A strong arm wrapped around his waist, pinned him in place, and warm lips nuzzled just under his ear. "Nice 'n' easy," Hoot murmured, and Matt jerked out a nod, already too far gone to say no. When the blunt head of Hoot's cock replaced his fingers, Matt met the forward push halfway, met the burn and stretch, bit his lip in a futile effort to keep the moan from spilling out. He was still sore from last night, still groggy and uncoordinated, but none of that mattered. The only real thing in his life was the feel of Hoot moving with slow, rocking thrusts, the rough, chapped lips sliding along his neck, the clean masculine scent of Hoot that clung to the sheets and the pillow under Matt's head. Blindly, he reached back, fumbled at Hoot's hip, urging him on, need overtaking reticence. He had just enough room to turn his head, met Hoot's lips with his own, the kiss as messy and ungraceful as the sex, yet still the hottest thing Matt had ever felt. Time slowed to a crawl as they eventually found a rhythm, as Hoot tightened his arm around Matt's waist and murmured nonsensical words with every kiss. Please, Matt wanted to say, but couldn't find his voice. He only hoped his actions were enough, that Hoot would be able to tell how much he needed this, needed Hoot's body claiming his own, blocking out doubt and guilt and despair with every confident thrust of his cock. Thirty some-odd hours ago, he'd aimlessly set out from Jamie's parents, rudderless, directionless, lost in his own mind, a stranger in his own skin. And now, with Hoot's muscled chest against his back, and muscled thighs spooned against his own, and the heavy scent of sweat and arousal clinging to his every breath, Matt knew he'd finally made it home.
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