The False House Ch. 05

Then there it is, and my lashes dampen. The softest, yet most passionate kiss I have ever and will ever have. People think passionate means tongue and aggression, right? Real passion is this: when lips can part and barely meet at all—yet still hold more emotion than any other thing on the planet ever could.

So much emotion, in fact, that I let out a small, inaudible moan of joy and heartache. The beauty of this moment hurts me; it is so much more than I ever imagined it. When I think it can't any better, the kiss deepens. His hand, which rested so gently around my neck, grabs at the back of it in desperation, and the one clutching my jeans now tugs at them—all working to achieve the common goal of getting me closer to Jesse.

Mouths open wider, soft tongues intertwining and dancing together in unison. I don't know how he does it, but he is the best kisser on the planet. Possessing such control—such dominance—all while being so insanely tender. I've never had a kiss so deep in my fucking life. When I think it can't get any deeper, he tilts his head and it does. Just like that. Take my word for it: this shit is crazy good. All I have the power to do is grab at his shirt and hang on as best I can.

The soft smacking sounds drive me insane, and my dick hardens so quickly. Honestly, this kiss beats any sex I ever had. He bites my bottom lip with a gentle sense of urgency and lets it pop out of his mouth. Kissing me softly one more time, he stands above me and wraps my legs around him. In one surprisingly swift motion he lifts me, my hands clasping his head. The whole way to his bedroom, we are looking into each other's eyes with such intensity that it hurts. Jesse looks flustered, despite how smooth he is—and if that is the case I cannot imagine how I look. He breaks eye contact once to look at my mouth, which causes him to bite his swollen lower lip before looking me in the eye once more.

We do not fall onto his bed. I am not tossed onto his bed. Instead, I am gently lowered. He places his hands on either kneecap and coaxes my legs open, and I swear I am about to shoot the biggest load of my life. As soon as our pelvises meet and I feel the warmth of his crotch against my raging hard-on, I hiss a loud moan and toss my head back. With perfect timing he runs one of those sexy hands up and around my neck, brushing a thumb over my hungry lips.

His hot breath tickles my neck just as it had so many nights ago. "Goddamn, baby. You are so perfect," he whispers in a husky voice I have never heard. The kisses he sprinkles on my neck start out dry and gentle, but gradually get needier until eventually he is nibbling and letting the tip of his tongue roam upon it. Up, up, up to my jawline and then finally back to my puffy mouth. Without breaking contact, once more, he slowly unzips my jeans and gives my raging cock and gentle squeeze.

"Let me make you mine," he says into my mouth between kisses. Even to those who had never met Jesse, that voice he is using alone could make panties drop.

"Am I yours?" I whisper desperately. He uses this break from kissing to slowly lift my shirt above my head, tossing it to the floor. There's that fucking eye contact again. He's killing me—I have never in my life known anything to be so sexy. I didn't even know one creature could have so much sex appeal. But he just fucking oozes it.

He pecks my lips then travels down my chest. Slowly, sweetly. Leaving burning flesh in his wake. "You've been mine since I crawled into your bed."

I want to smile but am too painfully horny and needing to be touched. This is the love of my life—I am so ready. "Make love to me," I plead in another harsh whisper. The begging doesn't make him rush or lose his consistency. Knowing this is my first time, and knowing what he means to me, he takes his sweet time; I only love him more for it.

The warm tip of his tongue traces my areola, the sudden touch making me groan. My nipples become hard, and he grazes the tips of his teeth against it, massaging the other with his thumb. He has such sexy hands. Careful not to linger long, kisses are dispersed sparingly down my stomach up to the elastic on my briefs that jut out from the opened button and fly. Jesse tickles my sensitive area by moving the tip of his nose back and forth against it. My hips buck gently in response. He slides his hands under my ass and hooks them into my back pockets; with one swift motion they are at my ankles, where I finish the job and kick them off me.

I feel embarrassed about the wet spot on my underwear from the massive amount of precum that gathered. He seems to like it, however, giving it a kiss. In an attempt to not sound like a total virgin, I squeeze my eyes shut and stifle a moan. Working those teeth once more, he bites the elastic above my cock and gives it a gentle tug upward. The fabric rubs against my heat and this time I cannot help but moan—and loudly. This must have done something for him, because he lifts himself just enough to get my underwear completely off of me. I feel his warm hand rub up the back of my cock that rests against my belly, precum just pooling. I gasp loudly and buck again.

I'm about seven inches, I suppose. Not the biggest, but I have never been embarrassed about it. He sure seems to like it, though. I feel cold air combating the heat my cock radiates, and I look down to see him blowing on it so softly. I bite my lip at him, and he smirks. Staring me right in the eye as his tongue makes itself known and licks my length. Eyes roll back—it feels too good to even hold my head up. One ball is taken into his warm mouth and rolled around, and then the other. I'm working up a pant.

Then he licks my cock again; when he reaches the top this time, however, he takes the entire thing into his mouth and in one shot it's hitting the back of his throat. I moan loudly and without shame as he bobs his head up in down, sucking my cock like it's his favorite flavor of lollipop. I claw at the sheets, but he gives me his hands instead. I squeeze them with most of my strength, bucking my hips and moaning profanities. This is, by far, the best blowjob I have ever gotten; it's like the man was born for the sole purpose of sucking my cock.

"I'm going to fucking cum," I moan desperately, squeezing his hands tighter. "Holy fuck. Oh my God."

He quickens his pace until I start coming, and when I finally do he holds my cock in the back of his throat and takes my load like a champion. He caresses my cheek and gives me a slow kiss. Tasting myself makes me really hot. He leans over and opens the nightstand, pulling out a condom. Understandable, since neither of us have discussed being tested.

Jesse reaches behind his back and tugs off his shirt. Son-of-a-bitch he is sexy. I have been too stunned by the entire situation to do much up until this point; I unzip his cargo shorts, probably from Pacific Sun or something, hook my fingers in the belt loops, and jerk them down. This makes him groan just loud enough for me to hear it, and it makes my blood boil. Once again he lifts himself, but this time it's to remove his own clothes. As soon as his hard cock pops out—erect, front, and center—I swallow hard. I am so hungry for his thick, veiny dick. It's about eight inches, if I had to guess, and framed by a short crop of golden-brown pubic hairs.

What a perfect man. And he is mine.

He brings his large middle finger to my mouth and I obligingly grant him access. I suck on it and coat it with my saliva, and the entire time he's watching me with untethered lust. Glaring through thick lashes with desire and need. I feel his precum leaking onto me, making me suck on his finger all the more. Gently, he removes it and moves it between my ass cheeks. When the cool, wet fluid grazes my hole I hiss. Then at a snail-like pace, he inserts it into me, watching my face carefully to judge my expression. I don't feel very much, but I guess I'm not supposed to. He goes back and forth a few times, before jamming his middle and ring finger into my mouth.

When he puts them both in my ass, I wince at how it burns. Patiently he stops and eases into it. Back and forth, and when I hiss again he stops. So it goes until he can keep a consistent pace without having to stop. And then he goes just a little deeper and curls his finger ever so slightly, and I gasp loudly. A knowing smile spreads across his face, still watching me intently. He quickens his pace, tapping away at that magical button. My brows wrinkle and my mouth forms an 'o'. Jesse speeds up until I am moaning like crazy.

But suddenly he stops and I give him a look of sheer heartache. He kisses me as a gesture of reassurance. The condom package is torn open with his teeth and careful rolled on to his throbbing member. I lick my lips in anticipation while he situates himself over me, spreading my legs wider. He grabs his cock and forces itself to my hole, leaning down to kiss me deeply yet again. "I won't hurt you," he whispered gently. The tip slides in and I gasp, clawing his back in pain. He hushes me and stays motionless until he feels the tension in my body wash away. That was the worst part, apparently. The rest slid in with slight discomfort and minimal burning. But once he gets to my prostate, I relax entirely.

He thrusts back and forth at a painfully slow rate. "Harder," I groan. Without picking up speed, he obliges, pulling back then slamming into that sweet spot. Pulls back, then slams in. Over and over. Every time he comes in I yelp in pleasure, but it isn't loud enough to mask the sounds of his deep groaning. I start to buck my hips to make him go faster; like the expert he is, he understands the gesture and picks up his pace. There's a gradual increase in speed until he is rapidly slamming against me.

The sound of flesh pounding against flesh makes my cock hard again. Licking my hand, I jack myself off. That, combined with my man working my prostate, feels better than anything I have ever imagined. I moan uncontrollably, and he's not exactly silent either. Our eyes are locked, and I so easily get lost in his. That sexy face. The way his brow is wrinkled over that sultry glare and his teeth dig into that lower lip. And the simple knowledge that my body provides him with that pleasure is more than I can take. His fucking makes me moan like a porn star, and I can tell it is driving him wild. His grunts and moans, and the occasional 'fuck', bring me closer to coming once again.

It isn't long before I shoot my load all over my chest, this one more intense than the first. Leaving me howling and panting. And the fact that even after I just had an orgasm and he continued to tap my prostate only served to amplify the pleasure it gave me. A few more minutes went by before he pulled out and savagely ripped the condom off. With such need and aching, he fists his cock. The sight of him jacking off is so fucking sexy to me. Within seconds his load mixes with mine.

Panting and out of breath, he falls beside me onto his back. With the shirt next to me I wipe off my stomach, and he pulls me into him. My head fits perfectly into the crook of his arm. Our panting doesn't coincide, which makes me smile for some reason.

"Do you love me?" I ask, suddenly so tired.

His breathing gets quiet, and I can tell he is thinking. Fear floods my mind, and I start to think that I've been used. And by Jesse, of all people. "I love you very much." I smile so big it hurts.

"Where is Troy, really?" I joke.

"I was being serious: I don't know. I told him to fucking be gone when we got back; who knows where he went."

We both start laughing, and I can't help but finally feel content. If I had to go through a lifetime of withdrawal pains for him, I would do it. He is worth it, and so much more.

We roll over and spoon, him holding me like I was his life force. Although it isn't even seven yet, I could sleep and probably not wake up until morning. All I hope is that he wants to do the same. He being my boyfriend. My boyfriend Jesse. Ah!

"You know," he rasps, and from the sounds of it we are on the same page. "My life has been hell up until this point."

Too perfect a moment to ruin with my fumbling for words, I give his hand a squeeze and we fall asleep.

. . . .

I peel my eyes open with much reluctance. Daylight floods my senses, making me wince, and I struggle to see the clock. 11:26. Holy shit, I slept all through the night without a single problem. I crawl out of bed—Jesse's bed—exerting little effort. I will say, I'm not exactly cheeky sober, but mundane activities like waking up sure are becoming easier to complete. When I walk into the living room, Troy jumps to his feet and rushes to give me a hug. Stunned into submission, all I can do is smile so hard my face could crack.

"Love you, Troy," I chuckle.

My eyes meet with Jesse's and I blush, memories of the previous night flooding my mind. He sports the most adoring smile, and the one of amusement I have for Troy softens. "Hey, baby," he finally says, gentle and considerate. The look of love in his eyes overwhelms me.

Troy pulls away and rolls his eyes playfully, gagging his way back to the sofa.

Trying not to act as overly-sentimental as I want to, the subject is changed by my order. "I'm going to go apply for jobs again today." Though I force a smile with my best effort, I doubt it is convincing. Last time I applied, I went into rehab the very next day. How would I know who called me back? Although the voice in my head screams that no one bothered. Why would they? I'm in my early twenties and haven't worked a day in my life. This is just discouraging me, is all. Doctors and therapists burned into my brain the idea that after rehab I need to stay busy. I'm trying.

"You're going to do fine, Roman. Stop doubting yourself." Even something that simple still makes a world of difference to me.

While I change into nice clothes (part of me hopes money will impress), Jesse throws himself on my bed and sighs. "How's dat ass?" he winks. I bust out laughing and throw my shirt at him. "You really will do fine," he says on a serious note, catching my shirt. "You have a lot to bring to the table and you can do literally anything you set your mind to. Not many people can say that, you know."

I cannot help but smile—he was right when he said he could make me happy. He is so fucking good at it. I crawl on my bed to him and kiss his tender lips, and when we pull away the feeling of him lingers. If it lingered all day I may just nail an awesome job. "You're the best," I smile. "I have to go now."

"Remember I love you. Go get 'em." Remember I love you. I just died and came back to life. I am the luckiest man alive.

There are some jobs that I would like to do, some I wouldn't mind doing, and some I simply refuse to even consider. Anything that involves sitting down is A-OK in my books. As far as the jobs that I wouldn't mind doing? That covers a broad spectrum of things, only excluding fast-food. If my friends were to see me there it would be horrible.

I scold myself. Those people are not my friends, nor were they ever. It's going to be difficult shaking that idea. They've been all I know for so long now—and let us not forget how I let their piece of shit opinions mold me into something useless and superficial. So scratch what I said earlier: desperate times call for desperate measures, and if I had to work in fast-food I would.

And for a minute I thought I'd have to. An entire week went by without so much as a call to tell me I didn't get the job. I'm not persistent enough to be that guy who calls constantly to check on the status of his application—everyone hates that fucking guy. By the second week, I was terribly discouraged. Terribly discouraged. I was ready to hit BK and shit. Until finally a sweet old lady came to my rescue.

I'd applied to an animal shelter in downtown Lincoln, a few blocks from our apartment. It was definitely spur of the moment; I hate cats with a passion and have never really had any other pets. I did have a hamster once, but I stepped on him by accident and Mom never let me have another after that. But the job seemed easy enough and the manager was a doll. Old ladies love Roman—don't ask me why, but they do. As nonchalant as I probably seemed when I went in there, it probably helped to make me look confident and relaxed. I don't know. What I do know is that I am officially her employee, and my job is to take care of the animals. Feeding, bathing—you know, taking fucking care of them.

When I broke the news to Jesse, I was so happy I pretty much cried. Maybe it was for my sake, or maybe it was a genuine moment of pride, but when I cried his eyes filled up with tears and he squeezed me like I were his long-lost sister. In fact, they were both so proud that we went out to celebrate that evening at Outback. Isn't that what people do when they want to celebrate?

I wouldn't know, because I have never felt normal before this. But things are really looking up for me. No, I don't have my mom. And maybe to you that is a disadvantage in my life. In truth, it adds on to the heap of wonderful shit going on in my world. There is literally no stress because of her anymore. Sure, there's that nagging urge to get high, but I can handle that easy. Things are going too perfect for me to fuck up over drugs. Like, seriously. I have the man of my dreams, a job, a place away from Mom, and my sobriety.

There's a first for everything, and right now I'm living the first of many.

*****

Gosh, I feel like this installment was super delayed. Maybe because I didn't write a word for two days. I don't know. I'm having some craaaazy writer's block (making this up as I go isn't fun anymore).Anyway, I'll try to have the next one up in a reasonable amount of time—meaning, no, this isn't the last installment. You will know when it is.

On another note, I would like to once again thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the wonderful feedback. Especially to those of you who consistently leave lovely comments for me. Cannot tell you how much it gets me through the difficult parts where I can't think of a fucking thing, and when I do I can't even articulate it into coherent sentences.

So keep sending those words of encouragement and thoughts on how to improve my writing. I'm open to anything, really. Also, I know the lengths of these things are pretty inconsistent and I apologize. But I promise the last one was meant to be short.

Anyway, sorry for rambling and thank you for sticking around.

Love you so much,

JT Thatch