Title: Coming Home (Beware! RPS!) Part 3 of "The Summer of '03"
Author: Janet F. Caires-Lesgold
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Archive: Mailing list archives only--others please ask permission!
Timeframe: Summer 2003 - same universe as before
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sexual interaction
Summary: A welcome back
DISCLAIMER: This story is just for the entertainment of my online friends and myself, not for any profit. It is pure fantasy and does not intend to reflect on the actual behavior or personalities of the people named herein. Please do not sue me for my little bit of fun!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sequel to "Going Away" and "Being Apart", which can be found elsewhere on this archive - Enjoy!
DEDICATION: For Tiff, because the pictures make her happy
COPYRIGHT: (C) Janet F. Caires-Lesgold, November 17, 2003, email@example.com
Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express permission of the author. Thank you very much.
The doorbell rings at last, after you've straightened up the house at least five times and changed your shirt twice. On your way to answer it, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror and wonder if you will pass his inspection.
When you open the door, you try to recall where you've seen that giddy expression on Tom's face before. As you are swept up in his powerful arms, you suddenly remember: he's smiling like he was in the press pictures of that party last January right after the two of you got together. You almost wish you could see your own face in the mirror right now, because it's very likely to look that happy, too. All your fears about being inadequate in any way are squeezed out of you by his bear hug.
"Tom, you're home!" you trumpet without thinking, then immediately regret your exact choice of words.
He sets your feet back on the floor, making you realize that he'd actually lifted you in the air in his joy. It's nearly scary waiting to see if your welcome has struck an unfortunate nerve.
Much to your relief, his eyes are still shining and his grin is broad as he pulls back and looks at you, holding your shoulders in his hands. "I am, aren't I?" he asks, gazing at you wistfully, then pulling you in for a kiss.
Your mouths crush together sloppily, obliterating the need for any words at all for a few moments. This doesn't silence your voices, however, because you both moan deep in your throats with the pleasure of the strokes of your tongues.
The breeze coming in from the waterfront makes you realize that you hadn't even shut the door, so without breaking the kiss, you reach out one hand to shove the portal closed, locking it quickly before returning your full attention to your oral caress. His fingers slide up your arms and creep carefully to your head, threading into your new shock of hair and clutching you tightly.
Just as you want to pull away to swallow, he releases your mouth and eases you back, regarding you with pure wonder and love. "God, you feel good!" he sighs, his breath nearly taken away.
"You look amazing!" you exclaim, reaching for the shaggy ends of his hair and winding the silky strands around your fingers.
"Look at you!" he answers, turning your shoulders first one way, then the other, in order to get as much of the picture as he can. "You've got *hair*!"
"Yes, I do. Like it?"
"I love it!" he replies, then shifts his intense stare from your head to your face. "I love you," he amends softly, gazing fondly into your eyes.
"I love you, too," you echo, kissing him quickly but gently, then adding, "I have missed you so much..."
"It's been too long, Michael," he says, ending with a nibble to his bottom lip that makes you want to sample it very soon. The affection shining in his eyes warms you as he looks you over carefully, prompting him to report, "You're all tan and healthy." He strokes down your arms again, stopping at the leather Stones wrist wallet he'd given you as a going-away present. With a question behind his grin, he catches your eye again.
"Nobody," you assure him quickly. "Nobody else has touched me there all summer long."
"Good," he nods, grasping your hand in one of his and peeling apart the velcro on the wristband with the other. The tear of nylon loops is almost startling in the quiet room, but is the most wonderful noise in the world at the moment. With a soft clatter, the wallet falls to the floor, leaving your arm bare with a shockingly pale stripe in your suntan. His smile looks even more vulpine than usual as he raises your inner arm to his mouth and almost snarls "Mine..." as he bends to grace it with a firm swipe from his tongue.
The rest and relaxation you've accumulated over the past three months has spoiled you for your lover's ardent attention, and your knees almost buckle as the electric charge of his touch flows immediately through your veins. "Yours," you whisper, your capacity for vocalization reduced to the need to moan at Tom's tender assault.
As much as you might want to do so, you cannot collapse on the floor, because he has flung his free arm around your waist and holds you firmly against the length of his body as he feasts on the spot that makes you see stars. Without your permission, he stops licking your arm, coaxing an anxious whimper from your throat, then gives you a beatific grin. "Have you wanted this as much as I have?" he asks rhetorically, pressing your lips again with his own, which are now smeared with his saliva.
You make good use of your newly-freed arm by reaching between your bodies and finding the fly of his jeans, where something thick and hard bulges behind the buttons. "I know I've wanted *this*," you answer, punctuating your sentence with a firm squeeze to the flesh inside his pants.
"Take it," he nearly whines, all bravado replaced by pure desire. "It's yours."
For once the rubberiness of your limbs works to your advantage, and, after a brief kiss, you hang onto his empty belt loops and lower yourself onto your knees before him. Shooting a wicked grin up at him, you lean in and take the edge of the denim in your teeth. The angle's all wrong, but you wish you could watch the look in his eyes as you work the button free from its hole with your mouth alone.
"What are you... Oh my god..." he groans when he realizes exactly what you intend to do. Just in the nick of time, your hands slide around to his butt to hold him up as you go to work on the next button. The metal of the disk clacks against your teeth, the impact mirroring the thudding of your heart in your chest as you proceed. More incomplete sentences begin to emerge from Tom's mouth, but they are all muffled by a groan as the fabric parts under your assault and your face gets ever closer to his impressive erection.
Soon his shirttail hangs loose and his pretty pink bottom nestles in your hands while you regard his newly-freed cock, which stands proud before your face, while his jeans vibrate around his thighs with his shivers of anticipation. "What do you want?" you tease, glancing up at him with a snicker.
"I need your mouth on me," he gasps, his voice as shaky as the rest of him. "Can I hold your head? I want to touch your hair..."
"Sure, beautiful. Let me get settled, and then you can fuck my mouth. It's okay."
"I love you, Michael," he sighs as you nuzzle against his upturned cock.
"I know," you answer, not swallowing the saliva that has gathered on your tongue, but instead using it to anoint his tip, then to ease the slide toward your throat. With a little 'pop', the crown plunges past your uvula, and you take his organ deep inside you. You breathe carefully through your nose and let your thumbs stroke the newly-sculpted David lines that point the way from his narrow hips to his musky sex.
Carding his hands past your ears, he cautiously weaves his fingertips through the three-months' growth on your head and hangs on tight. That is all the warning you get before he pulls away from you just a little, then shoves his pelvis against your face, his length riding your tongue smoothly. Out a bit, then back in, he takes your permission to thrust into your mouth while still holding back from pushing too roughly.
Kneeling before your lover, you feel as if you are worshiping in an ancient temple, your offering and his blessing joining you over and over in an almost obscene prayer. Your blood throbs in your ears so hard that at first you don't hear his voice.
"Enough," he sputters, gripping your hair as he stills the motion of his body. "I need to watch your eyes. I've missed them too much." His cock is carefully drawn out of your mouth, and you open your eyes to find him peeling off his jeans the rest of the way, then yanking his shirt over his head. You follow his lead and undress quickly, starting to get up off of the floor until he stops you with a big hand on your shoulder and a single word: "Here."
Tossing your shirt away and leaving your pants and shoes in a wad off to one side, you lie back on the carpeting, overwhelmed by his urgency. "Do you want a..." you start to offer.
"You're clean, aren't you?" he counters, knowing that you make it a point to practice safe sex with everyone else.
"Yeah," you answer, your pulse speeding up at the thought of him fucking you absolutely naked, as nature intended.
He lands on his knees between your spread legs with a 'whump', then licks his long fingers almost elegantly before applying them to your exposed hole. "What's a few rug burns between us, right?" he asks idly with a warm grin as he fondles your ass, slicking you haphazardly with his own spit. His eyes trace your body down, past the accumulated chest hair and along the glory trail to your cock. "God DAMN it, you are skinny, boy!" he exclaims, grasping your hipbones as he positions himself against your opening.
Expertly, he penetrates your puckered backside, hampered very little by his minimal preparation. The burn of his skin on yours seeps into your gut, multiplied by the friction of his stroke on your penis. Making the best of his height advantage, he lunges up to kiss you deeply, grabbing onto your hair again with his free hand. Again and again he pulls at you, punctuating the plunge of his flesh into yours, and you can barely breathe with the building of the most divine pressure.
His mouth hangs open above you as he pants with the effort of making love to you, and you can see the first stirrings of orgasm in his eyes before they slip shut and he shoves in deep and shoots hard. The explosion of wet heat within you along with the prod against your prostate tips the balance in your favor, and you fall over the edge crying out in ecstasy, coming in thick spurts on your belly.
As soon as you both catch your breath, you are kissing again, murmuring sounds of love and connection softly into each other's mouths. Finally, he pulls out and collapses beside you on the floor, perspiration lining his upper lip and beading on his forehead. "Hello," he exhales in a laugh. "Knew I forgot something."
You chuckle with him and snuggle into his lazy embrace. "Hi," you answer. "I'm glad you're back."
"I could tell," he beams at you. "I am, too." Avoiding the puddle of semen, he winds his fingers in the thatch between your nipples ruefully. "I saw the script," he says with a shake of his head. "Somebody's gonna have to shave..."
"You've got *that* right," you agree, reaching up to ruffle your short-lived tresses.
He raises up on one elbow and regards you lovingly. "You need me there to hold your hand when they take it off?"
"You'd do that?"
"Of course. Wouldn't mind being there when they wax *this*, either," he purrs, spiraling in the hair around your navel and lower, making your blood reroute back to a very specific location in that area.
"What--do you want to *help*?" you suggest jokingly.
"I could help take your mind off the pain afterwards," he volunteers gamely.
"Slut," you chide him with a smile. "Welcome back."
"It's like I never left." You'd agree, but you seem to have his tongue in your mouth again, where it feels right at home, so you invite it to stay for as long as it wants.
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