause. I shiver, moan, I can't even stop myself from bucking against him. Suddenly his fingers leave, and I feel the head of his cock pressing against me. I'm so ready. So, so fucking ready. But every time I think he's about to start, he doesn't. It's just a little push forward, a tease, and he eases back again. SaynothingSaynothingSaynothing! "Come oooooonnnnnnn," I hear myself warble. Goddamnit, Milkovich! I tell myself I need to shut the hell up and act like a man, but I already know I won't. I'm gonna keep begging. Only I don't get the chance. Intense, electric pleasure and the the fucking perfect dose of pain explode inside me as I take all of him in one aggressive thrust. Fast as I can I grab a pillow and bury my face in it to muffle the weird fuck-drunk noises pouring out of my mouth.
"Quiet the fuck down!" Gallagher growls, his nails dig into my hips. "Or I'll pull out and cum on your back!"
Shit, it can't end like that! "Don't," I rasp (quietly), gritting my teeth. "P, pl, please," I whisper, "just-oh yeah! Yeah! AH!" Now it's on. I'm getting exactly what I want, and it's so fucking good I don't even care that I had to whine for it like a needy bitch. I'm still tight around him, breathing deep to stay relaxed and adjust to how he fills me. All the while Gingershit thrusts away, deep and demanding. I know I like cock more than pussy, that isn't news to me, but I had no idea it could drive me out of my fucking mind like this! Gun Dude was a joke compared to you, Gallagher!
When his cock finds my prostate, my last two brain cells pack up and leave town. I clutch a pillow with one hand, and press my face into whatever garbage material it's made of to muffle myself as I jerk off in time to Gallagher's rhythm. I want this part to last a long time. The orgasm part of sex is always a quick thing for me, then I get to enjoy a fast crash back to earth and my shitty reality.
After the first few times I got laid, I just assumed 'afterglow' was a made-up thing. You fuck, you shoot your load, then everything feels exactly the fucking same as it did before. 'Bliss cloud' my ass. You cum, then it's over! So when I know it's about to happen, I close my eyes and try to lock myself in the moment. The heat, the sweat, every muscle I got going all apeshit, Gallagher still working my ass and making these great little breathy grunt noises, his hands tight on my hips. Warm cum spills over my hand, and the first thing I feel when it's over is . . . a total brain haze. I assume it's because I've still got something fun in my ass distracting me, but a minute or so later when that's over with and Gallagher settles down next to me, the warm hazy feeling is still there. I'm in it, this is afterglow. Holy shit! He smiles at me, and I wonder if there's such a thing as SUPER afterglow because it literally gives me goosebumps. I hide my arms under the covers so he won't notice.
"Best fight ever." Gallagher whispers a few minutes later, again flashing a huge smile.
You're gonna have to hit him if he doesn't stop doing that, it's turning you into a girl! I shrug. "Beats a broken arm, I guess." I can almost feel him seeing through my bullshit attitude, and I have to threaten myself with violence to keep from blushing.
"Right," he rolls his eyes. "So then I guess you don't care if we ever do this again?"
I stare at the ceiling and drag my tongue along my teeth.
"Yeeeeeaaaaah," the freckled punk keeps talking, "I'm sure you won't mind if this is just a one time thing." He props up on an elbow and smirks at me. "If I never, ever, ever fuck you again?"
Okay shitwad, now you're pissing me off! I'm about to tell him to get his pansy ass outta my bed, but I make the mistake of looking him in the eyes first, and the words fucking refuse to come out. Instead, I stammer like a baby, which makes me even more pissed off and embarrassed. But at the same time his words are like a challenge to me. A dare. Hot. I get an image in my mind of the two of us at the Kash and Carry. I'm on my knees, sucking his dick. "Don't be fuckin' stupid, Gallagher, obviously we're doing this again!" I'm hoping my tone makes him feel at least a little foolish. If I gotta be a helpless fucking ginger junkie over here, well, fine-but he should at least have to feel like a jackass for making me kinda admit it. Prick.
"K," he chirps. "See y'later then." He's about to step out of bed when my dad bursts in. We both freeze. He doesn't even look at us as he walks to the bathroom, but we stay still. I'm pretty sure these are the last moments of my life. Maybe Gallagher's too. I remember the tire iron and resolve to get it and swing it straight at dad's head if he tries to lay a hand on Ian. Ian.
He says something about eggs on his way out of the room, then stops and faces us.
This is it. Get the tire iron! I yell at myself, but I can't move. Dad terrifies me too much.
"Put some clothes on, you two look like a coupla fags!" And he shuffles out.
Holy. Fucking. SHIT.
There's no such thing as pillow talk after a scare like that, so we get out of bed without another word. I get dressed and take the gun from the dresser. I wanna give it to him, but I'm afraid if our hands so much as touch I'll drop to my knees, and then he'll really have all the power. So I toss it on the mattress instead. He looks at me with this soft, puppy-dog gaze, and I know what he's about to try. "Kiss me and I'll cut your fuckin' tongue out."
After he leaves, I decide to wait a few days before hitting him up for sex again, so he doesn't get the wrong idea about us. All attached and sentimental and shit. At least four days. I tell myself. You can make it four days. I barely last twelve hours.
