Shivers

Erotic short. A young man kisses an older bear.

500w. Rated M. Some touch starvation and shivers, kissing in a man’s lap.

“Come here, lad,” says Ruadhrí, and Anton has to brace himself, takes in a slow and sucking breath that rattles his rib cage not because it’s painfully cold or because it’s that laborious, but just because he’s already trembling, because he can’t work the shake from under his skin.

He stumbles when he comes forward, knocks against the table, and waits for Ruadhrí to say something, to make a sly comment or insult him, but he doesn’t do either: he just delicately shakes his head and gestures for him to keep coming, which Anton does, stepping around it, coming to perch himself on Ruadhrí’s thigh.

He’s got them spread apart, both of them huge, thick, and powerful, and it’s a soft seat under his arse but he still flinches when he feels the muscle flex, utterly overwhelmed by how hot Ruadhrí’s body is — not just the thigh underneath him, warm and plush, but the swell of his belly under the soft fabric of his black t-shirt, nudging against Anton’s own, the stark contrast between the warmth of his thighs and his belly and the cool touch of his leather vest.

One of Ruadhrí’s hands, broad and strong-fingered, comes to settle on his lower back, and Anton can’t help the breathless noise that ekes out of him, the way his whole body ripples. Ruadhrí’s touch is firm, and he doesn’t pull away: his palm presses closer, strokes flat against Anton’s lower back, slides up between his shoulder blades and then back down again and it rolls through him like a wave.

Ruadhrí gives him a few moments to adapt, to accustom to his touch and the radiating heat of his body, more than that, the comfort of it, the beat of his heart and the even rhythm of his breathing.

Anton’s body continues to shake and tremble, even as he takes his breaths slowly and attempts to control it, attempt to lock it down. It won’t happen, his heart pounding so hard and fast in his chest he feels like a prey animal, and yet at the same time, he feels safer than he ever might have been, ever could be — there is no predation here, only complete safety, so why won’t his heart realise that, or his jangling fucking nerves?

He tips forward, drops his hand against Ruadhrí’s chest when he almost tips out of his lap, steadies himself, and he’s leaned in so that his breath is touching Ruadhrí’s lips, Ruadhrí’s breath tickling over his own, over his cheek, his nose, and then Ruadhrí grabs at his hair with his other hand and hauls Anton in for a kiss.

It shocks him like a bolt of lightning, his whole body jumping and shuddering, and he’s terrified that Ruadhrí is going to shove him away, that he’s going to make him lean back and talk about it or explain, and Anton can’t, couldn’t bear to, couldn’t bear —

Ruadhrí’s lips open against his, coaxing Anton closer, and Anton’s moan is shuddery and full of want as he kisses him back, surging to meet him. His whole body shudders and jumps, his hands feeling weak, his knees like jelly, but Ruadhrí gives him the stability to keep him from falling.

He straddles Ruadhrí’s thigh and his hips jump at the sudden burst of pleasure it sends searing through him, and Anton clutches at him as he presses their bodies as close as he can get them.