16. GRATIFICATION
16
GRATIFICATION
“Uh, hey,” Blair said..
Wren spun his stool toward him, his smirk too wide and eyes too lidded for Blair to think he was anywhere close to sober. “Blair,” he said, dragging out his name in a way that Blair would have punched anyone else for.
“Having fun?” Blair asked, watching Spencer pour them another round, this time with a third shot for him.
“We’re trying the new flavored vodkas I got in for tonight,” Spencer said.
Blair took the glass from him. “What’s this one?”
“Birthday cake. Probably gonna be awful,” Spencer said.
“I’m sure I’ve been your guinea pig for worse,” Blair said, and knocked the liquor down his throat.
Wren followed suit, face twisting as he swallowed. It was only then that Blair recovered enough from his surprise at seeing him to look at him. Blair held his empty shot glass loosely between his fingers and somehow kept from dropping it altogether as his brain tried to catch up with his eyes. It wasn’t like Wren ever looked bad, he was attractive even when he hadn’t slept for two days, but the slashes of pale skin revealed by the rips in his black jeans were hitting Blair a lot harder than the drink. That was to say nothing of the navy dress shirt that fit him like a glove.
A bullet was the least of Blair’s concerns, because this gorgeous fucker was going to be the death of him.
But furthermore, what the hell was Wren doing there?
“I thought you didn’t want to come tonight,” Blair said.
Wren hooked his foot around Blair’s calf and pulled him forward. “I changed my mind. I was starting to get bored… I’ve been here awhile,” he said, leaning up to purr against Blair’s neck, “The bartender showed me the video you took at the warehouse.”
Spencer cleared his throat at the display and picked up the bottle of vodka. “The bartender is going somewhere else.”
Blair barely heard, too transfixed by the man pressed up against him.
“Oh yeah?” Blair asked, trying to give the conversation his attention while Wren’s nose brushed behind his ear. The music had stopped, probably for Julian to change out records, letting him hear Wren’s low murmur all too well for him to concentrate.
“Yeah,” Wren said, “Phantom is using a custom security system from the looks of the access panel.”
Blair heard the strum of an acoustic guitar from somewhere in the middle of the room. Julian had started providing his own music, apparently. He was glad for the crowd, though, as it gave him hope that no one was paying them much attention. Blair’s body had melted too far into the other man’s to stand a chance of putting some distance between them, and what little brain power he had left was devoted to processing Wren’s words. His eyes widened when they finally struck home. He did pull away then, far enough that he could actually look at Wren’s face.
“The security system? But I thought you didn’t—”
Wren hooked his fingers in the collar of Blair’s soaked t-shirt and tugged him down. So much for distance. “Well, you were thinking, and that’s a you problem. I also wasn’t done.” He spoke against Blair’s mouth, every word leaving behind the impression of a kiss. “The panel isn’t built in such a way that it could house the necessary components or be pulling enough power to operate on its own, which means that—like with most security systems—it’s connected to a server.”
Blair was now torn cleanly between the excitement bubbling in his chest and the desire to drag Wren up to Spencer’s apartment and fuck the drunken haze right out of those eyes.
Cool it, Blair, he reprimanded himself firmly. Important stuff is being talked about right now.
“Is a server good or bad?” he forced himself to ask.
He more felt Wren smirk than saw it but there was no mistaking the curl of his lips when they hovered over Blair’s own. “Oh, it’s perfect. Do you want to know why?”
“Yeah,” Blair said thickly, willing his lower body not to create an embarrassing problem in front of his entire gang.
Wren was the one to pull back and look at him this time, but gone was the cold stare Blair knew so well. His eyes were alight with excitement and what Blair would dare to call affection. Blair was barely even aware of the dozens of other patrons around them and wasn’t there someone who didn’t know they were together yet? He couldn’t remember, didn’t care.
“Because a server isn’t tied to a specific piece of hardware. It has a signal.” At Blair’s blank expression, Wren said, “It can be hacked. ”
Blair grabbed his shoulders with a sudden rush of adrenaline. “Wait, so you…”
“I can get you inside.”
Julian began singing, a few other patrons joining in, and a giddy laugh escaped Blair. “And you will? You’ll help?”
“I’ll help you,” Wren said, tracing the part of Blair’s tattoo exposed by his strained collar. “If it ends up helping your stupid gang, then whatever, but I’m only doing it for you.”
His stomach did a somersault that had nothing to do with the shot of vodka. He couldn’t possibly find the words to respond with, and settled for sealing their lips together in a kiss with as much gratitude as he could convey through a simple touch. Wren made a pleased albeit muffled sound. It was gonna happen. They were going to get Phantom, with Wren .
Someone cleared their throat and Blair pulled back, cheeks burning as he realized how poorly that kiss was suited for being in public. He readied an apology that dissolved on his lips when he saw who interrupted them.
“B-Boss,” he said meekly. He might have stumbled further away just in case he had to incur Felix’s wrath but he was very much trapped by Wren’s legs.
Felix grimaced. “You got shit for taste, kid.” He didn’t give either of them a chance to respond, just held an expectant hand over the bar in which Spencer immediately placed a sealed bottle of Johnny Walker Black. Felix threw his second man a wink. “I’m taking the good doctor somewhere a little more quiet.”
Blair stared after him in shock as he went back across the bar to the newly repaired couch where, unnoticed to Blair until that point, Reymond was sitting. Two empty glasses sat on the table in front of him.
Reymond stood up as Felix approached him, and Blair’s eyebrows shot up as they walked out of the bar together.
As if he could read Blair’s mind, Wren said, “There’s a certain blood alcohol content at which you no longer care about anything, and I think Reymond surpassed that awhile ago.”
Blair wasn’t complaining. His attention was already being demanded (not as if he wouldn’t give it willingly) by the almost six feet of inebriated, touchy-feely Wren Masters that was adhered to him at the moment. He only spared one sliver of that attention to look over and ask, “Hey, Spencer, we can talk plans for Phantom tomorrow, right? I know the boss said three days but he doesn’t look like he’s in any shape to hear Wren’s rundown of the security system tonight.” And he’s about to leave with Reymond and I wouldn’t stop him if my life depended on it.
“Yeah, he was already here when I showed the video to Wren, he knows we might have an alternative to his… plan.” Spencer trailed off and sighed. Blair heard glasses clattering so there was no telling what kind of drunken mayhem was going on behind him.
“I want to go home,” Wren said, the light touch of his lips leaving behind goosebumps.
Blair thought that was a good idea, people were really starting to stare, but, “I don’t think you should be driving.”
“I rode with Reymond. Take me home,” he breathed into Blair’s ear.
Who the fuck was Blair to say no to that?
He actually had to drop a hand on the bar next to them in fear that he was going to melt right into a puddle and Wren was going to be taking his remains home in a bucket. “You don’t want to ha— ah , hang out or anything?” he asked, grip tightening when Wren’s teeth closed on his earlobe.
Wren pushed him back far enough to stand up—though Blair noticed he wobbled on his feet a bit—and looked all the more demanding at his full height as he loomed over Blair to say, “I just want you.”
“Oh. Right, yeah, we can, um… do that.” He looked around to tell someone he was leaving but the boss was already gone with Reymond in tow and Spencer was cleaning up the mess Blair had heard being made earlier.
Nimble fingers went into Blair’s belt loops and began pulling him forward. They walked outside together and made the journey to Blair’s motorcycle, which was greatly lengthened by how many times Wren stopped to kiss him. Blair was thinking about building a shrine to vodka.
Wren pushed him against his bike and kissed him hard, holding his hips to steady him. Blair’s shoe slid backward on the sidewalk from the force and he partially sat down to keep from falling. His hands went to Wren’s hair, the outdoor lighting for the bar dim enough that he didn’t feel quite as bad about kissing outside. Wren moaned against him when Blair grasped his hair just a little too hard and, knowing Wren, not nearly hard enough.
“Blair,” he gasped, pulling their hips together.
A shrine. Definitely a shrine.
Blair had to use more strength than he really wanted to in pushing Wren off—trying not to get derailed by the excited little sound Wren made at being manhandled—but if they didn’t get somewhere private soon he was going to lose it. “My place is closer,” he said.
“I’m on call in the morning, I don’t have a change of clothes,” Wren said, already throwing a leg over the back of Blair’s bike.
Damn. Thirty minute ride it is . He sat in front of Wren on the motorcycle and sped off toward Wren’s apartment. The high speed was even more exhilarating than usual with the night air on his skin and the warm arms around his waist. Wren traced distracting patterns on his abdomen but Blair was glad, because at least it let him know Wren hadn’t passed out and wasn’t at a risk of falling off the back.
The spiraling ride up the parking garage and the walk to the apartment that was made way longer than it had to be, since just like when they left Harlowe’s , the presence of any flat surface seemed to mandate Blair being pushed into it and kissed stupid. It was hard to complain with Wren’s tongue against the roof of his mouth and their bodies pressed flush together, but he needed to get somewhere that they wouldn’t have to stop.
He couldn’t have been more relieved when the final thing he got shoved against was Wren’s door. It opened behind him and he stumbled backward into the foyer but Wren’s arm was around his waist, holding him up and forcing him inside faster at the same time. The motion sensors picked them up as soon as the door shut and lights came on above them as they stumbled, interlocked across the apartment.
Wren snatched the jacket off his waist and then Blair’s back was connecting with something hard, he thought it might have been the kitchen island. He started working Wren’s shirt open. Or more to the point, he fucking tried. Blair growled in frustration as the button slipped from between his fingers. He yanked Wren’s shirt back into his hands and heard a couple threads pop, which gave him a better idea than wrestling with the damn thing any longer.
Blair grabbed the fabric at both shoulders and yanked it apart. He was met with a loud rip and a gasp from Wren as Blair jerked the torn remains of his shirt off. Wren made sure Blair’s shirt joined it immediately, though it slid up Blair’s body with ease and didn’t meet such a violent end. Blair shivered as the cold marble pressed into his back.
The rest of their clothes were shed quickly on the way to the bedroom and Blair didn’t even mind how roughly Wren threw him onto the bed, because the fingers that opened him up were slow to the point they could have even been called gentle. Blair wrapped his legs around Wren’s waist as Wren pushed into him. He couldn’t see much in the dark room, so he settled for feeling. For pressing them together as tightly as he could, running his hands down Wren’s back, heaving labored breaths against Wren’s neck.
“Mine,” Wren said, in barely more than a whisper. “My Blair.”
“Wren,” Blair choked out pleadingly. Wren couldn’t just say that. He didn’t know which he was pleading for—for Wren not to say it, or for him to mean it.
Blair’s body was having no such dilemma. It was all pleasure, building in his core and bursting from him in sharp moans as Wren hit the spot inside him that made him see stars. He was glad for the darkness to hide how wet he already was, his cock leaking precome where it was trapped between them. Fuck, who was he kidding. There was no way Wren couldn’t feel it.
Wren curled his fingers around Blair’s hip to keep him from being pushed any further up the bed. Held in place, it felt like Wren’s cock was driving into him even deeper. Maybe it was. Blair tilted his head until he could press his lips against Wren’s and muffle the increasingly loud sounds spilling from them. Wren kissed him deeply, desperately, and Blair came. His cock pulsed and spilled between them. Blair came so hard he struggled to breathe through it.
He tasted blood when he finally started to come down and then he felt Wren come inside him, gasping against Blair’s mouth. Blair realized he’d bitten down on Wren’s lip when he came—and just as Wren’s kiss had done to him, the pain sent Wren over the edge. Blair let out a low moan at the sensation of Wren’s come filling him, still oversensitive and twitching from the aftershocks.
Blair clung to Wren for longer than he needed to and not nearly as long as he wanted to.
But Wren didn’t let go of him right away either, his thumb circling Blair’s hip before lowering Blair’s legs down from his waist. “We need to clean up,” Wren said.
Blair was pleased to hear him out of breath, to know he wasn’t the only one still reeling. He wasn’t as happy, though, when Wren disengaged from him and started to get off the bed. “Just stay put, I got it,” he said, throwing an arm across Wren’s chest to keep him down. He was a little surprised Wren hadn’t passed out yet, as much as he’d had to drink. Blair still didn’t have much confidence in Wren’s equilibrium if he tried to stand.
He reluctantly crawled off the bed and staggered to the door. His legs didn’t appreciate it much, but at least he managed to stay upright. Unlike Blair’s apartment on bad days, there were no clothes scattered around to trip on. He went down the hallway, around the corner in the living room and back into the kitchen. The bathroom was closer but Blair needed to collect his clothes and his gun off the floor. They were right where they’d been hurriedly discarded earlier, piled in a heap on the black tile.
He returned to the bedroom with paper towels in hand and was treated to the sight of Wren sprawled in the middle of the bed, illuminated by the light from the hallway before Blair closed the door. Wren’s skin looked like it had some color for once against the grey sheets. There was something intimate about seeing him where he slept after having never been further than the living room before that night. Blair sat on the edge of the bed and set to cleaning him off since he looked like he was fifty percent awake at the most. It was kind of nice, taking care of him without any quips or tongue-clicking for his trouble.
“I bet it’s late,” Blair said, awkwardly shifting his belongings in his arms so he could pull his shirt loose from the pile.
“Mm,” Wren said. “You probably shouldn’t drive,” he added, voice already thick with the growing haze of sleep.
Blair turned around. “What?”
Wren had moved to one side of the bed and lay facing away from him, the shadows deepening the contours of his back, bare until it met the sheet he had pulled up to his waist. Quietly, Wren said, “You were drinking tonight… maybe you should stay.”
“I’m the one who drove us—”
Blair brought himself up short and stared at the pointedly vacant side of the bed. He’d only had one shot and the adrenaline rush from finding out Wren was going to help against Phantom had been enough to sober him up but he found the words falling away. Wren was asking him to stay. Wren was asking him to stay.
He stared at Wren as he dropped his clothes on top of his discarded jeans and shoes from earlier, as if he would sit bolt upright in realizing what he had just said and retract the offer. Wren didn’t move at the light ting of metal on wood as Blair put his gun on the nightstand or to the feeling of the mattress depressing under Blair’s weight.
Blair slid under the blanket and blinked up at the dark ceiling. The blackout curtains left no way to see Wren, but he was there. He was a foot away, breathing a little too loud and evenly for Blair to buy that he was actually asleep. Blair didn’t know what to make of it all; Wren changing his mind about helping with Phantom and now this. He reached out to let his hand hover uncertainly, just a breath away from Wren’s shoulder.
Then there was pressure against Blair’s outstretched fingers, his arm, and hair tickling his neck. He jerked in surprise as Wren’s arm settled over his waist, Blair’s hand frozen in midair as Wren curled into his side, his exhalations falling in warm puffs of air on Blair’s chest. Blair gradually lowered his hand until it found the silky hair spread across his shoulder.
Blair held him, and Wren let him.