Re: Billy K/Jamie M: the Mayers apartment
He didn't think of himself as judge-y. Not like, out in the real world where mirrors meant nothing and barres were something for prison windows and railings and Jamie didn't feel like he had to judge? There was judgment and then there was judgment and Jamie was like, rapidly losing the thread of contemplating anything that wasn't immediate appreciation for the sight/sound/experience of the immediate, okay? He didn't mark the guy up. It was like, a gesture toward casual, toward keeping shit packed down and packed in, everyone could waltz out of here without wearing a daisy-chain of teeth-marks to gay up the day of whoever stopped to look.
The guy smelled like keen sweat and arousal, the reek of it familiar and warm in Jamie's nose and clenching like, way low down and his cock twitched like, anticipatory which was like, a prelude to Billy's like, confessional? Which wasn't really a confession, but Jamie got a momentary visual, anticipatory feeling or whatever and he made a sound of like, sheer unabashed pleasure around the guy's cock until it skidded over the guy's skin. He slid back, on heels, with the palms of his hands braced against Billy's knees until the guy's cock bobbed free, flushed and spit-shiny and Jamie like, stood, a little shakily but definitely upright, which was more than he'd figured possible on the first go, tbh.
He made like, quick fucking work of stripping down, until his own dick hung heavy, curved high toward his belly and Jamie sat down beside the sprawl of like, seriously pretty boy and reached over the spread of his stomach to the bedside table. The flush high along Billy's cheekbones, stained dark olive was like, pretty fucking incredible tbh and Jamie's smile split his cheek, as he leaned over to kiss the guy, the catch of bitter salt on the flat of his tongue. "For the record," and the wet spatter of the bottle coughed hard under Jamie's voice, "I've definitely jerked off thinking about it." Like, yeah, this wasn't going to be slow and he stroked one finger against the guy's hole, with like, enough pressure to make the fucking point.