Chapter Three #2
Hard? James couldn’t say. Too distracted by Cillian’s mouth pressed against his, by the flick of a cinnamon-sugar taste on Cillian’s tongue, by hot breath against his chin.
The hand at his neck moved, slid, and suddenly somehow Cillian had an arm wrapped around him to draw their bodies closer still.
James could say for sure now. Hard . He made a muffled noise, drowned in their kiss, and clung back just as tightly.
Until an abrupt gust of cold air made them both startle apart, though James thought the person who’d parted the branches of another tree and accidentally put them on display was the most surprised of all.
Spluttered apologies followed the branches snapping shut, but -- too late.
“It’s all right, no worries, we’re not doing anything!” Cillian called, despite his fingers still digging into James’ sweater. He shot James a guilty look and a grimace that could have meant anything.
James held himself carefully still, watchful and waiting.
Cillian stared at him, eye to eye, and -- laughed.
A little weakly, but genuinely, and instead of caressing James’ cheek he gave it the gentlest of taps.
“All right, Mr. Enthusiasm,” he said, just a little chiding, just a little…
wrong. Which was awfully hard to hold onto and figure out when his next question was, “What do you say we take this show off the road?”
* * *
James shoved the last few inches of tree through their door. “You got it?” he called to Cillian, invisible save for the occasional flash of red hair buried among the fir branches.
Cillian swore at him and yanked at the tree, hauling it deeper into their apartment.
Good enough. The moment trunk cleared lintel and he had the space, James kicked the door closed and threw the lock and deadbolt into place.
He nudged the tree sideways just to make sure Cillian was alive in there, and was rewarded with the sight of his friend, his -- his -- oh hell, definitions could wait. His Cillian . That would do for now.
Frazzled and frowsy and sticky with tree sap, a frown line forming between Cillian eyebrows, and a question on his lips.
James lifted his chin briefly in answer to the question Cillian hadn’t formed yet, and, without meaning to, felt his lips curling in a grin of demand and challenge. “Now,” he said, still out of breath from hurrying and hauling. “Where were we?”
Cillian’s answering grin dawned slowly, but then it blazed.
James leaned back against the door and raised one hand, curling two fingers in a beckoning motion.
“I remember. I think we have some unfinished business, you and me. Wouldn’t you say?
Come here.” He had no idea where this suave bastard he was impersonating had come from, and he couldn’t say he cared.
Not when Cillian’s gaze dropped to his fingers and he absently traced the tip of his tongue across his lips.
When he didn’t move, James met his eyes and felt himself somehow just as caught as Cillian. “Come here, I said.”
Cillian hurried toward him. He’d toed off his shoes somewhere along the way, probably habit, and scooted almost silently in his sock feet, sliding closer to James one step at a time until James could smell the last remnants of cinnamon sugar and cloves under the pine.
He leaned forward to inhale it, greedy for every bit of Cillian.
Where had this hunger come from? He’d wanted Cillian before, he was human, he had eyes, but this level of ravenous craving? Unreal.
And yet it was real. Cillian was leaning into him, lips parted.
Asking without asking, promising without saying a word out loud.
No one could resist that sort of invitation, and James had never claimed to be any kind of a saint.
A flurry of movement, and he’d caught Cillian by the waist to turn them around so that it was Cillian’s back against the door and James standing in front of him, blocking his way in or out.
Cillian’s arms twined around James’ neck, Cillian’s mouth met his, and oh yes, that was where they’d been.
We’re not doing anything , indeed. If James had his way, they’d do everything .
But --
No . James ruthlessly squashed the hell out of his intrusive thoughts, riddled with spiky little questions and doubts, and stuffed them all into a box to be dealt with later.
He tipped Cillian’s chin up, delighted when a full-body shiver made Cillian’s muscles flex like a dancer’s, and deepened their kiss.
Cillian didn’t taste of sweetness anymore and as the contact wore off so did the overwhelming tree sap scent, but James didn’t miss either of them.
Cillian moaned into James’ mouth and let his head fall briefly backward, resting against the door. He stared up at James, searching his face, his breathing harsh and fast. His chest pressed against James’ with every inhale and exhale, not able to go far in either direction for being too boxed in.
Which gave James an idea. He caught Cillian’s wrists in both hands, one each, and raised them above his head, pressing them firmly to the door. “Stay there.”
“What are you -- oh .” A light bite over the pulse hammering in his throat cut Cillian off at the pass. His body undulated in another shiver and brought their hips into contact in a way that answered at least one question. “You’re…”
James hummed. “Stay there,” he said again, lips touching Cillian’s ear with each word. “No matter what. Don’t move.”
“Not sure I can do that,” Cillian said, gasping, as James sank slowly to his knees, fingers grazing every inch of the man within his reach and his mouth pressed to every bit of bared skin he could find. “God, man, don’t stop.”
“Not planning on it.”
James wasn’t. His head whirled, drunk on all the could-bes and want-thats and mine hanging heavy in the air. He lifted the hem of Cillian’s heavy sweater and bit again, a love bite, over his navel.
James’ chin bumped the fastening of Cillian’s jeans, earning him another moan and a fitful jerk of the hands kept so nicely, so obediently, raised above his head.
Good boy. And good boys deserved treats.
James sank his teeth into his own lip, breathing hard.
“Mental image,” he said when Cillian made a questioning noise.
He laughed when Cillian damn near purred in response.
Then held his breath as Cillian’s hips moved again, almost certainly unintentionally, seeking contact.
James tapped his fingertips lightly on Cillian’s inner thigh, a whisker away from touching his groin, and looked up.
“Is this what you want?” he asked, holding Cillian’s wide-eyed stare.
His pupils were the size of saucers, drowning out the colors in his irises. “Tell me.”
Cillian’s breath caught in his throat. “I want…” He stopped, making a frustrated noise, and banged his wrists against the door. “The things I want, James.”
“Ah-ah.” James pressed both Cillian’s hips more firmly back against the wall, holding him there to be sure he couldn’t move.
His blood sizzled, and he couldn’t resist another bite to Cillian’s soft, warm belly.
He moved his chin so that he shifted the fastening of Cillian’s jeans to and fro, and -- because he wanted to, because he could -- laid his mouth over Cillian’s hard-on and exhaled a shaft of warm breath. “If you can’t tell me, I’ll guess.”
“ Please ,” Cillian said, breaking that one word down the middle. His hands flexed. “Oh, please.”
His wish, James’ command. One flick did away with the button, and James took the zipper tab carefully between his teeth to draw it down, only stopping to laugh when Cillian muttered something mostly unintelligible about fucking vampires .
James took his time, nice and easy, breathing in the new scents of man, arousal, and sweat.
As hard as he was, Cillian had to be harder, bulging through the parting denim in a display of pure temptation.
James laid his mouth lightly over Cillian’s erection, tasting it through the strained fabric of his shorts, and then --
The phone rang. “United Airlines calling,” it said cheerfully. “United Airlines calling.”