Behind the Scene Read Online Free Page A

jerking his hips at Robert's, moving in a way he never would in the only place they've known each other until now. He's needy and graceless with desire. "So close. Let me, let me," he says, grasping himself and pulling hard and fast. His wrist slides in Robert's come, working it into the dark hairs that stretch to his navel.
    "You're impatient," Robert says. He stills Ethan's hand with a tight grip and slinks back down the couch until his cheek is pressed against Ethan's tight shaft.
    "I am." Ethan tosses his head back and closes his eyes. "Robert," he says, like it hurts, like he's dying for it.
    Robert closes his mouth around the salty head of Ethan's cock and sucks hard. He thinks about Ethan at the Compound--giving himself up to be pushed down and twisted inside out and opened up until all that's left is bare, raw, ready. What it is that they do isn't hurried and hot like this, it isn't messy and it doesn't make Robert feel this exposed, this vulnerable.
    When Robert submits, he feels safe. Here, getting Ethan off, riding the shuddering thrusts of Ethan's hips, he feels like he's falling and there's nothing that's going to soften the blow unless Ethan catches him, and God, his mind is reeling.
    Then Ethan comes, thick and hot and sour at the back of Robert's throat, and Robert swallows and gently coaxes every drizzling aftershock out with long, hard licks.
    "Holy shit," Ethan says, recovering with deep gasps. "Aren't you a pretty cockslut?"
    Robert actually blushes as he wipes his mouth. It feels good, like a light slap. "So I've heard."

    • • •

    They end up spooning on the couch, barely fitting. But Ethan is narrow, and feels nice along Robert's body. It's warm and drowsy under the blanket.
    "You're a teacher?" Robert asks, pushing his nose at Ethan's sweaty hair and stroking his hip.
    "TA."
    "English?"
    "Human-Computer Interaction, dick."
    Robert laughs. "Sorry. You look bookish to me."
    "Shockingly, I still encounter books and, you know, study." Ethan twists abruptly, turning over so they're face to face and he's hanging onto Robert to keep from tumbling off the couch. "What are we doing?"
    "I don't know," Robert says, trying not to sound terrified that this is the part where Ethan says thanks for the sex and see you around and doesn't obtain so much as an email address on the way out the door.
    Ethan closes his eyes, and his lashes tickle against Robert's face. "I like you."
    "Dinner sounded good. I'd like that. And I want to play with you more. I want... " Robert exhales thickly, wondering how on Earth that, at twenty-eight, he's working on another erection already. "I want to do so many things to you."
    Ethan is silent for a while, lipping at Robert's jaw. "Fuckbuddies, or...?"
    "I don't think that'll work out."
    "Oh." Ethan tenses in quiet, shivery ways Robert would never notice if he wasn't touching so much of him all at once.
    "Only because," Robert says, closing his eyes too, and speaking softly. "I'm having... kind of intense thoughts about you."
    "You'd rather scene then? Mistress Vanessa might--"
    "Like thinking about making you a key to my apartment. Buying you flowers. Installing a heated towel rack. Giving you a drawer."
    "Kinky," Ethan says unsteadily.
    "Who's bugged out now?"
    "I'm not." But Ethan's heart is beating fast. Robert can feel it.
    "Are you afraid?" Robert asks, no longer teasing. He rolls them again, until Ethan's beneath him, and even their feet are touching.
    "A little."
    "The bad kind?"
    Ethan licks his lips once, looking thoughtful. His heart still races, but he's smiling.
    "The good kind," he says.

About the Author
    Emory Vargas loves knitting scarves, but only has about three weeks a year to wear them thanks to living in an obnoxiously tropical climate. Emory enjoys writing about tentative sexual encounters and amorous cephalopods, though not always at the same time. Her short story, The Cormorant , can be found in Shifting Steam from Torquere Press.