Chapter 28: The Grey Light


A/N: Okay so again I will warn you this chapter also includes graphic sexual description but seeing as you are reading about a gay werewolf I assume you would be expecting that, just being safe.

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He stopped me, dashing out the door after me and pulling my hand off car door handle, not releasing it when I turned to face him.

"Mark," he sighed, putting his other hand on my hip, it burned like a ball of fire on my skin. I wished he would stop, it was the cruelest form of punishment, gentle touches that meant nothing to him.

There was this static current between us, magnetic in the way it drew me closer to him, my head tilting forward until our foreheads almost touched. He breathed through his nose inhaling deeply as if he were trying to memorize my scent. It made me self conscious; did I smell good to him?

"I-I wanted to give you this," I stumbled, finding any reason to break away from him. I turned over leaning into the open window of my truck and passing him the portfolio.

"Better late than never," he smiled, taking it from my hands. His finger brushed mine very deliberately, but I tried to stop myself from reacting this time.

"Um, yeah," I said grabbing the door handle again when he stepped away. There wasn't really anything else to say, he was still hung up on Matty, and I wasn't going to be his Mason. I wasn't going to be there for his pleasure, I wasn't sure if that was what all of this touching and this flirting was about, but the idea burned nastily in the back of my mind.

I didn't want to be a body, I wanted him to like me, I wanted him to fall for me, the way I was falling. Actually falling was the most blasphemous understatement, I was stumbling, crashing, colliding into him and it wasn't like Taylor.

Before I thought I would never love anyone the way I loved Taylor and that made me sad. I was right, I would never feel the same about anyone but Taylor. This new feeling though, this bone melting, lung expanding, knee weakening emotion was stronger.

"Did you think um…did you like my— my piece. I mean did it help you with yours?" He asked as I hopped into the cabin of my truck.

"Yeah, it was good. Thank you, Professor," I said coolly, desperate to put more distance between us.

"You kissed me," he said loudly as I turned the key in the ignition. It sounded like an accusation but I wasn't denying it, we were both there.

"So?" I shot back. I had no idea what he was trying to get at.

Was he asking for an apology? Did his supposed asexuality make the kiss unbearable and he wanted my sincere apology. Or was he at a point where he knew he couldn't have Matty and he wanted a cute little gay boy to be his undercover lover? Was him pointing out that I had kissed him his way of saying I should just blow him while I was at it? Or was he trying to discuss it with me like a professor would? I'm flattered but it's not appropriate.

"So nothing... Never mind…Bye Mark." He turned away, his shoulders slumping a bit as he went. I nodded to myself, my sign to keep strong. I wouldn't melt into him just because he was scrumptious in his tight jeans and undershirt, which stretched dangerously over his developed chest. I was going to learn to be strong and independent. I huffed to myself while adjusting the mirror and shifting the truck out of park. He was beautiful. So so beautiful, life was truly unfair. If I had been born earlier, much much earlier would I have been his Matty?

I drove a few feet before I heard him speak again, "Asshole."

That was it, the last fucking straw. After days of mourning for him he had crossed the line. I stopped the truck halfway down the path and dashed out not bothering to close the door. He ignored me and continued to walk back toward his door so that he was turned away when I pushed him hard, so hard that he almost fell face first in the dirt.

"I'm the asshole? Really? Fuck you Jordan! You are such a fucking douche! You think you're so enlightened, so fucking mature, you're not! You're just a scared little gay boy. I don't care what you say, you're gay! Even if it's just Matty you want… maybe you'll never be interested in anyone else, but that just makes you even more gay! And I'm not going to follow you around like a hopeless pup waiting for you to get a clue!" I screamed pushing him again.

"I'm not the scared one," he breathed grabbing my hands before I could push him again, and pinning them to my side.

"What's that supposed to mean? You know what I want. I kissed you and—" He cut me off with a kiss, swinging me bodily towards his cabin and crashing me hard against the cold stone siding. It didn't hurt but the passion behind it made my stomach churn. I moaned loudly as he pushed himself into me, forcing his tongue into my mouth. He tasted perfect, like pomegranate and black tea, his round flat tongue rolling slowly around mine.

"Stop it," I whined trying to push him off of me, he pulled back but didn't separate from me. I didn't really want him to. He trailed his lips up the side of my face, nibbling at my earlobe.

"Isn't this what you want, Mark?" He asked roughly, continuing to leave soft but passionate kisses along my neck. I did want this, I wanted him so bad but not if he was imagining someone else while we did it.

"I um—Jordan, I don't… God can you stop? Please, I can't think!"

"Then don't think," he said pressing himself fully against me so that I could feel him completely so hard and warm. "I'm done fighting with you, Mark."

"But I don't want to be your Mason, oh God your lips are so soft," I moaned as he took my ear lobe in his mouth. When he bit down lightly and I regained composure enough to speak.

"I want to be your Taylor, Jordan," I mumbled incoherently as his hand snaked up my shirt.

"What?" He asked scraping his nail over my nipple.

"Uhhh," I moaned, pulling him back for a kiss.

"I don't want to be a replacement, I want you to really like me," I panted pulling my lips away as he guided me up the stairs and into his front door. He closed it behind him, removing his shirt before he spoke.

"I do, Mark… probably too much," he whispered, his breath coming out in hot heavy puffs against my skin.

"Oh, thank God," I moaned, pulling him back to me.

Every movement and feeling after that was amplified, my skin humming every time we touched. He pulled at my shirt, grabbing the brim and slowly urging it upward. I held my arms above my head to help him but when the shirt was over my face obstructing my view, he stopped.

"Do you… like me or do you want me?" He asked while the shirt was still over my face, and I couldn't see him. He leaned in kissing me through the thin fabric of my shirt. It was the most frustrating kiss I ever encountered. I couldn't see him, and his lips still felt so far.

"Both, Jordan," I whispered, rushing to get the shirt off my face. He let his hands fall naturally, his fingertips brushing my torso on the way down, it tickled in the best sort of way. He ran them back up my body again starting from my belly button up to my hard nipples.

"Both," he repeated into my chest, one of his hands rested around my neck and the other on my cheek.

"Kiss me," I begged and he complied, placing the softest kiss on my lips. It was perfect, no kiss before and no kiss after would ever compare; it made my hands sweat, and my pulse race. His tongue was slow but insistent spreading my lips and meeting mine with force.

Everything was soft and slow. He kissed me again and again, pulling away just to come back and reapply the pressure. It was so frustrating and as if he read my mind, he sped up, not pulling back but crushing his lips on mine, faster and hungrier.

When we were shirtless inside and alone, he pushed me hard against his front door, his hands placed on either side of my head so that I was locked in place, though I didn't want to move. I couldn't move and I couldn't breathe and I didn't want to. I just wanted to kiss, to press, to feel. After a while when my panting got noticeably loud, he grabbed my hand, lacing each of his fingers between mine and leading me to his bedroom.

It was probably the biggest of the rooms in the small cabin, and it was perfectly his. The walls were made of the same big stones that made up the exterior, the furniture was big and sturdy made of light wood and the decoration was minimal. There was a silver lamp that looked like a tree on his night stand and one big ink painting in a thick black frame hung low above the bed. I knew by the frame and the signature that it was one of Claire's paintings, it was simple but passionate, it reminded me of Jordan and I thought fleetingly she must have made it special for him.

The room was clean, immaculately clean and simple. His wardrobe was a solid light wood with minimally carved doors that matched the headboard of his bed. There was a big matching desk covered in at least a dozen spiral notebooks, printed papers and a stack of portfolio projects, and pens; a menagerie of writing utensils tossed around so that it resembled a stationary cemetery.

The small old-fashioned television in the corner looked like an antique, from the time before all televisions went flat and digital. It looked as if it belonged in a museum but it just added to the room's charm. I was surprised to see it glowing, providing the only dull light in the room. It wasn't an old black and white, but the light it emitted was almost grey, lighting his face from the bottom and accentuating his beauty. He laid me flat on the bed, settling between my legs which I spread to allow him room.

I was straining so hard against my jeans that it hurt, confined tightly as he let his weight rest entirely on top of me. His kisses slowed again, his tongue slowly coming out to meet mine. He pressed himself into me in a slow rhythm, poking the inside of my thigh with his stiffness.

"You smell like the spring," he spoke into my mouth, not breaking contact with our lips. He breathed so hard, so loudly, my need for him amplified. The television was on mute, so the only sound in the room was our racing hearts and his rough breaths.

"You smell like winter and ginger." I wrapped my arms around his back as he smiled, stretching my hands around his back and pushing him harder into me. The skin on his back was soft, silky and warm, and his scent was positively enveloping. I was entirely encased in a bubble of Jordan.

He was simultaneously hard and muscled, while being soft and snuggly. If this were any other night, a night when we weren't panting and desperate to touch each other, I could see myself cuddling with him, wrapped in his arms watching his ancient television or reading together.

He lifted himself off of me with one arm so that he could look at me again, his eyes automatically went down to my jeans to the tightness in my jeans. He bit his lip and the position allowed me a clearer view of him. I had seen him shirtless before, but being able to see him now felt so much more personal. Jordan was like art; he was extremely broad, his shoulders wider than my own and tanned to a perfect honey brown. He shifted when I leaned down and licked his small brown nipple. When I bit down softly he groaned and the shift in his body added pressure directly to my throbbing erection.

"Your dad's going to kill me," he cried as I bucked up into him, the denim of my jeans making a perfect friction.

"Fuck him," I groaned loudly into his mouth, and he took the hint rolling his body into me, making the pressure more frequent and maddening as he kissed me.

"I'd rather not," he joked smiling as we kissed.

We set a rough, consistent tempo, rubbing our bodies together to the sound of soft moans emitting from both of us as at different times and with varying force. When our kissing and rubbing wasn't enough, when our moans became so close together and loud that it was almost embarrassing he stopped, rolling off of me with a "hmph".

"Sorry, I—yeah," he whispered, rolling on his side to look me in the eyes. I was uncomfortably hard, breathing as if I had run the marathon and my cheeks burned like fire.

"Do you want to stop?" I asked praying he'd say no. Jordan looked just as flustered as I felt, rosy cheeked and popping a pant's tent so large I started to fidget thinking about the eminent possibility of it entering me.

It was scary but I couldn't stand the distance, I felt cold without his warmth against me. I gave him a chance to stop me, scooting closer to him inch by inch until we were lying so close I could see the dark flecks in his eyes. We breathed in unison deep and fast, and when our breathing finally steadied his kissed me again, first soft and gentle then hard and fast. Then we were on again, hotter and more exasperating than before.

His hands were rough and steady as he unbuttoned me, unzipping my fly and diving under the denim until he was holding me. I hissed at the contact and lifted my hips as he urged the jeans down and off of me.

I lay naked, embarrassingly naked in front of him and when he looked down at me, I felt as if I were on fire. He cocked his head to the left as he handled it, firmly tugging and jerking me. The bed was big but we still had the issue of size. He angled himself half on top of me, one hand on my cock the other all over me.

There was pressure everywhere, the pressure of his hands, of his body, of his clothed shaft against my naked thigh, of his lips on my shoulder and neck, of my heart trying to escape my chest. I unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped him in such a fevered hurry I didn't even look at him, really look at it before he flipped me over and pressed against my entrance. He gave me a chance to stop him but I leaned back, taking a deep breath as spit at my entrance and thrust inside.

It burned, the intense discomfort of his stretching pressure but we were one. He was connected, like part of me.

Three slow, strong thrust that he accented with small puff of breath was how we began. He held onto my hips, pushing my head farther down so that it rested on the bed, my ass held high. The new angle made each thrust like bolts electricity. I had researched anal sex more times than I'd like to mention, but I never actually knew it could feel like this. I had of course come across words like prostate stimulation and orgasm enhancement, but it wasn't until I experienced it that I believed it.

"Uh!" It was the loudest sound to ring though the house since we got in because every word we spoke was a whisper, every moan was muffled. The sound came from me, strong and deserved as he picked up speed, kissing softly across my back. I turned my head to watch him as he added strength to each thrust.

His bottom lip was held firmly between his perfect white teeth, his eyes closed as he softly kneaded my spread cheeks. When he opened his eyes to see me watching him, his cheeks turned rosy red but he smiled and settled on his knees so that he could reach my lips with his. I turned my face all the way back struggling to kiss him, his tongue snaking forward to meet mine.

The farther inside he reached the better it felt, he stimulated my spot with strong strides. I arched my back and it felt even better but it became almost impossible to kiss. I wanted both, I wanted his soft sweet tongue rolling against my own and his hard member pumping hard inside of me.

He groaned in frustration when the position of my head became too uncomfortable for my neck and I had to turn back. He pulled out of me grunting loudly in disappointment and turned me over gently, kneeling at the foot of the bed so that I could see him fully now.

The glow from the old-fashioned television was still the only source of light, but my heightened eyesight made is easy to see him without straining my eyes. He was perfect, but then he knew that, he had to. His shaft was slightly darker than the rest of his body and his enlarged head was ever so slightly red.

Jordan grabbed me by the thighs dragging me farther down the bed so that I was lying flat on my back knees bent. I felt more exposed than before but it didn't matter, his eyes were appreciative, taking in my erection which was painfully hard and lying against my stomach. When he entered me again, it didn't hurt much and he was free to kiss me, kiss me in cycles: soft and sensual then hot and passionate. He grabbed my cock with the hand he wasn't using for support, and with little skill, he wrenched and yanked me; it didn't hurt but it wasn't ideal. He didn't know what to do or how to do it, and that made me like him all that much more.

"Is that, okay?" He breathed looking down at it.

I chuckled my heart swelling at the sight of him excited and abashed. I reached for him, softly kissing his cheek before I reached my hand down and curled my fingers between his, guiding him to a strong steady pace.

"Sorry," he whispered in my ear and I smiled at him as he thrust again, filling me. I wanted to encourage him, to tell him any touch he gave me was amazing and that I just wanted to be with him, but his strong administrations became too distracting.

"Don't stop, please," I pleaded as I felt myself climbing, my breathing becoming audibly irregular.

He came seconds before me, making one hard thrust before he shot hot and hard inside of me. He stopped his jerking for a second slumping forward and kissing my lips softly as he softened inside of me. When he pulled out he started working on me again and I exploded quickly under his attention, my semen splattering against him chest and on his chin, but he didn't seem to notice, brimming in something that seemed like pride.

Jordan collapsed on top of me, the sweat and sticky ejaculation sandwiched between us.

"Wow," I breathed and he kissed me, snuggling closely.

"Yeah," he agreed. We slept like that, my arms wrapped around his neck, his face nuzzled in my chest, eyes angled up so that he could look at me. We didn't talk again, breathing hard as we watched each other through heavy lids. When he finally closed his eyes, I gave in to the sleep. It was the best sleep I ever had.

The sun shining through the window was the only warmth I woke up to, rolling over twice in the large comfortable bed before I realized where I was. I sat up, covering my naked body with the thin white sheet that lie tangled at the bottom of his bed. I wrapped myself in it like a toga, heading to the bathroom to relieve myself.

I half expected him to be in their showering or something but it was empty, I rinsed my mouth with his mouth wash and took a quick shower hoping he would show up by the time I finished, he didn't. He wasn't in the bedroom as I dressed in one of his undershirts and my beat up old jeans. He wasn't in the kitchen when I came out to get a drink. He wasn't in the living room by the burnt out fire from the night before, where there were a stack of papers from my class. He was gone.