Page 63 of The New Place

“You have to be quiet,” Abbot reminds him.

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s out.”

Abbot lifts the blankets for Ned to slip under. “Lay down.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” Ned tosses his pants on the floor.

Abbot draws Ned back onto the bed and moves down his body again, working him with his mouth until Ned is hard, and then keeps going just for the enjoyment of it, until Ned’s skin grows tacky with sweat, his breath becoming harsh. Only then does Abbot crawl back up and lay on his side, facing the wall, as Ned gets on his knees.

“It’s still going to kill me to be quiet,” Ned says.

“That’d be truly inconvenient.”

There’s a pause and Abbot touches himself, impatient, as Ned busies himself with the lube. Then, finally, the shift of his knees closer, the warmth of his thighs and the dull, blunt press. Abbot exhales, relaxing into it, and behind him, Ned moans.

“Hush,” Abbot says, turning to catch sight of Ned with his head tipped back, eyes closed, mouth open.

“You feel so good,” Ned mumbles and his hips flex and his breath catches.

He does it again, and the bed squeaks. “Fucking shit,” Ned says. “I thought I fixed that.”

“Should we move?”

“My knees can’t take the floor.”

“We can get you knee pads.” Abbot braces his hand against the wall, taking some of the energy of Ned’s next thrust.

“If you’re still chatting, I’m not doing this right,” Ned mutters and he drops a hand to Abbot hips, holding him as his knees shift again.

“Though I suppose if I ask you to take your socks off, leaving you wearing only knee pads, that’s a certain contradiction in—ah.”

“There we go.” Ned thrusts again. There’s a smug satisfaction in his voice and Abbot’s whole body jerks.

Yes. Like that. And he doesn’t even need to say it, because Ned knows, moving at that same angle with a slow, determined pace. Abbot can feel him watching, leaning forward now to see his face. With other men, it made him nervous to be observed so closely, embarrassed as he tried to hide his reaction. Now, he just tries to keep his hand on the wall so the bed doesn’t echo the movements of Ned’s cock inside of him, hitting that spot with metronomic rhythm, Abbot’s entire body singing.

Pleasure builds, bringing his breath faster. Ned knows him so well. The relentlessness of how he’s driving in, the attention he’s giving him, the care in how he grips his hip, vigilant in keeping the pace just right as his focus narrows and narrows.

“Ned,” he says, all at once half frantic. Don’t stop, he means, and also Help and I can’t and I’m going to⁠—

Ned hears all of it, hand slipping down to his cock, jerking him once, twice⁠—

Abbot muffles his cry into the pillow, squirming with the hot ribbon of pleasure, coating Ned’s hand as Ned crowds closer, breath huffing on broken gasps. He comes with a low groan, nearly a whimper, and collapses heavily, sweat slick and panting.

Abbot lays there drinking in Ned’s weight on him, the mess of their bodies, how consuming and perfect it feels to lay buried beneath Ned’s body.

“We’re pretty good at this,” Ned mumbles.

“Yes, but that shouldn’t preclude additional practice.”

“Course not. Give me five minutes.”

“Ambitious.”

“What can I say? I’m motivated.”

“You’re going to fall asleep again.”

“Am not,” Ned yawns.