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He remembered the first time it happened, his very first time. There was a haze of alcohol, of course, not much was happening back then without it, and there was the excitement, the one that almost feels like dread, wrenching your gut deep down, making it almost like you were about to be sick. He was clumsy and unsure, trying to play it cool and failing miserably as he took too much in and choked, immediately dreading the laughter that would most likely come straight away. There was no laughter though, just a moan and a hand tightening in his hair, not pulling or pushing, just holding on, and that little gesture was both so rewarding and so arousing that Gary forgot instantly about his fears and just went for it. And never looked back since.
It wasn't like giving head became his favourite pastime, quite contrary, actually. It was messy and required an amount of concentration that sometimes was seriously getting in the way of his own pleasure. There was just no way for him to be sucking someone off and stroking himself at the same time. It was just too distracting as he could focus only on one thing at a time and so he'd either start giving a sloppy head or lose his erection. He stopped trying to be a porn star after few failed attempts and it instantly got better, for both him and whoever was on the receiving end.
Of course not everyone would be on the receiving end either. Gary didn't like strangers, didn't like the idea of himself being in such vulnerable position in front of some random bloke, didn't like stranger's hands clutching at his hair, restraining him, demanding anything from him. Besides, it was disgusting. Cocks were, that was. Some looked funny, some smelled even worse, and there was just no appeal in the very act, all the slurping and slobbering and then come... gross.
But there were times when he wouldn't mind, there were people he wouldn't mind. There were cocks he loved, hands in his hair he longed to feel, tastes and smells that weren't different from the others and yet they were, special, unique, just for him. There was this amazing feeling, a slow heavy burning low in his stomach at the sound of small, muffled cries of passion, the muscles tightening in the forearms, thighs, stomach, right before the orgasm would strike.
There were those shivers under the skin and quiet gasps at the tiniest lap of his tongue and touch of the fingers, raspy voice that would beg breathlessly, please, more, faster, god dammit, Gaz, don't stop, please, don't stop!
There was a power in it, he learned, a power of his own restrain, of his focus, of the way he would give it all to the man under him, in front of him, and the funny looking body part would change, too, into something amazing, arousing, something that made his mouth water, something that he wanted to explore and please and worship.
He didn't feel bad, down there on his knees, no, it was a good place. It was the right place for him to be, his fingers wrapped around the hard flesh, his tongue darting out to lick around the exposed head, once, twice, moving to the top with a broad lick only to stop and gently tease the slit with the tip, tasting the bitter drops of precome. He'd look up then, wanting to see the eyes staring back at him, blown pupils and this small frown between the dark brows, those pretty lips parted, twisted with pleasure already, and then he would slowly move down, letting his lips seal over the hard cock, letting them squeeze the length as he went further, his tongue pressed firmly against the sensitive underside.
It was and art, everything about it was. The speed, the pressure, the little flicks of his tongue here and there, the deep dives, right till his comfort zone and sometimes past it, so his throat would contract, fighting the gag reflex. It was all about loving it, really, loving the smell and the taste, here and now, loving the sight of the purple head, swollen and glistening with his spit whenever he’d pull out to take a tiny break. It was about the obscene sounds, gasps and moans and curses, it was about the hips jerking in response and the fingers tightening in his hair, holding him in place, pulling him down and then pushing away.
It was all about the taste, bitter and smoky, hot and sticky in his mouth, swallowed instantly or kept in for longer so a bit could trickle out onto his chin. It was all about the stickiness and messy feeling on his parted lips, his cheeks, his nose and chin, falling on his skin like soft silky threads as he just waited there, sitting on his heels, with his eyes closed and his face tilted up, shivering with this not-exactly sexual pleasure.
It was all about the way Rob would sag against him afterwards, pulling him closer and babbling happy words and curses alike, trembling lips moving all over Gary's soiled face, impatient tongue lapping at the mess, licking it off his skin, his lips, sucking it out of his mouth, wanting to share the pleasure and the consequences alike.
This - this wasn't anything like their first time, this wasn't anything like the few random encounters he'd had with other people. This was what Gary wanted all along, this was how he wanted it, this was who he wanted to have it with, every time, all the time.
"Fuck, how I missed it... I don't even know how I could live without it," Rob would mutter against Gary's raw lips, and Gary would smile, feeling stupidly accomplished and not so stupidly happy.