Chapter Eight #2
“Are you really going to stand there and tell me you don’t want this?” Kian challenged. He tucked a finger under his boxer briefs and saying a quick prayer—probably not to God, who wouldn’t approve of this at all, but maybe the Devil instead, because he sure as fuck would—he pulled them down.
He stood there proudly and completely naked and let Bastian just look.
For a long, interminable second, Kian wasn’t sure what was going to happen. Was he going to end up going back home, heart heavy and the worst case of raging blue balls that he’d ever experienced?
“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” Bastian said and he sounded absolutely wretched. “Put your goddamn clothes back on.”
“No,” Kian said.
“Goddamn it, you’re killing me.” Bastian’s voice had grown dark and deep, gravelly at the edges, and it seemed impossible, but Kian’s cock grew even harder.
He’d never imagined he was much of an exhibitionist, but standing here, naked as the day he was born, and letting Bastian just look was an incredible turn-on. Of course, he’d rather if Bastian got his stubborn ass over here and finally touched him, but just this felt like almost enough.
“This is me saying to you, I’ve thought about it. I’ve considered the pros and the cons,” Kian finally said, when the tension and the silence ratcheted even tighter between them. “This is me choosing you.”
“Don’t I get a say?” Bastian challenged.
Kian had to nod. “Of course you get a say, you can tell me to fuck off, and I’ll go home. But I don’t think you want to tell me to fuck off, Bastian.”
When he said his name, Bastian closed his eyes, praying to someone—or something, maybe?
“No,” Kian said tightly, “no, you don’t get to close your eyes and not look when you turn me down.”
“I’m not turning you down.”
“No?” Kian raised an eyebrow and considered his next step. Bastian was so close to breaking—he could feel it, his self-control falling to pieces, but how to get it to crumble the rest of the way? “Then why are you still over there?”
Bastian laughed despairingly. “I don’t fucking know.”
In that moment, Kian knew. He knew what would break Bastian. Was he willing to play that dirty? You’ve already shown up at his house in the middle of the night, Kian reasoned, and taken all your clothes off. What’s a little further?
He reached down, and hoping Bastian didn’t see his fingers trembling, wrapped them around his cock. Pleasure rocketed through him. It wasn’t like Bastian touching him, not exactly, but with his gaze on him, it was different and better than just doing this by himself, in his sad lonely room.
Bastian gasped sharply in the silence stewing between them. Rhythmically, he clenched and unclenched his fists, and Kian was so selfish—he wanted to know what those hands felt like instead of his own.
“I’m so fucking horny,” Kian said, “and all I want is you. I don’t want to go down to the Tavern and pick someone up. It wouldn’t be enough. But if you won’t help me, I guess I’ll have to help myself.”
Letting out a shaky breath, Bastian took a step closer, then another, until he was standing right in front of Kian. His eyes were so dark, Kian thought he could drown in the pupils. His breath was uneven, shaky even, and then Bastian dropped to his knees, and Kian couldn’t breathe at all.
How many times had he imagined this? A dozen? A hundred? A thousand?
But Kian had never imagined that it might actually happen.
If anything ever happened between them, Kian had always expected that he’d end up fulfilling somewhat of a subservient role, because those were the places they occupied in real life.
But this wasn’t reality, it was an aching fulfillment torn from the pages of a fantasy.
Kian’s hand had frozen on his dick, and Bastian reached up slowly, his eyes never leaving Kian’s. “This,” he said, as his fingers slowly and carefully removed his own from his cock, “this isn’t yours, this is mine. And I didn’t say you could touch yourself.”
He couldn’t help it, he groaned as Bastian’s calloused palm closed around him, pumping him so slowly, Kian wanted to cry.
“You came here, and you asked for it,” Bastian growled. “You’re goddamn gonna get it.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Kian demanded.
Bastian’s hand slowed to a crawl, and it shouldn’t have been so incandescently hot, to feel each and every ridge and scar and burn, sliding painfully slowly across his cock, but it was.
Still, he’d only dipped his toe into the fire, and it burned so good that he wanted more, he wanted to jump in and be consumed by it.
“More,” he insisted. “Goddamn it, Bastian. Don’t tease.”
Bastian grinned wickedly, and it shot another pulse of heat through Kian. “What, like you teased me earlier?”
“Someone had to do it, or else we’d be stuck at the edge forever,” Kian said, his voice so rough. The slow yet confident twist of Bastian’s hand was driving him insane.
“Somehow,” Bastian said, and he sounded way too cocky, way too sure of himself, “I always thought we’d go over the edge together.”
Without another word, he leaned down and slid Kian’s cock into his mouth, wrapping around him so tight, he had to bite his lip so he wouldn’t yell.
“Oh, god,” Kian moaned as Bastian proceeded to suck him so thoroughly, he wasn’t sure he’d have any brain cells left when this finally ended.
And it was getting closer, faster, the pleasure spiraling out of control way too quickly.
Kian tried to hang on, to prolong the dirty joy of seeing Bastian on the floor, sucking his cock.
Nobody else, he knew, would ever see him like this.
Fingertips pressed into his thighs and Kian panted, increasingly losing control.
Then Bastian’s tongue twisted cleverly across the head and Kian did yell. “God fucking damnit, Bastian,” he shrieked as he emptied down Bastian’s throat.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Kian was panting and so was Bastian. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and they stared at each other.
Maybe Bastian couldn’t believe he’d finally touched him; Kian knew he couldn’t believe it had actually happened.
Part of him wanted to reach down and pinch his bare arm, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
Instead, he reached down and wrapped his fingers around Bastian’s arm, tugging him up. I always thought we’d go over the edge together, Bastian had said. And even though he’d been obsessing over who had the control before, suddenly it felt important that they were standing as equals, together.
Bastian stared at him for a second, then curled into him, cradling his cheeks between his palms, and kissed him. Kian could taste himself, and even deeper still, the rich dark, cappuccino flavor that he remembered from San Francisco.
They kissed and kissed, like they were trying to make up for lost time, all those times that they’d desperately wanted to do this and hadn’t.
Bastian’s jean-clad legs slid against Kian’s bare ones, and he reached around, tugging off his own shirt.
Kian gasped loudly into Bastian’s mouth as their bare chests collided together.
It felt even more intimate somehow, than when Bastian had been sucking his cock.
Kian reached down and thumbed open the button on Bastian’s jeans, cupping his palm around his straining erection.
“Fuck,” Bastian exhaled after he’d wrenched his mouth off Kian’s. “Fuck, if you keep that up . . .”
Kian finished tugging down his jeans, and then shoved his underwear down too, Bastian’s cock finally bobbing free of the constraining fabric. It was impressive, and even though Kian had just come, he felt a little frisson of desire just seeing it for the first time.
“Then come,” Kian said, wrapping his hand around it. “I’ve teased you enough today.”
Bastian’s eyes stared back at him, wide and shocked, and he mumbled, “You can’t tease me too much. Not you. Never you.”
But he’d clearly been on edge, probably from the moment Kian had stripped his t-shirt off, and so Kian spit on his hand and fit it next to his other one, giving Bastian a steady and tight rhythm as he jerked him off.
It didn’t take very long, but then Kian hadn’t imagined it would, the very first time.
They’d been torturing each other with some form or another of foreplay for the last two years.
There was plenty of time to take their time and make it good—and not like this wasn’t spectacular already.
The novelty of the touch actually really felt like more than enough.
Bastian spilled into Kian’s hand with a groan, his eyes fluttering shut. He didn’t think he’d ever seen something as beautiful in his life as Bastian giving up control to him, letting Kian pleasure him.
They were going to have to do this all the damn time.
Kian grabbed for his t-shirt and wiped his hand off, and Bastian’s cock. He was still staring at him, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real, and not a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.
“Yeah,” Kian finally said, with a smile, “that really happened.”
And then, unexpectedly, Bastian grinned too—and it was wide and bright and like nothing Kian had ever seen before. “Yeah,” he said, and somehow his grin grew even wider, even brighter, nearly bright enough to blind Kian, “yeah, it really did.”
“You sound surprised,” Kian said.
“Well, you did just show up here in the middle of the night and take off your clothes.” Bastian didn’t sound mad, or even conflicted, he just sounded . . . happy. And Kian realized that he hadn’t ever really heard him happy before. Not like this.
There was always a deep, contented exhaustion in his voice after a long, successful service. Sometimes Kian saw the joy of creating something unexpected and wonderful, during those test kitchen Sundays. But it had never been like this before.
“I don’t regret doing this,” Kian said seriously.