“Matthew...” Wherever my wide-eyed reverie had led me, whatever it was that enthralled my insides—it was instantly forgotten, lost to the sound of his voice as it snared me back into the passenger seat of my car. I blinked to find that my eyes had never left the boy who sat across from me, whose expression seemed flawless—brown eyes that charmed sadness right out from under the world, that mole that marked out character more than his barely smudged eyeliner, his lips that weren’t remembering his own classic pout... With eyes trailing down past his neck and past the creases that now patterned his crushed waistcoat, my awareness came to rest in his lap, where I saw another expression—the one of his need. His cock was hard again, still slick with my spit. Something in the back of my head repelled the sight, trying to ignore it, trying to hold on to this boy again within the frame of only what I wanted to see. Because his bared lower body reminded me of Illyas; from the waist down, Brandon needed more than I could give him. It was a hit below the belt, with all puns intended, that Illyas was the one who could fulfill those needs. I knew, because Illyas had satisfied mine. The boy’s thighs were pale; even in the dark his skin was a milky white radiance, as if his skin trapped the moonlight to let it then permeate right back out from his pores. It was a sight so mystical... I was afraid I was still in my reverie. Everything surrounding us was layered with the kind of calm that floats around when you’re completely by yourself. But here I was in it and with this beautiful boy. I turned my gaze up to his waistcoat. Something had distracted me. Something was different about it, and it wasn’t just its new crumple. It took me a moment before I realized his hands, which were ever-so-slowly undoing the buttons of the waistcoat. A lump knotted in my throat, my breath caught and held—as if his hands were clasping my buttons up to my neck. Again, my desire for him peaked. And I watched with both awe and trepidation as his bottom button was undone, his upper body and arms twisting though he seemed to merely have to shrug before his waistcoat was taut against his shoulders. I watched as he peeled the layer off himself, my excitement earnestly raging for the sight of more of his skin. “Help me with my tie,” he barely whispered across the division between us. Before I could think, I was moving forwards, my arms reaching out for the turquoise silk. Inching the rest of my body closer, my fingers found the knot at his throat as they shook to loosen it. I pulled at a length of the material, unraveling a part of myself in the process, and when I finally held a silken length in each hand, I couldn’t make myself let them go. Slowly though, I dragged my light clasps down the strips of his tie, buying myself time before I would have to release them at the ends. But he relieved me of that chance, his palm clasping over both my hands midway in their journey, tightening my grip. I couldn’t tell which was smoother, the silk or his skin; they seemed to blend into one, my hands insignificant among the fusion. What happened next was too elegant, too precise, too practiced—I couldn’t help but momentarily wonder how many times he had done this before. With his free hand he rolled the seat all the way back from the steering wheel, then the hand on mine over his tie led me to join him in the driver’s seat... just as fluidly as his body rose and made the seat available for me to slide into. I was clumsy in contrast to his agility, but his eyes were focused on mine unwaveringly through the process, never letting me slip into self-consciousness. He was now standing with his back hunched in the limited space the car’s hood provided. He was leaning forwards at the waist, his lower body obscenely bare, his pants at his ankles... his upper body hovering over my seated quivering. My hands were still fixed on his tie. It was a mind-blowing reversal of imagery and context, which I relished without full understanding; I had been led by my own tie numerous times before, but never had I been led while holding another’s leash... I blinked when I felt his hand dragging my hands down the silk, their journey completed when my hands fell into my own lap. Only then did I realize what he must’ve already noticed. I was hard. I was very hard. And the moment this dawned upon me, I suddenly felt the exquisite pain of my dick strained against the stiff denim of my jeans. I think I let out a groan, because he smiled a mischievous smile above me, then grazed his fingers over the bulge in my lap. That slightest touch sent off fireworks in my eyes that continued even after I squeezed them tightly shut. I definitely groaned then. My hands were moved to my sides, my zipper was pulled down; my eyes remained closed. I didn’t know what was happening and I didn’t want to. A part of me recognized that Brandon hadn’t only broken Illyas’ rules when he let me suck him off again; Brandon had broken one of his own. I understood the feeling. When I let Tony be with me in the way he did... that night... there was the sense of... breaking. Like it wasn’t what I needed, yet it still felt too good to resist. And when I didn’t resist, there was that sense of failing myself... Breaking. With Brandon, he had given me what I wanted—letting me wrap my lips around him was a gift—and now he had to reclaim his position. On his knees, with his mouth, in his throat, and with his need flung out into the open. In a distant, semi-conscious way... I understood. And my understanding was an irony that I knew justified why tonight would be all that I’d ever have with this boy... who now had his arms on my thighs, his hands on my waist, his breath warm on my erect penis. When I felt his lips, I just about died. Illyas had been right. From his mouth, this boy had a miracle just waiting to happen. And it was happening around my dick. My eyes shot open to see him with barely the tip of my cock wrapped by his lips. I didn’t know how he was doing it. It was that little suction, that little flick of his tongue along the underside of my cockhead, that little way his lips would quiver and pucker... I took a deep breath to keep my lungs—and my cock—from exploding. He was taking his time, taking me someplace else altogether. I realized that I had always sucked on cock in an inept fervor, too wound in the desperate urgency of having it fucked into my face... But this boy had skills. Or magic. Most possibly both. And yes, I was thinking while he was blowing me. I had no choice if I wanted to keep from coming before I could fully take in the lusciousness of the sensations he was coaxing from me... And god did he look so fucking beautiful with his lips pursed around a slick cockhead; it brought tears to my eyes. Illyas had been right. “Shit... Brandon... Don’t...” With the tip of his tongue hooked under the ridge of my circumcised cockhead, he was pulling me deeper into his mouth just as his neck leaned forwards. His eyes were gleaming with all the things I couldn’t read, as he stared into me, my cock disappearing past his lips. The feel of the slow firm stroke that the tight ring of his lips delivered over me was a pleasure that was impossible to dampen. I closed my eyes and came into his mouth, my fingertips digging into the sides of the leather seats, my entire body tense and jerking, torn between sinking itself into the chair and pushing itself towards the face in my lap. Even as I was coming, riding wave after wave of the orgasm he had brought me to, Brandon kept sucking; and even when his face finally buried itself into my groin, his throat worked around my shuddering cock. I was squirming against the chair and his face, my cock still hard and twitching wildly in his mouth even after I had shot the last spurt of come my balls had to offer. Brandon’s face was still slithering in my lap, twisting in circles and from side to side as his throat continued to tickle and squeeze at my dick. My open-mouthed silence finally released a long high moan—to which Brandon responded by finally groaning as well. My mind picked up on the exquisite sound but it was immediately lost to the sensations that his voicebox stirred around my cock. It was overwhelming—the collective of the sight of him that I kept catching through fluttering eyelids, the sounds of his moaning against my cock in his throat, the goddamn feel of his soft wet tongue that had never stopped slipping over the length of my cock and now around its base...My hands needed to pull him off but they couldn’t be torn from their vice grip on the sides of the chair. I closed my eyes as tightly as they would. “Brandon... God... Please...” I needed to come again so badly but my balls had nothing left to give either of us. The pleasure though kept building from his unfalteringly consistent manipulation of his lips, tongue, throat, neck... God, he was using every extendable muscle to keep me now violently writing on the seat and against his face. I couldn’t keep the moans in my chest anymore and I let them howl out my open mouth, raw and without reserve. With a slurp and a pop, his mouth glided off me, and even that brought a sensation of such relief that it only heightened the pleasure. The loud guttural groan that escaped me surprised us both; Brandon licked his lips and smiled amidst his heavy breathing. Biting his lower lip for a quick moment—the image fresh and divinely naughty, caught in my mind’s eye—he suddenly got off his knees and turned his back to me, bending his knees again only as he lowered his ass towards my lap. I managed to yelp his name as I realized what he was about to do. “Brandon?” But he ignored me, reaching an arm back to grasp at my cock and positioning it for his ass. “No... Wait... Brandon, please...” Again, he ignored me, as I then choked on a breathless gasp as I felt the fiery jolt that shot through me—my cockhead pushed into his hole. “Ohmygod...” I choked again. I couldn’t breathe. His hand was at the base of my bloated dick. I felt an inch of me sink into him. He had his other hand supporting himself on my upper thigh, which shook me as I felt his whole body quiver. Another inch of me was pushed in. Our breaths were caught at the same time, both of us barely breathing amidst the torrent of whimpers and gasps that were left uncontrolled. When he pushed another inch of me into him, he yelped out loud, and the bolt that went through me made my jaw drop so violently that it hurt. My eyes tore open to see the muscles of his back straining against the thin white of his shirt—almost transparent, being soaked in his sweat. His head was bowed; I could see the tension in the back of his neck as he braced himself. God, I knew everything his body was feeling... but the feelings that were running through me were foreign. Deliriously gorgeous, but foreign. He suddenly released his hand from the base of my cock while pushing the rest of my hardness into himself, and I screamed. My eyelids froze, half-closed, my entire face contorted... “Ohgod.” It wasn’t so much groaned as it was strangled out from me. The inside of him was burning against my sensitive flesh. All I could feel was his amazing tightness that seemed to conform around me, uncomfortably snug. We were perfectly united. His ass on my dick was a chokehold that throttled at my neck as well; and when he started to lift himself, the constriction releasing the base of my cock by just a couple of inches, it felt like I was being wrenched apart from something wholly a part of me. Then he returned it—submerging the exposed flesh back into the enchanting abyss of his insides. And then he released me again. He was fucking himself on my cock slowly. I tried to direct my body’s capacity of feeling to where his left hand on my thigh was supporting his weight; I tried to ease the exquisite burning in my groin by feeling his slender fingers gripping onto my thigh and the pressure there that swelled and relaxed with each motion of his ass being lifted and dropped... “I need you to fuck me, Matthew...” I realized I had been stunned into a frozen stupor; this beautiful boy had been doing all the work. I also realized that... I didn’t know what to do. So I thought of Illyas. I placed my right hand over the hand he now had squeezing his own thigh. His hand was moist with my precum from when it had guided me into him. I found his fingers pulling at his flesh, at that place where I knew was encouraging new pleasure from his ass and balls. Our fingers entangled for a moment before I slipped mine beneath his. It was my hand that was now kneading so far up the insides of his thigh; I could feel the muscles there clench as he continued to raise and lower his ass onto me; I could feel the heat from his crotch. His skin was deliciously damp with sweat. Did Illyas notice these things? Or was Illyas’ hand always aimed straight for this boy’s lovely cock? My fingers reached for Brandon’s stiff member. I grasped him with a pressure that I knew would hurt him. But the moment he yelped, his body jerking awfully in my lap, I instantly eased my grip. The wave of pleasure that his movements had incited though... it plunged into the bottom of my gut to join my disgrace. What was I thinking? There were too many feelings—physical and emotional—spinning in me. “Fuck me, Matthew...” he whispered between a faltering breath. His voice sounded so innocent, juxtaposed by the words he was saying. “Please, Matthew... Fuck me.” With an uncertainty I couldn’t shake, I tightened my grip on the base of his dick just enough so that my hand wasn’t slipping over his leaked precum. Then I put my left hand on his waist, crept just under his shirt and on his balmy skin. Both my hands learned of a firmness that was unfamiliar to me, when they held him down in position as I bucked my hips into him. He gasped and let out a wide-mouthed, airy moan. So I drew out and thrust myself into him again, this time keeping my cock buried into him to the hilt. He threw his neck back and moaned spectacularly. It was the encouragement that I needed, and though the insecurity never left me, my hips found a rhythm and I started to fuck him. It was done calculatedly, at first, but soon the circumstance and the sensations that were coursing through me from my own cock in his tight velvet ass took control. Brandon’s hands left my thigh and his own, his arms wrapping instead around the steering wheel as he leaned front. He was giving me room and I knew he wanted more. I shifted in my seat, finding feeling in my legs enough to lift myself forwards, forcing him with my lap and my dick to press up against the steering wheel as I pulled out of his pale ass almost all the way to then slam back into him. “Ohyeah... Fuck me, love...” His fevered mutterings punctuated both our raspy breathing. I couldn’t focus on what he was saying; I was driven by an instinct and a lust to please this boy beneath me, whose back was now pressed against my chest, my body collapsed onto his as I kept driving myself in and out of him. My hands hadn’t moved from his waist or the base of his cock. Our balance relied only on the steering wheel and our shaking bent knees, and ankles that were twisted from the pleasure that curled our toes. I was fucking him hard. My belt bit into my hipbone with each thrust into his ass. My fingers dug into his waist and tightened around his cock. The cockring it formed though, failed us... I could’ve gone on forever, feeling the burning of my cock in his ass and at the same also feeling a cock in my own ass, my soft hole stretched and yearning—it was my imagination, but I knew too well how it feels to be fucked, and I couldn’t split its sensations from reality. I really could’ve stayed in the moment forever, being in the driver’s seat with him hugging at the steering wheel, his back pressed and wriggling beneath me, my heart pounding against his spine... “Come with me,” he whispered, his voice suddenly solidifying in the mist of gasps and his previous muttering. His body lunged back against me, his ass clenching on my cock as he shook in the first signal of his orgasm. The feel of the pulsating grip on the raw nerves of my cock combined with the wails of passion that he muffled into his bicep—as he threw his face to a side... It surged through me and spewed from me. I followed his lead and came with him, my cock erupting in his ass. Our moans were so loud and so profane that it wasn’t possible to distinguish to whom each belonged. Maybe mine belonged to him... Maybe we belonged together... Maybe... “Ohgod, ohgod, ohhh...” My face was crushed into his shoulder, my hips almost-mechanically thrusting for more than the moment could possibly allow. The smell of him bursting like flowers in bloom, my nostrils striving to breathe just for its scent—while my lungs insisted on taking in air through my wide-opened mouth and lips that pressed against the moist material of his shirt. The lengths of the moments that chained the passage of time that stole around us... I couldn't tell how long it was before I realized we had both stopped fucking back against each other; how long it took before I noticed that we weren’t moving, beyond the quieting shudders of our bodies and the occasional twitches that marked the beginning of a perfect afterglow. We were catching our breaths, his face still in his arm, my cheek now leant onto his back just below his neck, turned so that I could watch his buried face. When he moved, I froze. Carefully he lifted off my softening penis, the wet slip of my dick as it fell out of his ass threatening another current of pleasure. He was moving timidly—I recognized it—his body frail, with nerves that were frenzied to readjust to the silence of reality that sex seems to recall. He held on to the steering wheel as he found his lower limbs, wriggling and nudging his back against my chest as he tried to move me off him. I lifted my weight and leaned back into the seat, with the same timidity to my movements. He turned his body around with slight difficulty, given the confinement of the car, then he avoided my gaze as he languidly moved towards the gap between the two front seats. I watched as he seemed to crawl over into the backseat, my mind clutching to the visual image of how the flawless globes of his pale rear looked between the backrests, his pants still bunched at his ankles like shackles that fumbled his movements—though barely noticeably. The backseat was too dark; when he disappeared into it, I had to strain for a clue if I was to follow. We had broken so many rules—I forget who they had belonged to, to begin with. And would this beautiful boy let us break some more? “What are you thinking?” I strained again to search for his figure in the shadows, the direction his voice came from helping slightly. I made out his blended silhouette. “Was it...” I couldn’t finish my sentence, or the thought. “I enjoyed it.” “So did I...” Again, there was so much more I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him that it was exquisite, being with him in the way we had been, together. I wanted to gush about how it would work between us, how it felt so right... how I didn’t know who he is or who I am, but I would sell my soul to have him help me find out. I kept quiet. “It was... unusual, I must say... You were... you were different,” he finally said. “Different--?” “A good different... It was nice... I mean, you were... Was it uncomfortable for you?” Was it? I nodded slightly. “It felt like you were doing it... for the first time.” He chuckled, leaning forwards to rest his chin on the backrest of the driver’s seat. His boyish good looks was devastating, his face so close to mine. He had an arm casually flung over my chest as he leaned against the seat, our bodies kept apart only by the leather and the pain I suddenly couldn't shake from my gut. I didn’t know what to say. But my reply of silence must’ve said more than I intended it to. “It wasn’t your first time, right?” He chuckled again, then caught himself. Or maybe it caught him. Because he suddenly lifted his chin from where it had been perched on the backrest; and moving slightly backwards, his smile flickered aside to be replaced with what seemed like concern. “You’ve never...?” I shook my head—again, more than I intended to do. “Shit... God, I’m... I... I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” I had to struggle with a smile, although his expression was so cordial and so filled with affection that it was melting my heart. “Come here...” Brandon whispered, leaning back again into the backseat. He drew me more with his voice than his words. And I found myself climbing into the backseat to join him.