Close to Heaven

Riley woke before the sun.

The bedroom was still dim, the edges of Chase's blackout curtains soft with early morning haze, but Riley’s body knew it was time. He eased himself out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake his boyfriend. Chase was sprawled out on his stomach, one arm flung over the pillows, his sculpted back rising and falling with deep, contented breaths. Riley paused just a second to take in the sight—how gorgeous he looked asleep, the light dusting of hair along his arms, the way his jaw flexed even in rest. His man.

His.

Riley tip-toed silently across the floor, bare feet on cool wood, tugging Chase's hoodie around his shoulders. It hung off him like a dress, oversized and warm and saturated with Chase’s scent. It didn't cover much—not the curve of Riley's thighs, not the swell of his ass, certainly not if he bent over, but that was the point. Should Chase wake up, should Chase see him dressed like that, the football player would see his girlfriend in the best light possible: small, sexy, claimed.

He wore nothing else.

It had been a long night. They hadn't slept much. Not that Riley was complaining. Every time his eyes started to close, Chase's hands had seemed to find him again, rough and greedy and perfect. It still echoed in his body, a slow, sweet ache between his legs, the way his throat felt used and swollen. His lipstick had been everywhere. He'd never felt so wanted.

And now, in the quiet morning hours, he was determined to take care of Chase the way Chase took care of him. That was his job. That was what a good girlfriend did.

The apartment was a mess. Pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table, gym clothes slung over the back of a chair, the sink full of dishes that had been ignored for at least a week. Riley got to work without hesitation, humming softly to himself as he started in the kitchen.

He loaded the dishwasher, scrubbed the counters, wiped down the fridge handle where someone (Chase) had left greasy fingerprints. He took out the trash and replaced the bag. Then he moved to the bathroom, turning on the overhead fan as he sprayed down the mirror and scrubbed the sink, wiping away stray hairs and dried toothpaste. The toilet wasn't awful, but it still got a thorough cleaning—Riley bent over in Chase's hoodie, scrubbing diligently, flushed pink and smiling to himself.

He loved this. He genuinely loved this.

Taking care of his man, his boyfriend, his protector. Doing domestic things in nothing but borrowed clothes and lip gloss. It made him feel like he belonged here. Like this was his place too, even if no one had said it out loud yet.

By the time he finished tidying the bedroom—just pulling the sheets back into place and tossing stray socks into the hamper—he was sweating slightly, flushed, and glowing. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the dresser and paused.

Makeup.

His hair was tousled, his skin flushed pink from effort, but his face—well, it needed work. If Chase woke up and saw him looking like this, he'd still smile, sure. He always did. But Riley wanted to be perfect for him. Especially this morning. Especially after last night.

He perched on the edge of the sink and carefully reapplied his makeup—foundation, concealer, a soft shimmer of eyeshadow, just enough eyeliner to define the shape. Mascara. Lip gloss, pink and plump and sweet. He touched up his brows and fluffed his hair, then gave the mirror a slow, satisfied smile. Girlfriend-ready.

Then, just for fun, he slipped into the kitchen and grabbed Chase's phone off the counter. He knew the passcode—of course he did—and opened the camera. He snapped a few selfies in the soft morning light: him in the hoodie, legs bare, glossy lips pouty, one shoulder coyly exposed. Then he picked the best one, bit his lip, and posted it to his private story with a caption that read:

"Woke up sore - cleaned his whole apartment anyway - good girls don't need sleep"

The reaction would be nuclear. He couldn't wait.

But first: lunch.

He pulled out bread, peanut butter, honey, and bananas. He'd seen Chase eat weirder things after the gym, so he figured this combo would work. He carefully spread the layers, cut the sandwich diagonally (of course), and sealed it into a ziplock bag with a little folded napkin tucked beside it. He kissed the napkin first. Then he added a granola bar and a little handwritten note, just five words and a heart.

"Thx for last night, babe"

He was just sealing the paper bag when he heard it—the bedroom door creaking open, the soft thump of heavy footsteps. Riley's pulse spiked.

He didn't look.

Not yet.

He wanted Chase to find him like this: bent slightly over the counter, humming under his breath, perfect pink lips pursed as he folded down the edge of the lunch bag. The hoodie just barely clinging to his body, swaying around his thighs as he shifted.

He didn't have to wait long.

Warm, heavy arms wrapped around his waist from behind, pulling him close, firm and certain. Riley gasped softly, breath hitching as Chase pressed against him, the unmistakable heat and weight of his bulge nudging between his bare cheeks through the fabric.

"Mm," Chase rumbled into his ear, low and half-asleep. "You smell good."

Riley giggled, but it came out breathy. Needful.

"And you feel like morning wood," he whispered, wiggling his hips just enough to feel the full press of Chase against him. "Are you gonna thank your girlfriend for cleaning your whole disgusting apartment, or are you just gonna rub up on her like some horny caveman?"

Chase's hand slid lower.

And Riley melted.

"You calling me disgusting?" Chase murmured against the curve of Riley's neck, nuzzling close, his morning stubble sending electric tingles down Riley's spine. "You trying to insult me, princess?"

Riley's knees went soft at the sound of that word in that voice. Princess.

"I'd never insult you," Riley whispered, arching his back just enough to grind himself harder against Chase's length. "You're perfect. My big, perfect man. I just like making things nice for you. Taking care of you. That's my job now, isn't it?"

Chase chuckled, low and warm, and pulled him in tighter. "Damn right it is."

His palm settled flat on Riley's bare hip, possessive and slow. The other hand pushed aside the drape of the hoodie, exposing one cheek, then the other. Riley didn't resist. He wanted to be touched. Wanted to be used. Wanted to be fucked.

Chase's lips brushed the back of his neck, then down, trailing kisses along the line of his spine. Riley shivered.

"You wearing anything under this?"

Riley shook his head, eyes fluttering closed.

"Jesus, babe," Chase groaned. "You're gonna kill me."

"Not until I'm done with you," Riley whispered.

Chase growled softly and ran his hand down the back of Riley's thigh, gripping just above the knee and lifting it, forcing Riley to bend slightly at the counter. The cool granite pressed against his forearms. The position made him gasp.

"You know I woke up sound of you doing the dishes," Chase said, breath hot against Riley's ear. "Thought I was dreaming. Then I saw your ass in my hoodie and figured I'd died and gone to heaven."

Riley giggled, but it caught in his throat when Chase pressed forward again, harder this time. He could feel every ridge of him now, thick and insistent against bare, tender skin. His breath hitched.

Chase kissed his cheek, then lower, then lower still.

"You're such a good girl for me," he murmured. "Always taking care of me."

Riley whimpered, reaching around behind him, and sliding Chase's pants down. He shivered in excitement, in anticipation. This was what he was made for, taking care of Chase. And right then, Chase had serious need.

He pressed his cheek against the countertop and moaned softly, heart thudding, body trembling. Chase's beautiful cock, now free of its prison, began to make its way between Riley's cheeks. Riley had never admitted it to anyone, but he never felt closer to Chase then while he was touching his penis. He didn't fully understand it, but it was like a shortcut to intimacy.

"I packed your lunch," Riley whispered, as Chase thrust into him a few more inches. "You're... ugh...gonna need your strength…"

Chase's fingers gripped his hips tighter, anchoring him in place.

"I'm not going anywhere just yet," he said, voice rough with need. "And neither are you. Not until we're done."

"Yes... ugh... sir..." Riley panted, Chase now fully thrusting in and out.

The rhythm grew faster, Riley's girls pressing into the could countertop. He moaned, loving every second of this experience. If he could, this would be his world, his life. Yes, Riley knew he had responsibilities. He had content to post. He had classes to take. He had cheer practice.

And on top of all that, he has Isabelle. Riley hadn't forgotten that his ex was spending so much of her time, her life, helping him become more appealing to women. He thought back to his life before her instruction. It had been horrible. He'd had no style, his body had been a wreck, and he'd been focussed on all the wrong things.

Now, thanks to the amazing Isabelle, that kind, generous woman that he'd blown it with, he was bent over, being fucked from behind by his sexy, popular, football playing boyfriend. Not only that, Riley had millions of subscribers following his every stream, from makeup tutorials, to dressing up in revealing costumes, to simply sitting back and sucking on his nipples for the camera. Isabelle had led him out of the wilderness and into a much better life, one that had already demonstrated to Riley to be the path he should have been on his whole life.

He tried to picture going back, shedding his new life like a snake sheds its skin, but he couldn't. Becoming that horrible, hair, putrid person again held no appeal to Riley. Not only that, he couldn't picture life without Chase. Chase was everything, kind, strong, smart. He wondered if there was something past 'girlfriend' that he could become for Chase, something more intimate, something more committed. He'd have to ask Isa about it when he got home later.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Riley began to cry, feeling Chase's cock in his ass all the way to the hilt. "Put it in me! Fuck me harder!"

Chase obliged the request. Soon the top of Riley's head was hitting the subway tile along the kitchen wall. He didn't care. What he cared about was Chase's need to release his tension. He could tell that the big man was holding in his stress, and as he'd done the night before, as he'd done on their dates, Riley would get it out of him, one way or another.

In the end, it didn't turn out to be too difficult. A few minutes of fucking, a few dirty words here and there, and Chase gave one final thrust, one final grunt, and his cock began to spasm. As Riley had felt so many times before, his boyfriend's cock began to spray out all of the football star's worries, all his stress, all into Riley's ass.

It was divine.

"Yes, baby," Riley cooed. "Fill me up. I want it all."

And he did. It was Riley's job, as girlfriend, to take care of all of his man's needs, and stress was a performance killer. If Chase was going to continue on his track to becoming a football star post-college, Riley would have his work cut out for him. At every opportunity, he would be bent over, on his knees, or legs spread wide for his man.

And as Chase collapsed on top of him, momentarily making him lose his breath, Riley smiled. His life was as close to perfect that he could imagine. He'd have to thank Isa when he got home.