Melt 8

Noel wakes up with the sun on his face. He's in bed, his t-shirt hitched up to his armpits. The room around him is quiet, apart from the busy hiss of the radiator. It must be cold outside--turn up the heating cold, minus ten degrees Celsius cold, the kind of cold with sparkly snow and clear blue skies--but there's no trace of the chill in the sunny bedroom.

He's too drowsy to open his eyes, but the space around him is familiar, easy to picture: a vintage iron bed, an old velvet armchair, a bookshelf with a string of fairy lights hanging on it. The sun is filtering through curtains in the color of hay. Or maybe Matthew has drawn them? The light is so very bright. Noel's cheek is smashed into a pillow that smells like Matthew, a scent so warm and safe it always makes him think his husband uses sleep and sunshine as cologne.

Somewhere in the house, water is running in the sink. Matthew whistles. Noel groans, trying to free himself of the covers and clothes twisted around his body.

He hears Matthew's soft wool sock steps in the hallway before the door squeaks. The smell of freshly brewed coffee trails in after his husband.

"Noel, baby," Matthew says. There's a twin thud as he puts down two mugs of coffee on the nightstand. "Are you awake?"

Noel rolls onto his back and stretches his arms above his head. Tendrils of sleep still cling to him like the soft cotton of the t-shirt. It's Matthew's, though the pajama pants he's wearing are his own. When he came home last night, he wanted to wear something that belonged to Matthew.

The mattress dips as Matthew sits down on the bed. A big, warm hand comes to rest on Noel's bare belly; the fingers of Matthew's other hand twine in the hem of the t-shirt as if he's considering pulling it down but thinks better of it.

"A rough shift?" he asks.

It was. A double shift, and a bad one at that. An image of the hospital's main building, standing tall and palely lit, snow billowing around it, flashes through Noel's mind--it must have been one in the morning when he finally got to leave. He was one of two doctors at the cardiac care unit after one of his colleagues called in sick. Hurried steps, quick cups of black coffee, the nurse calling again,

Dr. Davis, room three

-

He only has to think about it, and stress and anxiety begin to tighten his chest again. He tries to exhale the feeling away, but the sigh comes out tight and aborted.

Matthew smooths his hand over his belly in slow, soothing circles. "That bad, huh? They're really making you carry the whole world on your shoulders, aren't they?"

He slides down beside Noel and pulls him into a hug. He's big and warm, in a way that makes Noel feel warm too, and though Matthew is not much taller than him, in his arms Noel feels small.

"Someone should take care of you for a change," Matthew says. "You deserve it. Please. Let me take care of you today. You don't have to worry about a thing. I've already shoveled the snow and made a fire in the stove. I'll make you breakfast. We can take a walk outside later, or go to the bookstore, whatever you want."

Matthew's lips find Noel's mouth. The kiss he gives him tastes like toothpaste. Noel loops his hands around his neck and pulls him closer.

Matthew's attention always makes him feel warm all over. Small, well cared for. Sometimes, the feeling resides in his chest, like a light radiating from his heart all the way to the tips of his fingers. Other times, it's another kind of warmth: a stickier, hazier heat that comes with a guilty little twist of his stomach. Like he's not entirely deserving. But he's greedy and wants anyway.

This morning, he finds himself wanting.

He makes a little sound in his throat, wiggling in Matthew's embrace. His hips grind into Matthew's thigh: an accident, but also not.

"Oh." Matthew makes a sound of his own.

His hand comes to rest on Noel's belly again. This time with weight that feels like intention. The air in the rooms is suddenly a little denser to breathe, a thick and golden summer heat in the middle of winter.

"That's how you want me to take care of you? Baby?"

Noel feels silly. A little guilty. And he wants. He wants it so much.

Matthew's hand glides down, fingers now fiddling with the drawstrings of Noel's pajama pants. "We can do all the nice things: breakfast, walk, bookstore, all of it. But I could also make you feel really good, right here, right now. Would you like that?"

Noel can't seem to find his voice. Yes, he thinks, yes, as he feels himself sinking down into the bed. Matthew's hand is so warm. So heavy.

He wonders if he should ask for the-

But he can't-

Matthew understands.

The sheets rustle. There's the sound of the drawer of the nightstand opening. The object Matthew presses into Noel's hand is the size of a tennis ball, an IKEA dog toy with a bell inside.

Noel wraps his finger around the ball. He wasn't expecting it to go this way, this fast, but maybe it makes sense after all, with the shreds of dreams that won't leave his head and Matthew's tall frame that makes him feel so small. The outside world slowly disappears; the yellow house and the snow, the apple trees and the blue, blue sky, the room even, drift away until all that remains are the places on his body where Matthew is touching him.

"You're gorgeous like that, did you know that?" Matthew smooths Noel's hair away from his face and kisses his forehead. His voice sounds like the sun, warm and intense. "It's sexy as hell. You can keep your eyes closed, just like that. I'm gonna make you feel really good."

Matthew slides his hand down Noel's pajama pants and rubs his dick through his underwear. Noel has already melted into a puddle liquid want, and Matthew barely needs half a dozen strokes to get him fully hard. Or maybe he woke up like that: hazy from dreams, a warm ache low down in his belly, the sun shining on him and pinning him down like a lover's weight. He can't seem to remember all that clearly.

Matthew crawls on top of him, kissing the side of his neck all the way from the hollow of his throat up to his ear. He can feel Matthew's whole body against him: warm feet, long legs clad in soft sweatpants, the firmness of his abs even through his t-shirt. He's heavy, in the best of ways, his weight pressing Noel down, down towards that good place.

He's hard, too, the bulge of his erection digging into the crease of Noel's thigh. Noel tugs at his t-shirt, desperate for skin on skin.

"Don't worry, love. You'll get what you want," Matthew soothes.

As Matthew undresses, Noel pictures him on his knees on the bed, the muscles of his upper body rippling as he takes off his t-shirt and tosses it somewhere in the room. Is it one of his old heavy metal band t-shirts? Or a simple, white one? A band t-shirt, Noel decides, one of those really old ones he's had forever, with a faded logo of flames or skulls in front, soft because it's been washed a million times over. The mattress sways as Matthew takes off his sweatpants. Noel imagines the swell of his ass, his hard cock, standing straight against his stomach-

When Matthew's hands find their way back on Noel's belly, fingers looping under the waistband of his pajama pants, Noel's body has gone so heavy he can barely lift his hips off the bed. He pulls the hem of the t-shirt over his nose, inhaling the scent of laundry detergent and Matthew.

"Baby." A pair of warm hands slides up Noel's legs, all the way from his ankles to the inside of his thighs, pulling them apart, spreading them wider so that Matthew can settle in between.

Noel feels himself flush. When he's spread open like this, Matthew can see everything: his rucked-up t-shirt, his mussed hair, his heaving belly. His want. There's a swollen heat between his legs that feels like an ache.

Thighs splayed open, he also becomes aware of just how much he needs to pee.

There's a thing--a thing they sometimes do. His cock jumps at the thought. It's a buzz, a thing of heat and tacky almost-shame. A desperate, messy rush. Noel shifts his hips and whines. With Matthew in between, he can't cross his legs at all. And he really needs to-

"Oh," Matthew says.

There's a pause. The sunlight is so warm, heating up Noel's face.

"You need to go?" Matthew asks.

Noel exhales sharply through his nose. He really does.

Matthew deliberates. "Can you hold it? Just a little longer?"

Does Matthew want it too? Noel imagines his eyes, the sun lighting up the liquid dark.

"I think you can," Matthew says, and there it is: his want, bare and frayed.

He kisses Noel, hard. His hand feels so very big and heavy as he runs it from Noel's thigh onto his belly. Then he presses it down, down, right where it feels the best and the worst, punching an anguished sound out of Noel's mouth.

Matthew groans. "You really need to go, don't you?"

Noel rocks his hips onto the bed and Matthew's hand in turn, his body unsure if it wants to ease the pressure on his full bladder or ask for more. It hurts. It feels so good.

Matthew's hand keeps rubbing circles over Noel's belly, pressing down and then easing up again. Noel whines. He can feel Matthew's erection poking him, rubbing against him, reminding him of just how big Matthew is, how stiff and how hot. He lets out a weak sound of need. He wants Matthew to fuck him. He wants Matthew to stuff him full of his cock until he can't-

The first time was back when they were still living in the city, before the wedding, before the house. They were on their way home from the beach. Sweltering July heat, too many sodas in him, and the three-kilometer walk that couldn't have taken more than half an hour felt endless. Noel kept whining and complaining to Matthew how badly he needed to go. Matthew couldn't stop kissing him in the elevator. Noel rubbed himself against him, hard and desperate to piss at the same time, and somehow, at home, instead of doing the sensible thing, they ended up kissing and frotting in the bathroom until it was too late. Matthew got Noel off immediately after, and he'd never come so hard in his entire life.

Noel likes it when Matthew fucks him with his bladder full. It feels so good: the fullness, the ache, the pressure. Sometimes it makes Noel piss and come and then immediately piss again.

Matthew likes it when Noel tries to hold it. He likes seeing Noel slowly lose control.

Sometimes Matthew asks him to go in the shower. Watching it makes Matthew so hard.

Noel likes how flustered Matthew becomes, how helplessly aroused.

He also likes how blurry, how out of focus it makes himself feel. When Matthew tells him to hold it for a little longer. Go, and then stop. Until he no longer can.

Which is why it shouldn't be completely unexpected that Noel wants it now, like this, this morning, but surprised he nevertheless is. They've never done it like this. When Noel has been this under.

Matthew is still kissing and touching Noel all over, his palm drawing slow circles across Noel's belly, fingers brushing down his thighs, his hand occasionally wrapping around Noel's cock to give it a few tugs. There's so much touch, so much Matthew. Everything is so warm and melty.

"Baby." Matthew brushes Noel's cheek with his thumb. "I'm just going to get a few things. I'll be right back. Okay?"

Noel is still squeezing the IKEA ball, his fingers curled tightly around it. His face feels very red.

The ball is a thing of soft moments, something they use on sleepy mornings and drowsy summer afternoons. And now, apparently, it's also a thing of this sticky half-guilt, this gooey pleasure of knowing that Matthew will fuck it out of him, and Noel can't do a thing about it.

There's the sound of the nightstand drawer. The closet door thuds.

Then Matthew is back. "Here, I've got you," he says. A pair of warm hands takes Noel by the shoulders and urges him to roll over. The mattress cover Matthew has spread on the bed is from IKEA too--he went there to buy some nice knives and wood cutting boards but came back with a tightly folded white package with a cheery name printed on the sleeve instead. The piece of bedding is the size of a child's bed and made of soft, absorbent polyester mesh. Matthew showed him with a glass of water. Noel's face flushes even hotter as he thinks of it.

"I want you to get on your side, baby," Matthew urges. There's a gentle tug of his hip and a guiding hand at his shoulder, and soon Noel is positioned as Matthew wants him, sprawled on his side, his knee propped lightly against the mattress.

He jumps a little when a slick, cool finger touches him between his ass cheeks. Matthew makes a soothing sound. A shudder of pleasure runs through Noel as the finger slips in. Matthew starts fucking him open, spreading the lube inside of him. It's just one finger to begin with, and it's not like he feels full, not precisely, but every time Matthew's finger brushes over his prostate, it becomes a little bit harder to hold.

Noel buries his burning face in the pillow. He thinks about the pattern on it, the soft white clouds on a light blue background. The sheet set is Matthew's, he already had it when they met. He took Noel's virginity on it. Oh God. Noel can hear his own breathing, how shallow it's growing, how tight. The mattress cover feels a little damp where his cock is rubbing against it, but he thinks it's just precome. Distantly, he's a aware of the sound of Matthew's finger fucking in and out of him, so wet-

Matthew's erection is digging into Noel's thigh; he's grinding a slow rhythm there, the press of his hips in sync with the fingering. Noel bites his lip, a tremble running through his body; if he already feels like he's bursting, how much harder will it be to hold when he's stuffed full of cock?

Matthew kisses the side of Noel's neck hotly. "Ready, baby?"

He pushes Noel's legs further apart, spreading him wide and open. The slick sound of hand on cock briefly fills the room, and a moment later, Noel feels the head of Matthew's cock pressing against the pucker of his hole. Noel shifts his knee; he's lying half on his belly now, the change in position putting even more pressure on his bladder.

"Relax, baby. Relax for me." Matthew's hands knead Noel's ass, big thumbs spreading him open.

A spasm twists Noel's bladder and it's only rocking his hips forward that stops him from pissing.

I can't,

he thinks.

I can't, or I'll piss myself.

"Please," Matthew pleads, breathing his hot need into Noel's neck. "Come on. Baby. Please."

Noel lets out a stuttering breath, his skin prickling all over as he relaxes his muscles. The head of Matthew's cock slips inside the tight ring of muscle; at the same time, a spurt of piss escapes Noel. He can feel the damp trickle sliding along his thigh. His legs start shaking with the effort of stopping the stream.

Matthew freezes behind him. For a few gasped breaths, he buries his face in Noel's hair.

"Fuck," he manages. "Come on, baby. That's so good. Come on."

Noel bites the pillow, gasping his desperation into soft cotton. Matthew feels so good. He's so big, and Noel is so full-

"You can let go. I've got you, I promise," Matthew assures hoarsely. He wraps a hand around Noel's cock, giving him a loose, slick fist to fuck into as he slowly pulls out and pushes back in again. Another thrust, and Noel whimpers, piss spraying onto his leg and the polyester mesh below, before he can get control back. He's all feeling, his skin prickling from the top of his head to his legs, all the way down to his curling toes.

Matthew is breathing hard behind him, fucking into him faster now. "Oh fuck fuck fuck, baby. Come on. Just like that. Come on, baby," he begs. "It's alright. I've got you. Come on."

Noel's heart is beating like mad. He ruts his cock into Matthew's fist. He thinks of how good the release will feel. How much Matthew wants it. His belly hurts. It really hurts. And Matthew said it was alright-

With a whole-body shiver, Noel lets go. The first spurts of piss are hard and pressured. Noel whines, suddenly panicking that the mattress cover isn't big enough, that he'll wet the bed for real, but Matthew's got him, holding his cock and directing the stream down his thigh where it pours over his skin, hot and heady.

He melts into the bed, Matthew's weight pinning him down as he keeps pissing, the flow wetting Matthew's hand, running down his own leg, and drenching the mattress cover beneath.

God, there's so much, but he's too strung out on pleasure to care.

Distantly, he hears Matthew gasping as he starts coming, feels the final erratic thrusts as Matthew spills inside him.

His stream has grown steadier now, lazy, warm on his skin. His whole body is tingling with pleasure so intense it feels like a drawn-out orgasm, just as good. Absently, he notices his mouth is hanging open; the little whimpering sound he's making morphs into a moan when Matthew tightens his grip around his cock and starts stroking him. The glide of Matthew's hand is slickened by a mess of piss and precome; it feels so good Noel almost forgets to breathe.

He's not entirely sure if he's still pissing when he comes a moment later, spilling more wet all over Matthew's hand. The orgasm feels like syrup boiling, slow and gooey and hot. A warmth spreads through him, thick and drowsy, a relaxation so deep it feels like his body has gone liquid. His heart pounds as though it's trying to break free from his chest; it lurches.

Or flip-flops, as his patients sometimes say. What a funny word. Breathless and giddy, Noel pictures himself in his doctor's coat, gently explaining to a patient that it's completely normal, that it's just the heart rate increasing during arousal and physical activity, the adrenaline levels slowly coming down after. Dopamine, oxytocin, vasopressin, and endorphins kicking in.

Oh God. The gentle, measured Dr. Davis, fucked brainless. Heat crawls up Noel's neck all over again; he grabs the hem of the t-shirt and pulls it over his flushed face.

And then, for a while, there's only filtered light and soft cotton with Matthew's scent in it. Noel tucks himself into the curve of Matthew's body, pressing against his chest, as close as he can.

They cuddle like that for a long time. Noel has almost drifted to sleep when Matthew finally stirs. It's a tiny motion, Matthew softly stroking Noel's skin with his thumb, but it gently tugs at the edges of Noel's awareness. He lets out a shaky exhale.

"Shower?" Matthew suggests.

"Mhhh," Noel says. The sound of his own voice startles him, like being yanked from a dream.

"I'll carry you," Matthew says. Noel can imagine the determined look in his dark eyes.

"No need," Noel manages to croak.

"I want to, though," Matthew insists.

Noel says nothing, still not entirely there in his head. The world is only gradually starting to take shape around him. At first, it feels like only the bed exists, a ship sailing in a sea of light. Noel keeps his eyes closed as it gently sways. Then, the room appears, like an image in the old ViewMaster he played with as a kid clicking into place: the desk, the bookshelf, the white walls and the window with the light pouring in. The pillows and the duvets, their clothes lying in a heap somewhere.

God, what a mess we made, he thinks.

"Don't you even dare to worry about the laundry," Matthew says sternly. "I'll take you to shower. I'll wash your hair and then I'll make you coffee and waffles, and while you're eating - on the couch, by the way, wrapped in a blanket - I'll just quickly toss these in the washing machine. You don't have to do a thing."

He strokes Noel's side, up and down, up and down, with his big, warm hand.

"Come on, love," he says. "Let me take care of you. It's important to me. I want to."

Noel wants it too, but wanting it makes him feel so silly, so childish.