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You’re on the couch and he’s in your lap and he’s straddling your thighs and you can feel his dick pressed up against your stomach and you say the words “I’ve never done this before” into the space between your mouths.
You’re in his (or is it yours now, too?) tiny trailer and you kissed for the first time an hour ago and you haven’t really stopped kissing since. You really have never done this before - the kissing part, you have, kind of, because you’ve been drunk in bars before and random women have kissed you but you never enjoyed it and that was it, you never took them home and they never asked for anything more, maybe because they could sense how uncomfortable you were every time or because they didn’t want you enough - but the emotions part. The relationship part. The sex part. And you know that’s where this is leading. And you want it.
You’ve never felt like this. About anyone. Like not only does he know you and you know him but he brings out parts of yourself that you never knew existed and you bring out parts of him that you’ve never seen. Like you’re similar in so many ways but different in so many others but where you’re different you don’t clash (well, usually), you complement each other. You feel so much but you never know how to express it and sometimes you feel like all your emotions are going to seep out of every pore in your body and fall to the ground and pile up for everyone to see, and he buries his emotions deep down inside himself so no one can see but he expresses himself so well and with so much practice that no one can even tell that he slips on a mask every day.
Almost no one. He’s not wearing the mask right now. You can tell.
You say the words and he stops his movements, his hips slowing down from where they had been grinding against your abs. He remains pressed up against you but he moves his head back a little so he can see your face.
“Do you want to stop?” he asks.
You search his eyes. “Didn’t say that.”
Paul’s tongue darts out to lick his lips and you track the movement with your eyes. “Okay,” he responds, and leans back in to kiss you again. “If you want to stop, tell me,” he says against your mouth. “At any point. I promise I won’t get mad.”
You hum in agreement and connect your lips, and he starts moving his hips again. In this position he’s above you, and you have to tilt your head up to kiss him, and you can feel the hard line of his dick where he’s thrusting against your stomach. You have your arms wrapped around his waist and you tighten your grip to get him closer but it’s still not enough so you throw caution and every single ounce of self-hatred and insecurity in your body to the wind and reach down and grab his ass and pull him even more up against you.
“Fuck,” he groans, breaking your kiss, and as he moves down to pay attention to your neck you flop your head onto the back of the couch to give him more room. He’s getting fussy, now, frantic, the movement of his hips growing more erratic and his lips sloppy against your collarbone. You grab the back of his head and move him back up to kiss you again and he shoves his tongue in your mouth.
You move your arms back so you can continue pressing him close to you but he squirms a little and moves so he can slide one of his hands down and palm your dick and your mouth opens involuntarily and you gasp.
“This okay?” he says, breathless.
“Yeah,” you say back, and he increases the pressure of his hand, and, god, that feels so good. You had no idea it would feel like this. You didn’t realize you were gay until a little while ago because you didn’t know what attraction felt like. You’ve never had a problem with gay people despite growing up in an overwhelmingly homophobic environment so it’s not that you refused to believe that you could ever be gay it’s just that you didn’t understand what it was like to like somebody. You’d see attractive women all the time and of course you could acknowledge that they were beautiful but that was the extent of it and you didn’t understand what everyone else was always going on about. It wasn’t until after the world ended and society as you knew it ceased to exist that you started to understand what you’ve felt about men your entire life is what you thought you should be feeling about women but you didn’t know. You didn’t know. You’ve never been a particularly sexual person and you never really got urges, you didn’t discover masturbating until you were 20 and even then it was more out of curiosity rather than a need to get off. You don’t even do it that often and even then you don’t picture anything in your head when you do, it’s more about making yourself feel good, making your body feel good for once in your goddamn life, making your body into a thing of pleasure instead of a source for pain. You never pictured women or men in your head so you didn’t know.
You don’t even remember what it was about the end of the world that made you realize. Maybe it was just being around different people, people who you never would have interacted with before. You didn’t meet one person and suddenly realize you’re gay. It was like one day something just clicked inside of you and you knew. It wasn’t easy and it took you a long time to accept and there’s a big fucking difference between knowing you’re gay inside your head and actually kissing and having sex with another man.
Not that you ever fucked a woman. You don’t have anything to compare this to. When you realized you were falling in love with Paul fucking Rovia it took you a while to come to terms with it, not because he’s a man, but because you have an overwhelming fear of intimacy with anyone. You’re getting better but you were terrified of the idea of actually putting yourself out there and kissing him and fucking him and letting him fuck you, so much so that you almost didn’t tell him at all.
But you did.
Now he’s on top of you and he’s moving against you and it’s good. You didn’t know your body could feel like this, like this is what it was made for. Like you aren’t just here to be beaten and broken and to kill and hurt but that you can feel good and you can feel happy.
He’s speeding up the movement of his hand. He breaks the kiss and asks, “Can I take off your pants?”
You groan. “Yeah.”
His hand twitches and he hesitates. “You sure?” he asks, and you can feel his breath on your lips and on your chin. “I just don’t want to scare you.”
You open your eyes and find him looking at right at you. You close the gap between you and kiss him, open-mouthed. “You ain’t gonna scare me,” you tell him when it’s over.
He searches your eyes for a minute before he scoots back a bit off your thighs and reaches down between your bodies and unbuttons your pants and slides them down. You lift your hips off the couch cushions to help him, and he stops when they’re down around your knees.
He looks down, and he starts laughing.
For one horrible, terrifying moment you think it’s directed at you, but then you remember.
He lifts his gaze to meet yours. “Snoopy boxers?” he asks, his eyes full of amusement.
“Shut up,” you say. “They were all I could find.”
He laughs again and kisses you, shifting forward so he’s pressed up against you once more, his hand in between your bodies. “You’re funny,” he says against your mouth, and palms at your dick again.
He moves his lips to your jaw and presses a trail of kisses until he reaches the curve where your neck and shoulder meet and he spends a good minute there marking up your neck and you’re sure everyone will notice tomorrow, fuck. With his other hand he pulls at the collar of your shirt so he can continue kissing and biting along your shoulder, moving in tandem with his hand still stroking your length through your boxers. Every time he touches you you slide further and further down the couch until you’re practically lying down and he has to move his arm so he’s reaching behind him so he can still touch your dick. He shifts forward and it’s even better this way because his arm isn’t trapped between your bodies and you get to feel the press of his dick against your stomach once more and you grab his ass until he starts grinding his hips against you again and then it’s the feel of his body moving against yours and his hand touching you through soft cotton and nothing else exists in the world except for this right here at this moment.
He kisses his way back up your neck and stops at your ear. “Can I put my hand inside, or will Snoopy be scandalized?”
“I’m gonna fucking murder you,” you say. “Yes.”
He snickers into your ear and reaches behind himself to pull your boxers down and his fingers are soft and warm and a little sweaty as he moves them up and down and you can’t see what’s going on because your dick is behind his ass so it’s almost like it isn’t happening to you but you can feel it and it is happening to you. You think about when you first met him, your hands wrapped around a gun and your glare hard as you stared him down and tried to figure out what this guy’s fucking deal was and you still don’t really know but you want to spend the rest of your life trying to figure it out.
You don’t even know the moment you started to fall for him, maybe it was when he confessed that he felt guilty about not stopping Sasha and Rosita because it was the first time you felt like you saw the real him underneath the mask, maybe it was reaching your absolute lowest point and bashing Fat Joey’s face in with a led pipe until your fingers were numb and then looking up and seeing his face, maybe it was the moment he flew off of a moving truck carrying a shitload of supplies because he just couldn’t let it the fuck go.
For a long time you thought there was something fundamentally wrong with you because no one has ever wanted to date you and no one has ever asked you out and no one has ever even told you they liked you and you thought for the longest time that love was just something that wasn’t going to happen for you. And that was okay. There are plenty of people who never end up with anyone and who die alone and you were just one of those people and just because it seems like people like that don’t exist because they’re never in movies or books or TV doesn’t mean you’re the only person out there alone like that. You’re on the wrong side of forty and you’ve spent your entire life alone and by now it was something you had accepted about yourself and the fact that you realized you’re gay didn’t change anything about that, you might understand yourself a little more and maybe even hate yourself a little less but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get a happy ending.
But you have Paul Rovia in your arms right now, so apparently you might.
He’s still moving his hand against your dick but it’s faster now and you start to feel your thighs shaking and you can feel how hard he is through the fabric of your shirt and he’s as close as he could possibly be but you just want more of him. You start to feel it building up inside you and he can sense it too and he keeps stroking and stroking you until you fall over the edge, groaning and arching your neck back, your mouth hanging open and your eyes fall shut because you just want to live in this moment for as long as possible.
When you open them again he’s still there. You can’t see his face because he’s kissing your neck again but you can feel him, his solid weight on top of you, his soft shirt under your fingertips.
“You good?” he asks when you’ve calmed down, his breath hot against your neck.
You don’t respond for a minute and he pops his head up to look at you and you grab him and kiss him because his lips are red and swollen and he just made you come and he didn’t care that you have no idea what you’re doing and he wants you and he’s beautiful.
“Yeah,” you say against his mouth.
He pulls back and looks into your eyes, brings up the hand not covered in your come to cup the side of your face, and he kisses you again, slower. Like you have all the time in the world, and maybe you do.
You can still feel him hard against your stomach so you reach your own hand down between your bodies and palm the front of his pants. “Can I…?” you ask.
He grins against your lips. “Thought you’d never ask.”