Follow the River

“River. No,” I pant, the lust in my voice causing the words to come out no louder than a hoarse whisper.

Either he didn’t hear me or he doesn’t give a fuck, because he doesn’t stop.

“Why do you fight it, baby?” he whispers, his breath hot on my neck. “Why do you deny yourself when you know I can make you feel so good?” It’s not a taunt, but a legitimate question. One, for the life of me, I don’t have the answer to.

His fingers swiftly unfasten the button of my own jeans right before his hand slips down inside both them and my briefs to make contact with my aching cock. A hiss escapes my lips as his fingers curl around my length, but it is promptly hushed by another scorching kiss. With a firm grip on me, he starts jacking me slowly, using his free hand to tug my jeans down past my ass.

“River, stop.” The words, like my protest, are weak.

Powerless.

We both know it.

Still, River releases my cock, and I groan in protest. Or thanks? After all, he did what I asked.

Except he didn’t, because then he drops to his knees right there in the fucking snow and takes me into his warm, velvety mouth, sucking me deep just like he did in the locker room. His head bobs on my cock, the tip hitting the back of his throat a few times.

I’ve got to hand it to the guy. Even though I’d never admit it aloud on my deathbed, he gives the best head I’ve ever received.

And deepthroats like a fucking champ.

“Please,” I plead.

He has to stop. We can’t keep traveling down this path of destruction.

This. Has. To. Stop.

Because I’m not gay.

His words from the hotel after the away game in Portland come rushing back to me.

“A mouth is a mouth, doesn’t matter if it belongs to a girl or a guy.”

Fuck. Me.

River releases my cock with a pop, causing me to shudder at the now cold, icy feeling wrapping around my length from the frigid temperature in the air. It doesn’t last long, though, because the fire between us continues to ensue.

He pulls his own cock from his jeans and I take a moment to marvel at it. I hadn’t seen it in the shower the other day, so this is my first glimpse of it.

And sweet Jesus, it’s fucking...more than perfect, whatever that might be.

Thick and long, rivaling my own nine inches, with the slightest curve upward and a silky mushroom crown. Pre-cum glistens against the tip and I’m horrified by the instinctual urge I have to lick it clean.

Because I’m not gay.

River rises from his knees, catching where my gaze is focused, and smiles. I feel the tips of my ears burning red as he licks his lips and leans in, his mouth a whisper from my own.

“It’s okay, Rain. You can look all you want. I already know you want me too.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to deny it, but I don’t have the chance before he spits in his palm before pressing into me again, taking both our cocks into his large hand. His mouth descends on mine once more and he nips at my bottom lip as he begins jacking our cocks together.

Shit. This is going too far.

I’m able to rationalize his blowjob and even fucking him in the shower. Those are things that could and did happen with any number of the girls I’ve been with.

But two dicks rubbing together?

No one with eyes could stand there without coming to the conclusion that this is about as gay as it can get.

And for fuck’s sake, I’m. Not. Gay.

I. Don’t. Want. This.

Except… I do.

“River,” I cry against his lips. My resolve is begi

It’s catastrophic.

Because Jesus Christ, I’ve never done anything like this. And if that isn’t terrifying in itself, let's add in the fact that nothing has ever felt this good.

“Rain,” he groans, repeating the nickname that…fuck, I don’t hate it from his lips anymore. Not right now, in this moment.

Our cocks slide together in his palm, coated with his saliva. He twists his hand around the heads, gathering the precum from both our crowns and spreads them down our lengths. My hips can’t help but jerk with his strokes, the added lubrication from our mixed juices helping our dicks glide against each other without friction.

I feel my balls begin to draw up in the telltale sign I’m about to come.

Shit.

“River, please,” I sob out the plea, but I don’t know what I’m begging for anymore. My mortification of this encounter will only increase exponentially if he finishes me off. Because I can’t write off this untamed desire for a third time. Because he will know, without doubt, my body wants him, even when my mind doesn’t.

And he will have gained the upper hand.

But even still.

I don’t want him to stop.

River takes my bottom lip in his mouth and tugs it between his teeth, biting hard enough to draw blood at the same time he squeezes our cocks in his firm grasp on an upward stroke.

“Fuck, Rain. I need you there with me,” he pants, licking the blood from my lips.

And as the coppery taste of my own blood fills my mouth and our dicks are clutched together so tightly they might as well be one, I come like I’ve never come before.

Pleasure shoots up my spine and straight to my fucking brain as my hot, sticky cum spills out over River’s hand. He continues to stroke me through my orgasm and bring himself to his own climax, all while still lapping at my wounded mouth and pride like it's the best thing he has ever tasted.

To him, it might be.

That might be the most agonizing part of all of this.

Even with every fight I put up and every victory I claimed against him, they all just became completely meaningless.

Because while I may have won countless battles, he’s won the fucking war.

I look down at the mess of cum and spit and fucking dignity between us, a couple silent tears of defeat slide down my cheeks. They mix with the blood dripping over my lip before he manages to lick those from my face as well.

Fuck me, I haven’t cried or found myself vulnerable with another human in years.

It had to be him who changed that feat.

Releasing me, River bends to wipe his hand off in the snow, and like the animal he is, picks up a handful to clean off his cock as well before tucking himself back into his clothes and standing in front of me.

I expect the look on his face to be smug or even triumphant.

Instead I only see conflict.

Gentler than he has ever touched me before, he cups my tear-stained face in his hands and places a soft, sweet kiss on my swollen lips. His tenderness is giving me whiplash. It’s like he is a completely different person now.

His lips move over mine, and goddamn me, I kiss him back.

Once. Twice.

A third time.

He pulls back and brings his forehead to rest against mine, our lips are a whisper apart. I keep my eyes closed as I feel his breath caress my lips.

“Accept this is who you are, so you can start to enjoy being stranded in a fucking cabin in the woods with me for another four weeks.”