And then Iain is pressing into him.
It’s more pain than anything else at first and Harry feels tears come to his eyes, his breath coming short. The hand on his hips begins to caress, soothing, and the first tendrils of pleasure begin to lick up Harry’s body.
‘I missed you so much,’ Iain breathes. ‘Defiled myself so many times thinking of you, dreaming of sucking your cock, of you fucking me, of lying on that rock and touching you for the first time.’ He brushes his lips along the peaks of Harry’s spine. ‘I never imagined you’d let me do this.’
And Harry just wants Iain to get to that spot, less talking, more fucking, and he rams himself back on Iain’s cock. And Jesus Christ, it’s so much, so much more than Iain’s fingers and Harry curls his back and all but screams into the pillow. Iain’s hands are on his hips and gripping him so tightly Harry knows it’s going to bruise.
‘Are you. Trying. To kill me,’ Iain hisses, wrecked, barely able to speak.
‘Yes,’ Harry growls.
Iain moves his right hand from Harry’s hip to his shoulder, and snarls, low and dangerous.
Harry has a moment to realise how much trouble he’s got himself into before Iain all but pulls out of him and then rams back in. ‘Is this what you want?’ Iain says, grinding his hips, pushing in even deeper, then withdrawing.
‘Yes,’ Harry says again. It comes out as a whine.
There’s a pleased sound from Iain and then he thrusts forwards again. Harry angles himself so Iain is hitting the spot with every thrust. Iain’s also muttering the most filthy things about Harry’s face, his tits, his arse, and it’s brutal and perfect and all Harry can do is hang on and let Iain punch waves of crashing pleasure through him. His cock is bobbing underneath him, rock hard and flushed purple, dripping all over the sheets.
And then Iain’s hand slips off his shoulder and grabs Harry’s hair instead, yanking hard, and that sends Harry over the edge, his entire body bowing back and clenching as he comes untouched, his cock spilling hot all over the bedspread.
As he gasps and shudders through his release, Iain is still hammering into him, his rhythm messy, and the torrent of filthy talk coming out of his mouth slurring into nonsense, and then Iain is coming inside him, filling him up even further and his cock twitches again at that, dribbling out more come.
They both rest against each other as they come down, breathing hard, Iain draped over his back but not making him take his weight, gently nosing kisses into the damp sweat of his hairline. Finally by a sort of mutual agreement Iain throws an arm over Harry and they both fall down onto their sides, curled up in each other, Iain still inside Harry. When he slips out, Harry can feel the pout Iain makes against his back.
Then Iain pulls at Harry’s shoulder, turning him around so they face each other. Their noses are almost touching. ‘Are you well?’ he asks. He strokes Harry’s cheek, at the stubble there. ‘We, uh, that was a lot.’
Harry nods, then leans forwards to kiss Iain, gently, softly. He glides a hand down the solid muscles of Iain’s chest and side, until he can rest it on his hip. ‘I don’t like other men,’ Harry says. ‘Only you.’
Iain hums, absently combing his fingers through Harry’s hair, petting him. ‘Lucky you,’ he says.
Harry snuggles further into Iain’s arms, the two of them curled together against the early-winter cold that descends mercilessly with the setting of the sun. He’s finally back in his own bed, safe and sound, and blissful from release. Sleep is not long in coming.
Harry wakes at dawn to find himself still tangled up in Iain. His head is pillowed on Iain’s chest. His leg is thrown over Iain’s thighs … and his erection is pressing into Iain’s hip.
He shifts in embarrassment, and one silver eye opens to look at him. Iain smiles and presses a kiss into his hair with a mumbled ‘Good morning’. Then he stretches, catlike, and Harry’s breath catches at just how much of Iain there is now, at the way his muscles stretch under his tanned skin. At the fact that Iain’s hard too, his thick cock arching out of the tangle of dark hair towards his belly.
Iain noses at him. ‘I have to go and start chores soon, but fancy a tumble first?’
Harry was going to say no.
He was going to explain how he was still reconciling how he felt about Iain, how right everything was with him, with how wrong the Church says it is. They are committing a mortal sin.
He was. Going. To say. No.
But then Iain is sliding down his body, scraping his stubble along Harry’s chest, kissing his way down his stomach, kissing his cock good morning, wet and sloppy.
And then no was somehow a distant concept, a thing to be dealt with later. After breakfast, perhaps. Or maybe tomorrow.
Iain takes Harry’s balls in his mouth, rolling them about in the wet heat, then gently releases them. Naughty pale eyes look up to Harry. ‘Just going to check I didn’t hurt you,’ he says, then sinks deeper still between Harry’s legs.
Strong hands slip under his rear, raising him up, and then Iain is kissing his hole, running his tongue around Harry’s puffy, abused rim. There’s a low growl from the man between his legs, and then Harry feels Iain’s tongue in him, lips sucking on his rim.
Harry begins to pant, his head tossing back and forth on the pillow. ‘Iain—’ he moans.
Iain presses one more kiss to his hole and levers himself back up over Harry. ‘You’re still all loose and sloppy from last night,’ he murmurs, his lips and chin glistening. ‘I can taste myself in you.’ Iain shifts his hips so his cock lies heavy on Harry’s, and both of
