After an uneasy moment, Zach slowly slung his legs over the tableside, and propped himself up on his elbows. Gentry moved back, when Zach suddenly lurched forward and pulled him close. He started kiss him… Once, twice, holding him in place until resistance melted to foggy tolerance, when his breathing settled into slow and heavy panting, and the aching glare of suspiscion in his eyes softened to affection. Zach slid a hand one hand into that silky red hair and then down the nape of his neck, feeling each inch of skin tense, then relax. Down sculpted shoulders, under the hooks of his shoulder blades, over mouthfuls and handfuls of skin. Slowly, carefully, his fingertips trickled down his spine and shoulders, feeling him tense, relax, tense…
And finally, those shineless eyes closed.
Bathed in warmth; there was no other thought in his mind but the affection which poured onto him. His jaw rested on Zach’s shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, lips parted for words he would not--- could not--- speak.
It felt good.
His breathing evened out to soft little sighs with the occasional hitch whenever Zach hit a fresh bruise or scar.
It felt so good.
He felt so good.
Heating up inside him, boiling to a fever pitch…
until a caress up his thigh jerked him back.
Without a word he shoved Zach aside, and morosely pulled away. Zach stumbled backwards, but kept his balance— It took more than that to knock him down.
“What the hell!”
“Do that again,” Gentry breathed, breathlessly moving off of the table, “and I’ll beat you ‘til you don’t want it anymore.”
Zach turned away to hide the hurt look on his face, but did not glorify the threat with a response. It didn’t scare him, either way.