Tristan stared at his back, his confusion slowly being replaced by another, darker emotion. He felt like laughing and throwing something at Zach’s head at the same time. So Zach was casting him aside like a used condom, eager to forget and move on. Great. Fine. Fine. That was what Tristan wanted, too: no strings attached was his life motto. Fine.
When Tristan didn’t say anything, Zach turned around and looked at Tristan.
Tristan could well imagine what he looked like. His lips were sore, swollen from bruising kisses. He had stubble rash all over his cheeks and chin. His hair was messier than ever as he ran his fingers through it. He knew his neck was covered in hickeys. There were finger-shaped bruises on his hips. In short, he felt well-fucked and he probably looked it.
Zach averted his eyes and reached for his clothes, his movements jerky. “Stop looking at me like that and get out of the bed.”
“Like what?” Tristan said, cocking his head and looking at Zach from under his eyelashes.
“Like a slut needing a cock.”
Tristan refused to take the bait and become angry. His heavily-lidded eyes skimmed down Zach’s chest to his taut stomach, and then lower, to his thick erection. Wetting his lips, he returned his gaze to Zach’s face and spread his legs. He didn’t need to say anything. His eyes said everything for him. Come here. Fuck me. You know you want to.
Before Tristan knew it, Zach was on him, pinning him down with his heavy body. “You—” he bit out before kissing Tristan, again and again. God. Tristan curled one hand around Zach’s neck and reached down between them to grab Zach’s cock. “In,” he mumbled, trying to guide it inside him. “Get in.”
“Lube,” Zach said, sucking on his lips. It was kind of hilarious that they both were reduced to monosyllabic words so quickly.
“Don’t care.” Tristan gasped as the cock head nudged his hole. He was still a little slick after last night—the lube was long-lasting and difficult to clean up. “Fuck me.”
“Don’t be silly,” Zach managed, but his hips were already moving, his cock grinding into him until the head finally slipped inside. Tristan panted, his glazed eyes wide and fingers digging into Zach’s back. God, Zach’s cock in him felt amazing, so bloody perfect, the girth stretching him to his limits, pleasure mixing with pain, and pain becoming pleasure.
With a groan, Zach dropped his head beside Tristan’s on the pillow, and started fucking him with hard, urgent thrusts. Squirming, Tristan wrapped his legs around Zach’s waist, whimpers coming out of his mouth every time the cock in him hit his prostate. It wasn’t sex; it was necessity, something they both craved and needed. It was dirty, fast and shameless, a clash of bodies, teeth and lips, and want, so much want, it made him dizzy, giddy, and shameless. His senses were overstimulated to the point that he had the irrational thought that he might die if he didn’t come. Zach thrust, hard, over and over, and Tristan held on, muttering something unintelligible and reveling in the breathing and the hot, perfect thrusts and Zach’s grunts and knowing that yes, fuck yes, this was what they needed.
His orgasm was frightening in its intensity and Tristan pulled Zach closer as he came, clenching hard around Zach’s cock. The spasms were so powerful he would have shaken his way right off the bed if Zach hadn’t been pinning him down. Zach slammed into him a few more times and went still on top of him, boneless and heavy and so damn perfect. Tristan whimpered in pleasure, tightening his arms around him.
The hush in the room was deafening.
Unlike their first time, this time neither of them fell asleep. They both were wide awake. Tristan stared at the ceiling over Zach’s bare shoulder and wondered how he was supposed to act. His legs were still wrapped around Zach’s hips. Tristan thought, not without humor, that at least now they knew for sure his groin was definitely more than fine for more vigorous exercises: he didn’t feel any discomfort.
Zach sighed and then his mouth pressed against the side of Tristan’s neck. A soft kiss. Another one. And another.
Tristan smirked. He had heard that sex turned some men soft and affectionate afterward. He’d never thought Zach would be one of them—he didn’t seem the type—but apparently Zach was. Tristan idly pondered whether he should comment on it and embarrass Zach. It wasn’t…the soft kisses and touches didn’t feel horrible, but he couldn’t waste such a golden opportunity to make fun of Zach, could he?
“Who knew sex could turn you into such a softie,” he said with a snort.
The kisses stopped.
Tristan pursed his lips.
“That’s pretty rich coming from a guy who’s hugging me like I’m his teddy bear,” Zach murmured.