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It had started a couple of weeks ago—the mumblings. Remmick just ignored it, figured Smoke was just tired. Smoke was always tired. The man carried the weight of the world on his shoulders—too many responsibilities, various businesses to attend to, family matters to check up on, always thinking, always busy. Remmick tried to help ease some of Smoke’s stress in the only way he knew how—through sex.
This thing between them had been going on for months, but neither talked about it out loud. It was practically an open secret, especially within the inner circle, but Smoke liked to pretend otherwise. Remmick just let him. Labels were stupid anyway. What mattered most was whose body Smoke wrapped his arms around and whose cunt his dick was shoved in each night.
It had started casually, with a hook-up here and there, then grown more consistent, eventually leading to Remmick essentially living in Smoke’s lavish apartment. He didn’t have to do anything; he didn’t even have to work. He just had to stay there and wait for his man to return home and open his legs. Sometimes, he’d try his hand at cooking. At first, he was terrible at it, but he had all the time to practice, and eventually, he’d improved enough that his concoctions were at least edible.
Like a kept wife.
Remmick laughed at the idea even though it made his stomach do somersaults.
Yeah, yeah, don’t get too attached.
He knew the unspoken rules. Getting too attached would just set him up for heartache. But could he have helped it? Smoke was not verbose, but actions spoke louder than words.
So what did it mean when Smoke had begun to let him stay? When he’d bought Remmick clothes and all sorts of things? When he’d actually eat what Remmick had cooked? When he’d kiss him hungrily in the dim light? When he’d fuck his brains out all night? When they’d begun fucking raw? When Smoke would bury his face in the crook of Remmick’s neck, soft, sleepy breaths catching on his skin? When Smoke would wake him up with fingers inside his cunt before sliding in and fuck him long and slow? What did all that mean?
Nothing. Obviously. Nothing at all.
It was better this way. If Remmick convinced himself that it didn’t mean much, apart from a good time for both of them, he wouldn’t get burned once the fire within would die out and they’d part ways. It was bound to happen; it always did.
Truth be told, Remmick had no idea what he’d do once that day arrived—the day that Smoke would finally get sick of him, the day that Smoke would leave him. It ached too much to even think about. One thing he was certain of was that he’d sink into the lowest pits of misery. He’d go back to his old self-destructive habits—drown himself in booze and drugs and shitty company and meaningless sex to feel numb. To feel nothing. Then maybe life would take mercy on him and he’d die quietly in his sleep from an overdose.
It sounded severe, but Remmick could no longer imagine a tolerable life without Smoke. The fact terrified him.
How did he even get himself into this situation? It was dangerous, but also too good to walk away from.
So he persisted. So long as Smoke wanted him there, then he’d be there.
Things got worse for Remmick’s hopes these past few weeks. By some strange miracle, Smoke had become more affectionate. Granted, it was only when it was just the two of them, but maybe that was the beauty of it—something just for them and them alone. Nobody else needed to know; it was way more intimate that way.
It started with lingering touches here and there, a kiss on the back of his neck, letting Remmick lie on Smoke’s chest while watching TV, kissing for hours, fingers lazily playing with his cunt, making him come multiple times, arms constantly around his waist, pissing in front of the other, showering together, Smoke letting him swallow his cum.
There was also some tenderness now when they fucked. Previously, it was wild and rough, hungry like they wanted to devour each other whole. Lately, it had been different—gentler, slower, more intense. It left Remmick feeling overwhelmed afterward, as if his heart was about to burst out of his chest. But, of course, he had to act calm and composed. He could never meet Smoke’s eyes right after because he knew he’d crumble. Smoke would share his cigarette with him, momentarily pacifying his frayed nerves.
Then, the snuggling began. It had caught Remmick off guard the first time strong arms pulled him from behind, and he realized his back was pressed against Smoke’s sturdy chest, feeling his breath on the back of his neck. Smoke did not remove his hand from his waist and tucked a finger under the waistband of his underwear.
It’d been almost an eternity before Remmick was able to regulate the kinetic energy coursing through his entire system. Smoke was long asleep by then, his lips nuzzling on his bare shoulder. Remmick had barely moved that night, not wanting to disturb their serene little cocoon in that bed. Sleep had also eluded him—mind racing at the implications and at the same time avoiding feeding himself hope. Maybe this was just a one-off, by some miracle, and never to be repeated. He’d cherished the moment as much as he could before finally shutting his eyes, resolute that it would be the last time.
Only he was dead wrong.
The snuggling happened again the next night after they had sex, and the night after that, and the next one, until Remmick lost count. Until it became a ritual.
Still, Smoke said nothing about it, so Remmick said nothing either. Both men just went along with the motions. Remmick, especially, was afraid that if he deigned to say something and ask where they stood exactly, the whole thing would collapse and he’d be left with much less than what he already had, which, to him, was everything.
It was Smoke’s call. It was always Smoke’s call, and Remmick knew he’d follow whatever Smoke decided like a sick, hapless dog.
It sounded pathetic, but he had never been fucked this good. Suppose that was a good enough reason to cloud someone’s judgment.
And now here they were once more, spread out on Smoke’s bed, naked and kissing passionately for what felt like hours, skin on skin, Smoke’s hard cock rubbing on Remmick’s soaked cunt, but not putting it in just yet. It seemed he wanted to prolong it, this torturous teasing. Remmick didn’t mind it. The longer he was tangled in Smoke’s arms, the better. If only he could never let go, just stay like this all the time, entwined in each other’s bodies, in the throes of unbridled pleasure. One thing Remmick could never get tired of.
When his lips, and cheeks, and neck were red and raw from Smoke’s beard and insatiable mouth, biting and sucking, Remmick paused to breathe. It stung—parting—but he had to reset his heart. Smoke took his opportunity then, slowly moving downward, trailing kisses from his chest to his navel, then his hip bone, and finally, the fat mound of his hairy cunt.
“Fuck,” Remmick muttered. His whole body was afire.
Smoke then roughly parted his legs, eyes lingering for a second at what he saw—Remmick’s glistening, wet cunt—then diving down to lick up a fat stripe against his folds.
The feeling was electric. Remmick moaned loudly and threw his head back against the pillow, his body arching from the sensation. Smoke, seemingly pleased at his response, repeated the motion over and over.
He was wide open for his lover, and Smoke did not hesitate to take advantage of it, eating Remmick’s cunt like a man starved, licking up and down, left and right, and tongue fucking him until he was a twitching, uncoordinated mess. It was too good, too much, and he didn’t want it to stop. Smoke then found his clit and sucked softly, the feeling so tender and exhilarating that it sent Remmick into overdrive. Vision whiting out with one hand on Smoke’s nape, the other fisted on the sheets as he came on Smoke’s mouth. He was gushing wet, and Smoke lapped it all up, not stopping, not giving him a moment to recover. Remmick hit another orgasm before he even came down from the previous one. So intense that it made him moan and quiver.
He thought he heard Smoke say, “That’s it, baby, be loud for me,” before shoving his tongue inside again.
It was insanity. How he wanted Smoke to stop before he lost control and said something he’d regret, but he couldn’t. It was too damn good, and he didn’t think he’d get it like this again. Smoke was practically worshiping his pussy, and Remmick probably had already lost his mind for even considering it. But what else could it be?
After making him come for the third time, Smoke finally granted him reprieve. He crawled back up and immediately kissed him, sloppily, telling Remmick, “This is what you taste like.”
He melted into the kiss, gladly taking what Smoke was offering, face wet with his fluids. Remmick felt like he could die. Was this a declaration of love? It had to be.
Yeah, he’d totally gone and lost his mind.
His thoughts were interrupted when Smoke very slyly slid inside his wet, gaping hole, shivering with erratic breaths as Smoke pushed in. Remmick felt so full, stuffed to the brim with Smoke’s fat dick. He thought about how perfectly they fit together. How his cunt sucked Smoke’s cock hot and tight.
A few seconds too late when Remmick realized Smoke had broken the kiss and was staring at him, expression inscrutable. He’d seen that look before, but never this intense—brows bunched together, eyes hard and rapt. Remmick’s heart stuttered. He was so fucked, he realized. No denying it any longer—he was madly in love with Smoke Moore. A tear managed to sneak out of his eye, and before he could wipe it off so Smoke wouldn’t see, his lover’s thumb was already at the side of his face, gently caressing his cheek and wiping off the tear.
Smoke opened his mouth, like he was about to say something.
Time stopped for Remmick. He froze in place, terrified at the words that would possibly come out of Smoke’s mouth, because he knew it was something they could never come back from. It would be crossing a line that had never been crossed before. He wasn’t sure if he wanted that. He wasn’t ready for this to end; he didn’t want to be cruel to himself and hope for more.
Smoke saved him the trouble of finding out by suddenly shutting his mouth, biting his lip while he thrust hard, eliciting filthy moans from Remmick’s mouth.
And then they were transported to another dimension, where it was only the two of them, Smoke and Remmick, bodies tangled together, connected at the hips, where Smoke pumped ruthlessly slow and hard, making Remmick feel every inch of him.
Fingers grasped against Smoke’s back muscles, nails scratching on skin.
“Faster,” Remmick begged.
“No,” Smoke insisted. “Just like this.”
“Fuck.”
“I know.”
Remmick let out a groan, loud and guttural, as Smoke gave it to him good—steady, deep, and wet. He did not change his pace, and it just made Remmick all the more soaked. The sounds each time Smoke pushed in were filthy—a wet squelch followed by skin slapping, sweat, and slick mingling—an erotic beat that was music to Remmick’s ears.
He lost himself in it. The feeling of Smoke inside him, the frantic thudding of his heart, the flips his stomach was doing, the unholy sounds coming from both their throats—louder than ever, letting each other know how good it felt.
I know.
The phrase haunted him. What the fuck did Smoke mean by that? Did he feel the same way Remmick did? Or was Smoke just too cuntstruck at the moment that he ended up babbling words he didn’t mean?
But there was something different about this night; the air around them sizzled, the atmosphere was charged, and they bathed in each other’s sweat as they moved positions, trying out different angles, to find a way for Smoke to hit deeper. He seemed like a man with a mission. Remmick could only hope it aligned with his wishes.
Please, he pleaded silently, even though it was probably futile—just a possibility, even a small one. Please.
Smoke once again manhandled him to change positions. He seemed impatient and now had Remmick on all fours, fucking him from behind. He suddenly quickened his pace, but maintained the same intensity, pushing in fully, balls slapping hard on his ass, hands gripping tightly on his hips.
It was an overload of emotions and sensations that Remmick just hung his head limply, relishing the push and pull of Smoke inside him. He’d gone even faster now, jostling him around, and then a hand gripped his throat and pulled him backwards. Remmick felt like putty, boneless, with only Smoke holding him up.
He arched his back as Smoke pounded into him, ragged breaths against each other’s mouths, which was followed by a rough, uncoordinated kiss. Fingers twisted on Remmick’s nipple before moving down to assault his clit.
Oh, dear God, Remmick thought helplessly. Smoke wanted him destroyed, and there was no way of stopping him. Best to give him what he wanted, even if that meant Remmick losing whatever shred of dignity he had left and coming undone once again at the hands of Smoke Moore.
He started trembling; it was all too much. Smoke’s lips trailed kisses on his exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The hand clasped on his neck made sure he stayed put to take the barrage happening down his cunt. Smoke’s fingers, Smoke’s cock. His entire world was all Smoke.
Remmick’s knees gave out, and he found himself facedown on the pillows, Smoke’s warm body covering him from behind. The hand that was on his neck was now a forearm braced across. Smoke spread his knees, opening Remmick’s thighs wider so he could hit inside deep. Fingers snaked down Remmick’s groin so Smoke could play with his cunt, light and teasing, contradictory to how Smoke pummeled hard from behind.
This is it; this is the moment I die.
Remmick was surprised he still managed to conjure a thought when Smoke was grunting softly in his ear at each push inside. Smoke did not hold back, fucking into him fervently. From then on, it was ragged breaths and sweat-slicked skin sliding against one another. Smoke held him close, whispering filthy words in his ear as he battered his cunt—Fuck you! You have no idea how good you feel, you fuck! Why you like this? Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!—a cacophony over and over, it was meant to sound angry but somehow came out reverent. All Remmick could do was grunt, exhausted and overused, but he wouldn’t stop for anything, not until Smoke finally got what he needed from him.
It felt surreal, like teetering on the edge of a dream. The only things visible were Smoke’s warm brown skin glinting in the moonlight and the wet sheets on his face. He was so gone. Remmick had lost count of how many times he’d come and was only holding on to the last crumb of energy that remained in his body.
Smoke still kept going, still unsatisfied, still unable to get enough of him.
I can’t stop, Smoke spat in his ear before taking it in his mouth and biting it, just as he flicked his fingers deftly on Remmick’s cunt that had him spilling wetness on the sheets and his soul levitating to another plane of existence as he came once again, hard and pathetic, with Smoke’s words trailing like an echo—I can’t stop, I can’t stop, I can’t stop…
The world went dark for a second or two as he experienced peak euphoria like never before. A warmth in his chest slowly crept along with the heat down below, Smoke inside him, and the wild thrumming of his heart. Was this what it was like? To be in love? He felt like he wanted to burst out of his skin.
“D-don’t stop,” Remmick managed to mumble, drool spilling out the side of his mouth and into Smoke’s arm.
“I’m close,” Smoke breathed as he thrust his hips hard enough to jostle both of them, hard enough to bruise Remmick’s cervix. Then he did it over and over, which could only mean one thing.
Oh shit, the time for truth. They’ve fucked raw plenty of times, but Remmick could count in one hand the times Smoke came inside him—two—and both times he was on the pill. He wasn’t on it now; he hadn’t been for a while. He thought Smoke knew that. Maybe Smoke didn’t care. Maybe he wanted to flirt with danger. Maybe, just maybe….
It was wishful thinking, but maybe…
Remmick decided to go for it. Why the fuck not? What had he got to lose? He was fucked stupid to the point of delusion. He didn’t want even to think anymore, just follow what his body wanted, perhaps deserved.
“Inside,” Remmick breathed. “Come inside me.”
Smoke’s consistent pace stuttered for a beat. Remmick didn’t give a fuck. He said what he wanted. Whatever.
To his delight, Smoke grabbed his hair and pushed into him. Their bodies pressed harshly against each other, as if yearning to meld into one.
Only Smoke’s hips were moving, fast and hurried, chasing something. The sound of skin slapping loudly against skin was obscene, made even worse when Smoke tilted his hips at an angle so incredible that Remmick’s eyes rolled back and his jaw dropped. He looked like a proper fucked out mess. Then Smoke drilled his cock in—rough, brutal, careless. Groaning as he did.
This was it. Remmick knew when Smoke was close because he became way more selfish, intense, and greedy. Incredibly careless, battering Remmick’s abused cunt like there was no tomorrow. One push, two, three, then his hips stuttered.
“Inside,” Remmick begged once more—one last try.
Smoke pushed in and buried himself, pulling Remmick closer to him, and there, a shudder, as Smoke cried out and Remmick felt hot, wet cum shoot inside him. It seemed to go on forever. Smoke’s hips twitched, and he came and came and came, moaning right by Remmick’s ear. He whimpered along, elated at the feeling of Smoke’s thick cum inside him.
One final tremble and Smoke slumped against his back, panting wildly. How Remmick wanted him to stay there, body heavy on his.
Harsh breaths filled the room, both men too fucked out to say anything. Smoke moved gently off Remmick and settled on his side, immediately pulling him to his chest.
“No, you’re staying right here,” Smoke told him in between gasps. He was still inside. He could feel cum and slick leaking out and around Smoke’s softening dick, but Smoke made no move to pull out. Instead, he reached a hand to the nightstand for a cigarette. Remmick heard the click of a lighter, and the smell of tobacco wafted in the air. The smell of Smoke. It brought on instant comfort.
Remmick could barely move, just stared at the window, and at Smoke’s arm that was wrapped around his chest, fingers drumming along his ribs. Smoke was still inside.
The filter of a cigarette and fingers that tasted of his cunt found Remmick’s lips; he inhaled and savored the almost narcotic effect of the nicotine, immediately lulling the frenzied energy.
Once the cigarette was burned down to the filter, Smoke stubbed it in the ashtray, then pulled Remmick closer and nuzzled the back of his neck. He felt Smoke’s body relax, heartbeat slowed, and finally, soft snores that tickled his skin.
Remmick couldn’t sleep, not yet. He was too fired up from what had just happened. His mind was going places he knew he shouldn’t dare to.
Smoke came inside him. Smoke’s soft cock was still inside him. Smoke held him tight in his grasp.
Which could mean nothing.
Yeah, that was a better way of going about it. Expect nothing and you won’t be disappointed. Just take what’s given to you and treasure it. This would just be this—them having wild, hot sex—and that was it. Nothing more.
Remmick’s heart ached quietly as he stared at the window. He had everything he wanted in his life right at that moment, and he knew it wouldn’t last. So he decided to make the most out of it. Committing to memory every detail of this night—Smoke’s expression while fucking him, the way his body felt right now enveloping him, the fuzz of Smoke’s beard on his bare shoulder, the soft glow of the moonlight on their skin, even the beat of Smoke’s breathing, the scent of tobacco and sex and sweat. Smoke’s soft dick nestled in his drenched cunt, the cum that was inside him.
Remmick absorbed it all.
Some time had passed, and Remmick’s eyes were finally losing their battle to sleep, drooping, when he heard it. Again.
The mumbling.
“I…”
Smoke was mumbling again. It was too incoherent to make sense of, so he thought nothing of it. Then he felt lips on his shoulder—a soft kiss.
And clearer than ever that he could hardly believe it, Smoke whispered right by his ear before retreating into slow, sleepy breaths — “…love you.”