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The thing was, Lyle knew.
Erik was sweet and smart and sensitive and Goddamned handsome, too, of course he was, he was Lyle’s brother. Long legs and strong arms and those curls that girls fuckin’ loved, hell, even Jamie had told Lyle dead to his face that Erik was a cutie, Sure, he’s a cutie, but you’re the one for me. And Jamie was a knockout, so that had basically cemented it.
Dad had found Erik some girl to take to prom, he’d asked Lyle if he knew her, if there was gossip or whatever, and Lyle remembered thinking Erik’s way out of her league and then, rapid fire, Erik could take any girl he wanted to prom if that was something he wanted to do, and then he’d told Dad no, she was fine as far as he knew.
He remembered thinking Craig Signorelli was the most annoying motherfucker Lyle had ever met in his life, Jesus, man, how can you stand this guy, he kept wanting to say, but something kept him from it, something about the way the kid would casually touch his brother’s waist or his neck, how he could tell Erik was always subtly trying to impress him.
It was fucking stupid, like actual fucking bullshit, Lyle thought, that he knew his brother well enough to know that he didn’t really like girls, but apparently not enough to know that he was — that Dad was —
He was still so angry. Erik told him he needed to breathe when he was angry. In and out, slowly. He breathed in and imagined his shotgun in his hands. Breathed out and imagined his father’s face pumped full of buckshot.
Erik felt guilty about it, he knew. Lyle did too, sometimes. But their parents deserved every ounce of lead they got for putting their hands on Erik. He was sure of that.
“You okay?” Erik touched his back as he came up beside him, eyebrows already worried like he’d read Lyle’s mind. Or maybe the withering scowl that hadn’t quite made it off of his face, but still.
He smiled. “I’m good. Still on tonight?”
“You can. I’m not really feeling a party.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Lyle goaded, bumping Erik’s shoulder until he smiled. Then, quietly, unsure — “I could tell security to let guys in more. Like, preppy, dark hair, dimples. You know, if you want.”
Erik glared and flinched away like he’d been hit. “I’m not —”
“Never said anything.”
“It’s what you meant.”
“No, what I meant is you look bored as fuck when I have people over and I feel bad.”
“Because your people are fucking boring to everyone who doesn’t do coke.”
Lyle snorted. “Why do you think I do the coke?”
As soon as Erik met his eyes, he started to laugh, too.
///
But like, honestly, of all the things Lyle’d had to lie about in his life, this had never been one of them. That was the weird part.
Lyle liked girls. Like, he really liked girls. Was good with ’em, too, real fuckin’ charming, would’ve gotten way more pussy in his lifetime if it weren’t for Mom and Dad — mostly Dad — needing to approve every girl he ever looked twice at. And he knew when guys were attractive, sure, but that was sort of it. With a girl, it wasn’t something Lyle could just notice, it was an active drain on his attention. Hair he wanted to pull or tits he needed in his hands or thighs that just belonged wrapped around his head. Whatever. He knew that about himself. That was how he could tell he was a fucking freak. Because he’d always thought Erik was good-looking, been proud of it, even, good genes and shit, but that was different.
That was different than spacing out staring at his mouth, God, you’re so fucking kissable, wondering if Craig had ever kissed him, if anyone else ever had. Different than tousling his hair every time he walked by because all he really wanted was to sink his fingers into those curls and get the two of them tangled up together so badly that his brother was never more than arm’s length away. His brother. His brother. His brother, with his long legs, tan and toned, Dad was fucking stupid for saying he wouldn’t make it as a model, he was gorgeous, look at that body. Tight abs, strong arms, his ass, his cock — that same stir of weird pride, kid was fuckin’ packin’, but different, because Lyle wanted it in his mouth. Jesus, he wanted to make him cum.
He was sick. He was sick. His brains were scrambled. It was like a bad cold. He would get over it and he’d never even have to tell Erik.
///
But it didn’t work that way. Lyle coped the way he knew how.
He saw Erik in the clothes they bought together and felt ugly, needy satisfaction, as if it marked him as Lyle’s, somehow. The dark fan of Erik’s eyelashes over his big brown eyes made Lyle’s stomach swoop like a circling Goddamn vulture. His lips were still torture.
Lyle coped the way he knew how. Loud music, bodies, alcohol, drugs.
“Lyle?”
“Whatʼs up?”
Erik looked somewhere off to the side before meeting Lyle’s eyes again. “Could it be just us tonight?”
Jesus fuck.
“It’s just like, I kinda need you, y’know? Not you and a hundred other people?”
Fuck. Fuck, what the fuck was he supposed to do with that?
“Of course, man,” he said, quiet and concerned. “Always.”
Erik nestled himself into his arms and Lyle had a sudden, strong memory of him as a baby, Dad showing him how to hold his little head up — and then a violent wave of nausea.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m right here.”
///
They were watching movies, the old school classy black-and-white ones because that was what Erik liked, and Erik was all tucked up against him. He told Lyle about the actors with reverence in a hushed voice, his eyes fixed on the screen.
He was so fucking beautiful. Lyle wondered if he’d killed himself that night and forgotten. If this was Hell.
“Gonna be you, one day,” he whispered back. “Gonna be one of those actors everybody knows for being suave as fuck, like, making all the interviewers swoon and shit. That smile’s gonna be famous, I swear to God.”
Erik scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed, but clearly pleased. “Shut up.”
“That one right there,” Lyle pressed, grinning too. “Shit could bring anyone to their knees.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Never.”
Erik stared into his eyes for a long moment, not that Lyle really noticed. His eyes were that honey brown they sometimes were, depending on the light.
When Erik kissed him, he didn’t move. He froze.
“Shit,” he heard Erik say, “Shit, shit, shit, fuck,” the fuck shouted as he stood up, and suddenly Lyle could move his body again.
“Lyle, I’m so sorry,” he said, sharp and sparking with panic.
“Sit down, E,” Lyle responded, tugging his wrist. Erik collapsed back onto the couch like a ragdoll.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, reaching his hand out, then drawing it back quickly. Pure fear on his face. There was no other name for it. “Lyle, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Shut up, fucking shut up,” Lyle said, just to get him to stop. Erik did, immediately. There was a careful inch or so of space between them, and the side of his body where Erik had been felt cold. “C’mere.”
Erik hesitated. “Are you —?”
“I said, come here.”
He shuffled closer.
“Lyle?”
“I told you to shut the fuck up.” Lyle felt like he was in a fucking trance. Nothing felt real, ever, anymore, it hadn’t for days or weeks or however the fuck long it’d been. He touched Erik’s face and his skin was so soft under his hand.
“Do it again.”
“Lyle, Jesus Christ —”
What a fucking bitch he was. Couldn’t even say Kiss me.
He looked down at Erik’s lips again. God, please kiss me. “You didn’t even give me a chance.”
Erik stared. He stared for a long time.
When he kissed Lyle again, the sound Lyle made could’ve come from a wounded animal.
He held Erik’s shoulders because he didn’t trust his own hands. Erik held his jaw with one hand and scratched at his hair with the other, right at the nape of his neck where he was sure he could feel it. He ran the tip of his tongue across Lyle’s lower lip so tentatively, like he was still afraid, and Lyle made that dying whimper again and pulled Erik’s whole body into his lap so he could have the angle right when he shoved his tongue into his mouth.
“Fuck, baby,” Lyle whispered when he could finally breathe, “Erik, baby, oh my God.”
“Love you so much.”
“Love you, love you, fuck —” he stopped, distracted by Erik pressing kisses into his neck, sweet and searing hot.
“Can I bite you?” Erik’s eyes were dark when he looked up at Lyle from his neck, and his mouth was red and wet and fucking irresistible, Lyle didn’t know how he’d survived this long. “Like, your neck? Like, make a bruise?”
Something so precious that he couldn’t make himself say hickey, he’d just had his tongue in Lyle’s mouth and could probably feel Lyle’s dick getting hard, but somehow the word hickey was too embarrassing .
“You’re so cute,” Lyle said in his ear, teasing ’cause he had to, big brother, it was his job. “You wanna leave marks on me, Erik? Wanna make me yours?”
Just the words made Erik shiver with arousal, made his mouth fall open and Lyle thought — he didn’t know what he thought, but Erik said “Aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Mine?” The word flickered cold and ran the length of Lyle’s spine, and Erik looked dangerous.
Have you ever thought about getting rid of them?
Mom had always been scared of Lyle. She’d told him so more than once. She’d thought Erik was harmless. Pathetic, even.
Lyle knew better.
“You know I am.”
I’d do anything for you.
He really did have a million-dollar smile. He took Lyle’s face in both of his hands and kissed him like a reward for his loyalty, and Lyle groaned contentedly, slipping his hands under Erik’s shirt and up his back. When those perfect teeth finally sank into Lyle’s neck, Erik didn’t draw blood, but Lyle would’ve let him.
Erik nursed the bite a little, soothing it with kisses, sucking on it to make sure it’d bloom angry purple come morning.
He came back in for a kiss when he was satisfied.
“Happy?” Lyle asked.
“Jamie’s gonna lose her mind, y’know.”
Lyle laughed aloud at the absurdity of it. “And you’d just hate that.”
“She got through Mom and Dad’s whole vetting process,” Erik pointed out. “She likes you that much. And all I had to do was kiss you. To make you hurt her. To make you mine.”
“What can I say?” Lyle replied, gentle and lovesick. “Guess I’m easy for you.”
One of Erik’s hands drifted down the side of his face. His thumb dragged over the line of Lyle’s lips; Lyle kissed the pad of it, just a tiny, barely-there motion, just pressed his mouth. Erik was looking at him, like, awed, and Jesus, that felt so fucking wrong. You’re the good one. You’re the one that’s worth something.
“Sometimes I think you’re the only person in the world who actually loves me.”
On instinct Lyle wanted to call bullshit, but it might have been true. For this Erik, anyway.
“The world is full of fucking morons, Erik, that’s not news.”
He giggled. Came in close enough that their noses touched. Lyle’s stomach fluttered like a teenage girl’s and it was so fucked if he thought about it for more than a second, sure, yeah, he’d had a hot piece of ass this close before, same position, even, in his lap grinding on Lyle’s cock probably-on-purpose, but that had never even come with another cock, before, let alone the same fucking DNA.
“Besides, they’re all gonna fucking love you, donʼt you ever listen when I talk?”
Erik rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, okay? You’re the one who said I was good in the Shakespeare shit.”
“I fuckin’ meant it. I mean this, too.”
That earned him a smile. A kiss. “What about you?”
Follow you around like a burnout loser. “I’ll think of something.”
“You won’t leave me, right?”
Of course he made it sound noble. “Never, baby.”
“All mine,” he murmured, apparently content, and finally focused his attention back on making out, to Lyle’s relief. “Yeah? All mine. Alllll mine.”
He kissed like it was true, no, better, like he believed it. Lyle hoped he did. Because it was. His fingers must have been cold, because he felt the goosebumps he raised on Erik’s back when they flitted down for purchase at Erik’s waist, something he could grab and hold while he kissed back; Erik had had a similar idea, apparently, and reached between Lyle’s legs. Fucking pulled away, too, when he realized what he was doing, backed away just enough to open his eyes, just to look at him, didn’t say a word but his hand was on Lyle’s thigh and he was breathing heavy and looking at him because he was asking, because he was good. Nothing Dad, fuck, nothing Lyle had ever done had ever made Erik anything but good.
And he wanted to say You can touch me, I’m yours, you can always touch me, you can do anything you want to me and he wanted to say How are you such a good fucking man, he screwed me up so bad, E, and I didn’t even get half of what you got and he wanted to say I wish you would hurt me, just once, like when we were kids and I’d give you a free punch so we’d be square. I don’t think you ever could, though, even if you were the type of person to ever do something like that, which you aren’t. You aren’t, but you couldn’t, anyway, because I can’t even imagine a situation where you put your hands on me that I don’t desperately fucking want it.
He said, “Please, E.”
Saw the smile in his eyes without even seeing his mouth, and when he closed back in, hand groping Lyle’s cock through his slacks — that he was still wearing, for some reason, they’d been back at the suite for hours, Erik was in shorts — he could feel that smile, too.
Clothes were a problem because neither of them wanted to stop kissing, which was the most disgustingly sappy problem Lyle had probably ever had with sex. Erik made easy enough work of Lyle’s fly and just pushed past the waistband of his briefs to touch, even managed a few of the buttons on his shirt with one hand, but Lyle sat there moaning into his kisses with Erik’s shirt gathered up in his hands at his back until Erik just pulled it off himself. He did finally help Erik with the buttons on his own shirt while Erik got distracted with his head buried in the crook of Lyle’s neck so he could watch himself teasing the head of his brother’s cock by pulling back his foreskin and swiping back and forth over his slit, staring, fascinated, as he made Lyle twitch and shiver.
“You have the prettiest cock,” he mumbled, so quiet it might have just been a thought, probably didn’t even mean for Lyle to hear it. “Makes me wanna get on my knees for you, God, I know I could make you cum so fast. Wouldn’t let you fuck my mouth, though, I’d be mean, I’d hold you down. I wanna do it.”
“Baby, holy shit,” and Lyle grabbed Erikʼs chin to make him look at him, went to tell him You don’t have to do any of that, never have to do anything for me, but it died on his lips, because Erik looked at him with half-lidded eyes and those Goddamn eyelashes and the widest, shit-eatingest grin, bit his lower lip in a way that was clearly just for Lyleʼs benefit.
“I’d let you fuck me if you begged me for it.”
They both felt Lyle’s dick jerk in Erik’s hand.
“I love you,” Lyle said stupidly. It was the only thought he could form.
Erik kissed him. “I’m gonna go get in bed, and you’re gonna get up, get naked, go get that nice lavender lotion out of the bathroom, and then follow me. Good?” His voice had that quiet, sweet, patient quality to it like when he was calming Lyle down when he got angry, and that just made it sexier, somehow. He knew how to get Lyle to listen to him. He always had. Lyle’d had him bury the shotguns in some wet dirt off the shoulder of the road, but Erik had never ditched his favored weapon, just muzzled it and taught it table manners.
“Good. Good.”
///
There were a lot of things Lyle thought he understood about himself. He loved flashy shit. Got that from Dad. White girls, too, that was Dad — he even liked blondes, he could just be tempted by a hot brunette. He loved tennis, but not even the game as much as winning, that feeling playing when you know you’re winning. Dad.
Dad had wanted him that way, wanted Lyle groomed and trained to come to perfect heel, his eldest son, sharp like his father. Lyle knew all that, he wasn’t an idiot. He was named after the man. It wasn’t an accident they were alike, but it freaked him out, sometimes, because they were alike in some ways that it didn’t even feel like you could foster. Nature, not nurture. Ambition was one of those. Rage was another.
The Spartans didn’t fuck to make each other tough, like Dad had told Erik, like Erik had told him Dad had said. Lyle remembered about the Spartans, from high school, because he did pay attention, he wasn’t a dumbass like Dad thought. Not as smart as Erik, but smart, plenty smart. Not that Dad gave a fuck how smart Erik was, either. Lyle was a fuckup, but Erik was a faggot, and that was worse. The Spartans fucked because they needed to depend on each other. It was encouraged, even. You fought harder, was the idea, if you could see the love of your life out of the corner of your eye.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
Erik sounded as relaxed as he looked, spread out on Lyle’s bed, naked, dick in his hand, and Lyle didn’t want to make him tough, didn’t need to. He was a sleeper build, a power serve, twice as strong as Lyle’s or Dad’s because they swung hard, but Erik swung fast as fuck, no tension, loose.
“Wouldn’t do you justice.”
Erik’s eyes softened. They crinkled a bit even when he did that tiny smile of his. “Get over here.”
Lyle threw the lotion at him and Erik caught it, one hand, laughing, and then pulled him down into bed as soon as he could reach. Lyle fell into him and reached for him and kissed him, and he tasted like the fall of Athens. Dad had never even been to Greece. He didn’t know shit about Sparta.
Erik straddled Lyle’s thighs, back in his lap like he belonged there, and held Lyle by the chin. Lyle sat up straight on instinct and let him look. Let himself look, too, because he couldn’t get enough. Was that nature? Nurture?
“Tell me you love me,” Erik said gently.
That was easy. “I love you.”
“Tell me you want me.”
That was harder. Guilt stuck in his throat so wide he wondered if Erik could see the shape of it, like a cartoon who’d swallowed a fork, like Dad’s hand on his neck, good swimmer, Lyle, you can breathe through your nose.
“Jesus, man, look at me,” Lyle answered instead, trying to laugh it off — it was obvious, wasn’t it?
“Say it.”
Lyle swallowed. “More than anything.”
Erik grinned, smug, and Lyle wanted to kiss him, but Erik held him in place. “Say it.”
What an asshole. Lyle was sort of proud. “I want you. I want you. Please.”
He got his kiss, then, and when Erik pulled away he murmured, “Good boy.”
Fuck. “Erik —”
Erik pressed the side of his thumb into Lyle’s neck, right over his bite mark, still red and tacky with spit. “Tell me you’re mine.”
He pressed a little harder, made it throb, and that went straight to Lyle’s dick, and the ache along with Erik stroking, scratching his hair with his other hand, at the side, over his ear, it was so soothing, Lyle almost closed his eyes. Literally so horny he couldn’t see straight.
Nature, nurture. Didn’t really matter. Dad had been right. Lyle was like a dog. A loud, scary dog, a Malinois or a Rottweiler or one of those big fuckoff bloodhounds from Cuba that they used to use to catch slaves. You beat both, but you only love one. You’re supposed to feed them yourself, dogs like that. If you let the slave do it, the dog won’t love you anymore.
That was Dad’s problem. The tail wagged the dog. Lyle didn’t need the spike collar. He didn’t misbehave. He was Erik’s dog. He’d always snapped and snarled at anyone who threatened his master.
“Yours,” Lyle agreed. “Your good boy.”
“You like that, huh?”
He nodded.
Erik smiled, shallow, eyes narrow, Lyle always thought he looked like a smartass when he smiled like that. “You gonna be a good boy while I finger myself? Be good and wait while I get ready for you?”
Lyle was completely Goddamn helpless for him. “Yeah. Yeah, I will, I promise.”
Erik kissed the corner of his mouth and pumped the lotion into his hands, gave Lyle some, “You can jack off, but slow, I don’t want you to cum yet.” Coated his fingers slick, then grabbed Lyle’s arm and reached back behind himself.
His face scrunched up a little, that was how Lyle could tell, and then he relaxed, lowered down into his hand instead of pushing up. Did the second one fast, the same, until he gasped, “Fuck, fuck,” and surged in for a kiss, probably just to shut himself up, but Lyle took it, anyway.
“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, hottest fuckin’ thing,” Lyle said, kept kissing Erik’s face and neck even while Erik went back to stretching himself. He’d moved his hand from Lyle’s shoulder to the nape of his neck, right at his hairline, and was just barely squeezing, over and over. Lyle really liked it. “I love you. I love you. I can’t fuckin’ believe you want me.”
Erik laughed, fully, not even a quiet one. “Jesus, dude, since I was like, nine.”
It took Lyle a second. “For me?”
“I started having wet dreams before other kids.”
Lyle had, too. A lot of kids like them did, he’d found that out in college. Lyle’s had been Michelle Pfeiffer, though.
“Not your fault.”
“I know. But like, yeah, I fuckin’ want you — oh,” but the oh wasn’t really a word as much as an involuntary sound, and then Erik dropped his head into the crook of Lyle’s neck, breathing heavily.
“Lyle,” he said into his skin, “God, I need —”
“Please, baby. Please let me.”
Erik righted himself again to look Lyle in the eyes. He took Lyle’s chin, again, then changed his mind and wrapped his whole hand under Lyle’s lower jaw, thumb and middle finger under either ear.
“Nobody’s ever looked at me like you do, you know?”
“They should. Great view.”
It made him scoff, but he kissed him, too, and Lyle just let him have what he wanted.
He did know, though. No one ever gave the kid any respect, and Lyle had watched him try everything to get it his whole life. His whole damn life.
“I’m gonna take care of you,” Lyle said into his mouth. “Anybody even breathes too loud in your direction they’re gonna get a fuckin’ piece of me.”
“I’ll have to get you a leash.”
As if he wasn’t on one already. “They’ll know who I belong to.”
“Such a good boy.” He squeezed, hard, just the tips of his fingers. Lyle’s eyelids fluttered.
“Erik, fuck, please. Please, I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good.”
Erik smiled, teeth, and he slid his fingers free and wrapped that hand around Lyle’s cock. “Yeah? Gotta stay still.”
“I will, I will.”
He leaned in and gave him another kiss as he guided the head of Lyle’s cock to his rim, then broke away to take a breath as he started to sink down, and he looked sexy and beautiful and he was completely right, Lyle was struggling every second of it not to move.
“Doing so good, Lyle,” Erik praised in his ear, panting, “So good to me.”
Lyle held his waist, but Erik had really good core strength, so he wasn’t really doing anything. He just needed to be touching him.
“You’re fucking shaking,” Erik murmured, awed and a little guilty, kissing slow and gentle and soothing wherever he could reach. “Lyle. Sweetheart. Is that for me?”
“Trying to stay still.”
“You wanna fuck me that badly.” It wasn’t a question, but it was reverent, loving, and when he finally sank down to be fully seated on Lyle’s cock, he immediately got a kiss. Erik moved his hand, cupped Lyle’s cheek, sweet, but Lyle felt the loss of it on his neck, because he was kind of jonesing for that feeling. Like Erik owned him.
“Hey, man,” Erik whispered, “come back to me. You okay?”
“Say it again?”
“It’s fuckin’ cute how much you’re into that. Good boy.”
“Your fault for being so fuckin’ possessive.”
“Proprietary.”
Lyle laughed, shaking his head incredulously. “My cock is inside you, you are not correcting my grammar right now.”
“Diction, Lyle, word choice is diction,” he answered, big smartass grin, “Like dictionary? Anyway, possessive just means you have it. Proprietary means it’s yours.”
There was definitely something screwed in the wrong way in his head, because that was romantic as all fuck. “That one, then.”
“I’m gonna move, now, okay?”
Lyle nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, please.”
He was so fucking hot inside, not even warm like pussy, but actually hot, and so when he started to lift up — with Lyle’s hands under his ass, ’cause he was a fucking gentleman, core strength or not, he wasn’t letting his baby brother fuck up his hips — just the temperature difference made Lyle chase him.
Erik pushed him down by the shoulders. “No. Stay.”
“Baby…”
“Don’t whine,” he scolded, but the effect was a little thrown off by the smug, bitey kisses that came with it.
He dropped back down just as torturously slow, moaned, quiet, into his fist like a cough, when he bottomed out again, and Lyle rolled his hips up just to see what would happen. Erik gasped, with a petering whimper on the breath out.
“You could just ask me to go faster.”
Lyle grinned, licked a stripe up his neck. “I like watching you squirm.”
But Erik’s smile back came with raised eyebrows and that weird fucking intensity he had, almost scary, kind of sexy — kind of really sexy, in a way that Lyle really didn’t want to unpack. “No, no. We can do it your way.”
He fumbled beside them for the lotion, again, lifted up, spread a palmful more on Lyle’s cock, I love it when you touch me like that, like I don’t matter, like you’re entitled to me, didn’t say it, couldn’t, wouldn’t. Erik wouldn’t like it, anyway, he’d just apologize, tell Lyle that he loves him and he’s so fucking important to him, sweet, perfect, perfect kid.
Erik slid all the way back down onto Lyle’s cock in one quick thrust and Lyle went to kiss him, but he lifted himself up again just as quick, then down again, and Lyle was panting for breath, staring with worship in his eyes up at his brother, who’d found a good angle and squeezed his eyes shut and was coming down flushed to his shoulders with these adorable little puffy, breathy “unh-uhn-uh’s,” fuckin’ lifetime’s worth of spank bank material.
“Baby,” he said again, low and thin, “Erik, baby, my fuckin’ — my, my baby, love you, love you so much, holy shit.”
He was just babbling, didn’t expect him to be listening, but Erik smiled, grabbed Lyle by the back of his head, by his hair, tugged down to make him look up so he could kiss him, “Love you.” Never stopped moving.
When he finally started pumping Erik’s dick — no way Lyle was cumming first, girl or guy, that was a chump move and he wasn’t a fucking chump — he hummed like a fucking engine revving, louder on the downstroke, and looked Lyle in the eye with his pupils blown so huge he could’ve been the one on the coke bender.
“I love you,” he said again, sinking down on Lyle’s cock, just a little slower, just enough that they could make out, which Lyle was good with, actually. “I love you, I love you, you’re mine.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Mine. Say it.”
Diction like dictionary, proprietary like property. Lyle wanted Erik’s hand back on his neck. He wanted to be choked. He’d let Erik kill him, probably. “Yours, E, all yours.”
“There’s my good boy.”
Lyle’s dick throbbed so hard he was sure Erik could feel it, “Fuck, don’t, don’t, I’ll cum.”
And Erik, eyes half-lidded, looking really satisfied with himself, just said, “Do it, then.”
“I wanna take care of you, first, baby,” Lyle explained.
But he shouldn’t have, because Erik smiled wider and he leaned into Lyle’s ear and whispered, “I’ll let you cum inside me. For being such a good boy.”
Christ, that wasn’t even fucking fair. “You fucking bastard.”
Erik squeezed around his cock, just that little bit tighter. “Cum for me, Lyle.”
He put up a valiant effort, for chivalry and all that, but he was a goner.
///
Erik came on Lyle’s chest, with Lyle lying in bed under him, begging for it like a bitch. His cock hadn’t fully softened yet, and he was still turned on, because of course he was, sexiest thing in the fucking world giving him a private show. Erik collapsed beside him and Lyle immediately turned on his side to hold him. Erik was rubbing his own cum into Lyle’s skin, which should have been gross instead of hot, but he could say that about a lot of things.
“I’m yours, too, you know.”
“Yeah, no shit.”