against warm skin as he rutted.
It felt like his blood was on a slow simmer, that tingly feeling spreading through his body lazily. His muscles strained, and beneath him he could feel the tenseness in Max’s muscles as he held himself back and just enjoyed the ride. Like this Max was especially beautiful, his eyes sleepy and glazed, his lips puffy from kissing and his cheeks flushed with passion.
As Max’s breathing sped up, his hips started to finally hitch, no longer wanting to remain passive. Michael smirked against his lips, breathing into his mouth as Max breathed back into his. At this point they weren’t even kissing, just sharing air as they grew closer and closer to completion.
Michael came first, and it was like a tsunami. It was slow and boiling at first, the knowledge that he was right at the edge, about to go flying forward, and then he was over, and it was like being flung forward, a steady crash that had him crying out and shuddering and clenching around Max.
Beneath him Max was doing his own shuddering and crying out, his hands squeezing so tight to Michael’s hips that Michael knew there would be bruises there come the morning. His release was hot inside Michael, a fine contrast to the chilly air on his skin.
Michael leaned back to tug up Max’s shirt from where it had been covering his cock. Max’s belly was painted with his come, and Michael ran a finger through it, bringing it to his mouth and sucking it in with a lazy pop. Max groaned, tugging his finger out of his mouth and replacing it with his tongue.
When he pulled away, he looked like the cat that had gotten the cream. “We’re going to need a shower,” he said, trying to mop up Michael’s mess with his shirt. “I’m all sticky.”
Laughing, Michael slowly hefted himself up and bent to retrieve his pants. Max managed to land one solid smack before Michael had them back in place.
They stumbled inside, arms wrapped around each other’s waist, feeling sleepy and slow and more than a little cold. Then they saw the light in the living room, and they stopped in surprise as Mr. Stewart looked up at them from the armchair where he was reading.
His eyebrow went up and he, oddly enough, looked amused. “You could have just used the bed. Unless hypothermia was something you were trying for.”
Michael’s mouth dropped open. Max’s face went red like a tomato. Neither of them managed to say anything.
Mr. Stewart flicked to the next page of his book. “You might want to shower,” he said. “You smell like a brothel, and it’s getting late.”
They went silently up the stairs. About halfway up they heard him chuckling.
“Oh my god,” breathed Michael as they shut the bathroom door behind them. “It’s exactly like being a teenager again.”
Laughter verging on the hysterical filled the bathroom as they fought to catch their breath. Max recovered first, turning on the shower and tugging Michael under the spray.
“At least my father won’t tell anyone.”
Chapter Six
W OLF WHISTLES and catcalls greeted them as they descended the stairs the following morning. Everyone else was already in the family room, stacks of presents neatly piled beside them. Michael made as if he were going to turn around and go right back to his room.
Max looked like he was considering it.
“I don’t think so, boys. Sit down,” said Mr. Stewart. He was sitting in his armchair, a stack of presents at his feet and a cup of tea in his hand. He primly took a sip, clearly watching them over the rim of the mug as they entered the room and took a seat side by side on the floor by Catherine.
Their presents were already waiting for them in two neat little piles beside one another. Michael looked at his personal stack and looked at Max. He knew for a fact they weren’t all from Max.
Catherine clapped her hands together and the children in the room wriggled in their spots. “Can we open them now?” she asked.
Mr. Stewart’s smile was fond as
It felt like his blood was on a slow simmer, that tingly feeling spreading through his body lazily. His muscles strained, and beneath him he could feel the tenseness in Max’s muscles as he held himself back and just enjoyed the ride. Like this Max was especially beautiful, his eyes sleepy and glazed, his lips puffy from kissing and his cheeks flushed with passion.
As Max’s breathing sped up, his hips started to finally hitch, no longer wanting to remain passive. Michael smirked against his lips, breathing into his mouth as Max breathed back into his. At this point they weren’t even kissing, just sharing air as they grew closer and closer to completion.
Michael came first, and it was like a tsunami. It was slow and boiling at first, the knowledge that he was right at the edge, about to go flying forward, and then he was over, and it was like being flung forward, a steady crash that had him crying out and shuddering and clenching around Max.
Beneath him Max was doing his own shuddering and crying out, his hands squeezing so tight to Michael’s hips that Michael knew there would be bruises there come the morning. His release was hot inside Michael, a fine contrast to the chilly air on his skin.
Michael leaned back to tug up Max’s shirt from where it had been covering his cock. Max’s belly was painted with his come, and Michael ran a finger through it, bringing it to his mouth and sucking it in with a lazy pop. Max groaned, tugging his finger out of his mouth and replacing it with his tongue.
When he pulled away, he looked like the cat that had gotten the cream. “We’re going to need a shower,” he said, trying to mop up Michael’s mess with his shirt. “I’m all sticky.”
Laughing, Michael slowly hefted himself up and bent to retrieve his pants. Max managed to land one solid smack before Michael had them back in place.
They stumbled inside, arms wrapped around each other’s waist, feeling sleepy and slow and more than a little cold. Then they saw the light in the living room, and they stopped in surprise as Mr. Stewart looked up at them from the armchair where he was reading.
His eyebrow went up and he, oddly enough, looked amused. “You could have just used the bed. Unless hypothermia was something you were trying for.”
Michael’s mouth dropped open. Max’s face went red like a tomato. Neither of them managed to say anything.
Mr. Stewart flicked to the next page of his book. “You might want to shower,” he said. “You smell like a brothel, and it’s getting late.”
They went silently up the stairs. About halfway up they heard him chuckling.
“Oh my god,” breathed Michael as they shut the bathroom door behind them. “It’s exactly like being a teenager again.”
Laughter verging on the hysterical filled the bathroom as they fought to catch their breath. Max recovered first, turning on the shower and tugging Michael under the spray.
“At least my father won’t tell anyone.”
Chapter Six
W OLF WHISTLES and catcalls greeted them as they descended the stairs the following morning. Everyone else was already in the family room, stacks of presents neatly piled beside them. Michael made as if he were going to turn around and go right back to his room.
Max looked like he was considering it.
“I don’t think so, boys. Sit down,” said Mr. Stewart. He was sitting in his armchair, a stack of presents at his feet and a cup of tea in his hand. He primly took a sip, clearly watching them over the rim of the mug as they entered the room and took a seat side by side on the floor by Catherine.
Their presents were already waiting for them in two neat little piles beside one another. Michael looked at his personal stack and looked at Max. He knew for a fact they weren’t all from Max.
Catherine clapped her hands together and the children in the room wriggled in their spots. “Can we open them now?” she asked.
Mr. Stewart’s smile was fond as
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