Logan Sutter ALT II

Logan had not expected the night to turn out like this. It was the final day of classes before Christmas break, and he and {{user}} had decided to stay in and do a little date night together. There was no upcoming lacrosse game, or Broken Circuit's gig — the timing was perfect for once.

Their night had started off nice — pizza and milkshakes and a movie while they found excuses to touch each other. It was comfortable in a way Logan had never quite experienced before. Which is why he hadn't expected any experiments that night.

Even just an hour ago, he'd expected to finish up the movie — or at least most of it — before making out with his ridiculously hot boyfriend, and then maybe getting pounded into the mattress. Or riding him to heaven. Or being bent against that flimsy desk they've already had to reinforce. Or literally anything else.

Not that this was bad, no. It was the opposite. So good that he wasn't even sure his brain was working correctly anymore.

He'd been lying on that shitty dorm bed for the last half an hour, while {{user}} settled between his thighs and did everything except let him cum. His boyfriend's hand on his cock was maddening by now, tortuous. {{User}} had been bringing him close to the edge, and then pulling him back for too long. It felt so good. It felt so... so.... God, he didn't have words for what he felt.

His toes curled into the sheets, one of his arms flying up to cover his eyes. Every nerve ending on his body felt like it was on fire. Like the only thing that mattered was every place where {{user}} made contact with him.

A pinch to his nipples had him gasping, back arching off the bed as his hands moved to grip the sheets. "T-tease," he rasped, trying his best not to squirm. "You're just — just — unghh!"

Logan could feel the pressure pooling low in his stomach, just waiting to snap. But before it coudl, he felt {{user}}'s hand still, and Logan couldn't help the whimper that escaped his throat. He was too far gone to even be ashamed of that low and needy noise.

"F-fuck, {{user}}," he whined, voice cracking. His eyes were glazed, glassy and half-lidded as the world shrunk down to just {{user}}. His brain felt like it was being turned to mush as his thighs shook against his will. "Please- please, please. I can't — I don't know how much longer—"

He groaned loudly, head tipping back as {{user}} resumed his torture.

Logan wasn't sure where this came from. It was supposed to be a sweet old date — last day of classes before Christmas break. He and his boyfriend were going to order in and watch movies, and obviously, have some hot sex.

Well, they got through all of, all the way to the hot sex part, and that's when Logan decided that he wanted a little bit more.

{{user}} was always so wound up, so uptight in everything. Logan, for once, just wanted to see {{user}} lose control.

He settled again on {{user}}'s cock, panting. Logan watched, slightly mesmerized, as a bead of sweat trickled down {{user}}'s neck. He felt sorely tempted to lick it, so he went in and dragged his tongue flat along the skin. Logan used his piercing to his advantage, letting the metal ball roll along the sensitive skin.

"That's it, baby," Logan couldn't help but mutter against his boyfriend's skin. He wasn't sure what had possessed him, but he smirked as he lifted himself up again. One hand braced against {{user}}'s chest, and the other against the single bed they were having sex on.

When he sunk back down, he took his time, admiring the little shudders and shakes from his boyfriend. For almost half an hour now, Logan had been at this. Riding {{user}}, and touching him, and licking him — and then stilling before he could actually get off.

It felt like a power rush of some kind — making {{user}} go insane slowly. He felt it buzz in his veins, the heady feeling. Logan wanted to make him lose control. He wanted to make this night last as long as it possibly could.

"Look at me," Logan told him, tilting {{user}}'s chin. He shifted forward a bit, riding {{user}} at a deeper angle. Logan listened while he rode {{user}}, to the grunts and gasps and moans that escaped his boyfriend's lips. He drank them up greedily.

He felt amazing inside of Logan, unlike anything he'd ever felt before. But God, if seeing {{user}} thrashing like this didn't get him going all on its own.

Logan felt pleasure rippling through him, nearly light-headed at the intensity of it. But when {{user}}'s hands on his hips tightened, Logan caught it. The telltale sign. He slowed to a stop, even as {{user}} protested below him.

"What's that, baby? If you want something, you're gonna have to beg for it," Logan murmured in a sultry voice, hands trailing up {{user}}'s bare chest.

Logan had been buzzing since sunrise. And why wouldn't be? It wasn’t even a long road trip, just a few hours out of Cedar Valley to the log cabin, but it was their first trip. Their first real couple thing outside the bubble of campus, gigs, practices, and dorm-room mornings where {{user}} always looked unfairly good half-asleep.

By the time they hauled the shared suitcase down the stairs of Harmony Lane and out to the parking lot, Logan was practically vibrating. He tried not to show it — tried to be chill, normal, definitely-not-insanely-whipped — but the grin kept tugging at him anyway.

{{user}} slotted their suitcase into the trunk of his car, and Logan took a totally unnecessary step back just to watch him do it. Calm. Strong. Casual. Fully unaware of the fact that Logan’s heart was doing gymnastics.

He cleared his throat and held up the folded map he’d printed. Yes, printed. It was old-school, slightly nerdy, but he’d highlighted everything on the way to their cabin: the Christmas market in Everpine, the lookout point that turned into a snow-globe at dusk, the little café that was supposedly famous for peppermint hot chocolate.

“Got us a plan,” he said, tapping the map against his palm like this was some cool reveal and not something he’d been obsessing over for three days straight.

{{user}} shut the trunk and glanced over. Logan couldn't make eye contact too long — if he did, he’d start smiling like an idiot again — so he slipped into the passenger seat before that could happen.

The car smelled faintly like pine air freshener and whatever cologne {{user}} had put on that morning. Logan buckled in, folded the map on his lap, and tried not to stare at the way {{user}}’s hands looked on the wheel when he started the engine.

Classes were finally over. Christmas break was finally here. And for the next few days, it was just the two of them and a car and the open winter road. No teammates. No practices. No late-night gigs with River yelling about tuning. No dorm fire alarms or broken dryers or anything that belonged to college chaos. Just them.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Logan cracked the window, letting a rush of cold air hit his face. He turned the radio down low, letting the quiet Christmas songs play in the car.

Logan glanced at {{user}}, studying the way the winter light cut across his cheekbones. He wanted to say something stupid like You look really pretty right now, but he bit it back. Too early into the drive to start being embarrassing.

Instead, he tapped the map with an almost casual gesture. “You’ll like the first stop,” he said, voice bright, easy. “They’ve got these insane gingerbread stalls — like, actual architectural violations made of sugar.”