Whenever he tops he always wants to face me. He wants to see me sweat, he wants to see my eyes screw shut when I can’t take it anymore. A picture is worth a thousand words and he wants to see my face to make sure he gets it right.
*Oh God! Right there! Keep going! Just like that!*
If anything it only serves to heighten his performance. Fuck, I love him.
There’s a pillow beneath my hips to keep them up for him while he rocks against me, and my legs are locked at the ankles around his waist. I like the feeling of his sweaty back beneath my clutching hands, of his hair through my fingers when I yank at it and scream.
He hisses, but doesn’t stop, or even slow down. Good. I need him to get me off. I need this. I always felt like I was given too much responsibility in my life. Too much control. So just handing over that control, laying back and letting him fuck me has got to be the most erotic and wonderful thing anyone would ever want to do.
*Oh God! Oh God, Oh God, God, God, God, God!*
I’m the first to come, screaming his name even though he doesn’t know it. I call him God in bed.
When there are no more stars in my eyes he’s still going, but then he kisses me and my eyes go wide. He never kisses me, ever, I kiss him, but he doesn’t kiss me.
I know I should push his lips off me, bite down on his tongue just to teach him a lesson, but I can’t.
‘Oh, kiss me, kiss me. You feel so good.’
Finally, with a groan in my mouth, he finishes and collapses on top of me. I hold him close and listen to the beating of his heart. We’ve only got a few more seconds before reality hits, and I want to make the most of it.
***
Gohan buttoned his jacket quietly, it was old and worn but still had a few good years left in it, just like him. He tried to not pay any attention to the sounds behind him. Trunks tying his shoes, lifting a shirt over his head and then lighting the usual cigarette.
It was just too hard, Gohan didn’t even know why he bothered with these meetings anymore.
He wanted to laugh at himself. He knew why, he just didn’t want to admit it. He was addicted.
Still, he knew he should stop it. A year was enough. Trunks was attached to him, he could tell. That was something that was never, ever, supposed to happen. So how did it?
They both knew perfectly well what they were getting into. Gohan had already been attached to Trunks, ever since he was legal, but signing a prenuptial agreement with Videl hadn’t been the most intelligent act of his life. If anyone were to ever find out about his little outings, he’d lose everything, including the shirt off his back.
What had started off as harmless flirting had turned into the monster that Gohan could no longer ignore. He went to great pains to make certain Trunks knew how little he cared, even if it was all a lie, an yet, he was dangerously possessive of him as well.
A month into their not so little affair, Gohan had spotted Trunks and another man in a dark corner of a bar he frequented on one of the busier nights, already halfway to naked and both having eyes only for each other.
So full of spitting rage, Gohan marched over and grabbed the unknown man by the back of the neck before throwing him across the room. All music abruptly stopped and Trunks yelled and fought as hard as he could when Gohan grabbed him and dragged him out the back door. The first thing he did was slam him into a brick wall.
“If I ever catch you with anyone else again then we’re done! You understand me?”
Trunks was not intimidated in the least. “What, so you get to go home and fuck your pretty little wife and I have to sleep alone?”
There was something about hearing the truth that stung more then anything, so Gohan stung him back and backhanded him before slamming him again.
“I’m serious! You’re mine! Mine and nobody else’s!” As he was screaming into Trunks’ face he was also undoing his belt, he pulled down his jeans and made him face the wall. Trunks struggled to get away, but Gohan put his free arm over his back to hold him still while he worked on his own pants, and when he was finally free, the first thing he did was push into him.
Trunks had already prepared and lubed himself at home, indicating he had every intention of getting laid that night by someone other then he. The thought only fuelled Gohan’s anger, and he took it all out on Trunks’ body.
If Trunks hadn’t been crying out for him to fuck him harder, Gohan would have been sure he raped him when the anger finally settled.
That night, Gohan went home to his wife, and Trunks slept alone.
And that was how Gohan found himself in the dilemma he faced now. He knew how to stop an addiction, but there was never any “Cold Turkey” especially when it involved the addiction of another person, he didn’t believe in it, and he also firmly believed that anyone to tell him they had ever quit anything cold turkey was a liar.
Gohan looked over at Trunks across the bed, their next night would be his turn to top. “Thursday?” He asked.
Trunks picked the half smoked cigarette out of his mouth and flicked the ashes into the ashtray. “I’m free then.” He agreed, and they both rose to their feet and headed for the door.
It was their ritual. Trunks would pay for the room so Gohan could avoid any papers in the mail, Gohan would set the date, they would do what they came to do, and Trunks would return the keys belonging to the motel manager. Once Trunks had offered to take him to a five star hotel for the weekend, and Gohan would always wince when he remembers how he responded.
“Don’t be stupid. That last thing I need is to look like I’m having a romantic getaway with the guy I’m fucking on the side.”
It had to be done though, he couldn’t let Trunks get attached to him, he’d only break his heart in the long run. But now that Trunks was attached to him, what was he supposed to do?
Gohan looked at Trunks after he locked the door, and performed the last part of their ritual.
The kiss.
Gohan always kissed him to send him a silent message, one that he knew Trunks would understand, but not always in full.
*You’re mine…!* It said, but then he would pull away, grin and wave before taking off into the sky before the rest of the message could reach him.
*…but if you wanted to leave, I would let you.*
