I led him to the living room. The large sectional sofa was arranged with pillows and throws, the lighting dimmed to create an intimate atmosphere. I sat first, positioning myself in the corner of the sofa, and patted the space beside me.
"Come sit with me," I said, noting how Micah hesitated before approaching. "Bring your moth."
He sat beside me, still maintaining a careful distance. The moth glowed faintly in his arms, casting a soft light across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the lush curve of his lips.
"You can get comfortable," I encouraged, selecting a film to stream. Something visually engaging but that didn’t require much attention. "Lean against me if you like."
After a moment's consideration, Micah shifted, tentatively moving closer until he was positioned between my legs, his back against my chest, head resting just below my chin. The moth lay across his lap, its gentle glow illuminating his hands.
"Is this okay?" he asked, voice tight with uncertainty.
"Perfect," I assured him, allowing one arm to drape casually across his midsection. The heat of his body penetrated the thinsilk, warming my palm. His abdomen tensed beneath my touch, then gradually relaxed. "Relax. We're just watching a movie."
As the film progressed, his hand moved to rest on my forearm where it crossed his stomach. A casual touch, yet his pulse quickened, visible at his throat, a rapid flutter beneath the thin skin.
His fingers soon began to trace patterns on my skin. Light, exploratory touches that might have seemed absent-minded if not for the intentness of his focus, the careful way he monitored my reactions from the corner of his eye. Each stroke of his fingertips left trails of heat on my skin, innocent caresses that nonetheless sent blood rushing to my cock.
I remained outwardly neutral. The hunter in me understood the value of patience, of allowing prey to approach willingly, to believe the choice was theirs. His touch became more deliberate. His palm slid up my arm to my bicep, fingers gently testing the muscle. He tipped his head back slightly, looking up to gauge my response, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
I met his gaze, but said nothing.
His hand continued its exploration, moving to my chest. When his fingers brushed across my nipple through the fabric of my shirt, my breath caught audibly.
"It's alright," I murmured against his hair, inhaling his shampoo and natural musk. "You can touch me. I want you to."
His hand slipped beneath my shirt, palm flat against my stomach, fingers spread. The contact sent a jolt of heat directly to my cock. He shifted slightly, his knee brushing against my erection, a small sound escaping his throat as he registered my arousal.
"Can I..." he started, then paused.
"Tell me what you want, Micah. Use your words."
His fingers found my nipple through my shirt, circling it tentatively. The touch sent currents of pleasure straight to my cock.
"I want to touch you. Properly. Skin to skin."
A deep flush spread across his cheeks, down his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. The sight of his embarrassment mixed with desire stirred something primal in me. Beautiful.
"Then unbutton my shirt," I instructed.
He carefully began undoing my buttons. The moth slid from his lap as he turned in my arms, kneeling now between my legs, eyes fixed on the exposed skin. The sight of him kneeling before me, lips parted, cheeks flushed, sent a surge of possessive pleasure through me.
His hands were tentative at first, fingertips barely grazing my skin as if I might burn him. Then he grew more confident, palms spreading across my chest, fingers threading through the silver-streaked hair there. Curious hands explored my chest and abs, learning the texture and temperature of my body. His pupils had dilated further, breathing quickened, and the silk pajama bottoms did nothing to conceal the outline of his cock clearly visible against the thin fabric.
"You're so warm," he murmured, nails scraping lightly over my chest.
His thumbs found my nipples, pulling a breath from me. He smiled at the response, repeating the motion with more pressure. The sensation sent currents of pleasure straight to my cock, my erection straining painfully against my trousers.
"Can I..." he hesitated again, eyes flickering to my face, a mixture of hunger and uncertainty.
"Whatever you need, sweet boy. Ask for it."
"Can I taste you?" The question emerged in a rush, as if he feared his courage might desert him if he waited any longer.
"Yes, of course."
He leaned forward, lips parting as they met my skin. The first contact was a ghost of a kiss against my collarbone, so light I might have imagined it. The second, more confident, pressed into the hollow of my throat, warm and soft. By the third, his tongue had joined his lips, tasting the salt of my skin with a tentative lick that sent a jolt of electricity down my spine.
"You taste good," he whispered against my chest. "Salt and... something else. Something that makes me want more."
