Slow Rush

The first time is rough, not like he wants it to be. He caresses Hiro’s body, dropping comforting kisses on his shoulder, but a nervous tension persists in his muscles. He turns him back around, kissing the pain away, shushing his mumbled apologies with gentle words. The first time is always difficult.

The next night, he urges Hiro to take him, teaching him how to thrust, how hard, how fast. He lies on his back, Hiro moving on top, kissing his mouth, hungry hands sliding, groping. Hiro’s a virgin to this kind of love and Kensei glories in the privilege of being the first man to ever touch him like this. Through full throated cries, he lets Hiro know how wonderful he makes him feel. Hiro’s own pleasure sparks against him, feverish, his eyes dark and wild as the forest outside.

Such joyful activities fill their nights, hour after hour brimming with heated skin melding against heated skin. Kensei basks in the enthusiasm gripping Hiro as he explores the possibilities from the soles of Kensei’s feet to that sensitive spot behind his ear and Kensei returns the favor, more than willing. Few things have ever given him as much pleasure as kissing down the sweet curve of Hiro’s neck, down the smoothness of his chest, his stomach, his abdomen, down, down and Hiro arches against him, pleading, moaning, and Kensei gives everything he has to offer just to hear his voice curl up, reaching up to the sky.

One night, (he loses track of when) Hiro pulls back from their kiss and looks deep into his eyes. “Fuck me,” he says, those precise words, and the world dips under Kensei’s body as a flame of desire rushes through him. He wants to turn him over, make it easier, but Hiro shakes his head, wrapping a leg around his waist, smiling that pretty smile, and Kensei is unable to resist. He prepares him, slowly, lovingly, and Hiro squirms, ready this time, and after one too many impatient nudges, Kensei lies atop him and enters him. Hiro gasps into his mouth, his eyes closing, but no pain mars his face. Kensei moves and Hiro moves with him, staring at him with such ardent want that soon they’re rocking together, slow grind of ecstasy thrumming through their bones. Kensei strokes him, hard length sweltering in his palm, and they kiss, short, gasping brushes and Kensei holds him tighter as Hiro comes, splashing white on his stomach. He’s not far behind, bending into Hiro, and he lies still.

“Hiro,” he murmurs, his voice nearly soundless. “I... I...”

Hiro slides a reassuring hand down his back.

“I know,” he smiles, kissing him slowly. “I know.”