Chapter Nine #2
It went on and on and on: Bastian’s mouth barely skimming along the length of his cock, his finger breaching him a little further on each thrust, only to retreat back a second later.
Kian’s hands fisted in the sheets and he felt caught in a vise of pleasurable agony, and no matter how he moved, how he shifted, he couldn’t escape the inexorable, slow burn of Bastian’s hands and his mouth.
He wasn’t even particularly against begging, but something about the playful glint in Bastian’s eyes made him bite his lip and hold back the cries to do more, please god, anything.
“Nothing to say?” Bastian asked, as a second finger teased around the first. “Maybe you don’t want this at all.”
Kian moaned even though that wasn’t really what Bastian wanted. He wanted to know just how desperate Kian was for it—which was frankly ridiculous because he’d been desperate for it for years. And all that had changed in that time was that he’d impossibly wanted it even more.
“Enough,” he finally gritted out. “I fucking want it.”
Bastian’s grin lit up the room. “That wasn’t really begging.”
“Did you really think I would, if you challenged me?”
“Not really, but it was fun to try,” Bastian said, his smile somehow growing even brighter. He slid the second finger in and leaned down, wrapping his tongue around the head of Kian’s cock, sucking hard.
Spots dotted Kian’s vision at the sudden onslaught of bliss sizzling through his veins.
“God, you’re so good,” Bastian grunted, almost to himself more than Kian. “So goddamn perfect.”
“Fuck me already,” Kian demanded.
“So bossy.” But Bastian slid another finger in with his two and this time it wasn’t just Kian who groaned.
A minute later, he slid his fingers out and Kian watched as he ripped open the condom with trembling fingers. And he thought, through a haze of satisfaction, that he’d done that. He’d made Bastian’s fingers shake, he wanted him so goddamn much.
“Please,” Kian wailed, finally breaking as Bastian’s cock brushed his thigh, and then lower, then slipping in an inch.
Kian had only had penetrative sex with one other person, and it had been nothing to write home about. But then, the prep and the foreplay had been nothing like it was with Bastian. And Bastian was definitely in a whole other universe than the other guy.
It was a revelation to feel Bastian slide further and further inside him, until he didn’t know where he ended and Bastian began. He slipped in farther and then froze, Bastian’s fingers digging into his skin as Kian squirmed against the fullness.
“God, no, stop,” Bastian begged, the sound practically wrenched out of him. “I can’t . . .”
And it was so good to hear the desperation in his voice, Kian couldn’t help it. He pushed back against Bastian’s grip, until all of his cock was buried inside him.
“I can’t,” Bastian repeated, this time his voice a plea.
“Fuck me,” Kian demanded. His hand slipped down to grasp his own cock, and they both moaned again.
Bastian was the worst at taking orders—he only gave them at Terroir—but he listened to Kian now, and started to move.
Kian’s fingers shakily circled his cock, tugging it carefully because he felt right on the edge, and he knew as soon as he came, Bastian was done for.
They’d both needed this for so long, and their earlier orgasms had barely taken the edge off all that wanting.
His thrusts picked up speed and then he hit a spot inside that had Kian seeing not just stars but the whole goddamn galaxy. He was right on the precipice, he just needed a little more, and he wanted Bastian to be the one to give it to him.
“Kiss me,” Kian commanded.
Bastian froze, like he was surprised by the sudden demand, and then his face softened.
He leaned down, and the kiss was softer, and sweeter than Kian had expected.
He’d braced for the hot rush of a sloppy, wet hungry kiss, something like what their bodies were already doing, but the tenderness of it unwound him until he was gasping into Bastian’s mouth, come spurting between them, clenching around Bastian until he too, gasped and came.
For a long moment, neither of them moved, or spoke. Most of Bastian’s weight was still back on his elbows, but Kian liked that he was covering him, enveloping him. He’d wondered forever what this might feel like, and now that he’d felt it, he didn’t know what he’d do if he lost it.
Before, there was always that fleeting, niggling worry in the back of his mind—that he’d dreamt all those moments, a whole chain of them, that led up to this one.
That San Francisco was the product of a tired, fantasizing mind.
That he’d imagined all those hot, dirty looks.
That the times he’d caught Bastian staring at his ass had been all a mistake.
He hadn’t been wrong. It wasn’t only him that had suffered in silence, wanting but never taking.
But now that they’d both taken—and no matter who’d taken the cock, Kian believed they’d definitely taken each other, Bastian’s currently awestruck expression was evidence enough of that—what were they going to do?
It was easy enough to banter and flirt in Bastian’s kitchen. But what about the Terroir kitchen? It was so easy to say, oh that stays at home, but could it? Was it even possible?
Kian felt a shiver of something real and concrete enter into the little golden bubble he’d been living in since Bastian had finally touched him for the first time.
How the fuck were they going to do this?
It was like the moment hit Bastian at the exact same time, because it was then that he retreated, carefully sliding out of Kian and purposefully looking away to dispose of the condom.
He grabbed a tissue from the box on the beside table and wiped Kian and then his own torso.
He disposed of that, and then there was nothing to do but look at each other and wonder.
What are we going to do?
Bastian sat down on the side of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. He still hadn’t looked at Kian.
There was a part of Kian that wanted to shamelessly beg now. Don’t say you regret it.
Clearly he didn’t, not really, anyway. You couldn’t regret something you were such an enthusiastic participant in. But the chances of him saying it were too real for Kian to wait for the words.
Instead, he spoke first. “I thought you were going to make me dinner?” Kian asked.
Bastian’s glance his direction was swift and amused. “Don’t say you wish I’d done that instead.”
“I don’t,” Kian said steadily. “But now I’m starving.”
It wasn’t really a solution, to get half dressed again and go back to the kitchen, but Kian knew that was the place he retreated to when he felt lost, and he had a hunch Bastian was the same.
“Then I’ll make you dinner,” Bastian said, reaching for his shirt and tugging it on. “Come, get dressed. I’m hungry too.”
When Kian came back to the kitchen and resumed his spot on the barstool, Bastian had the gas on the stove back on, and he was poking at the mushrooms in the oven.
“Salvageable?” Kian asked.
“Not really,” Bastian grumbled and grabbed the pan bare, not even bothering with a towel, and dumped out the contents into the trash. He looked up and then smiled, which surprised Kian because nothing bothered Bastian more than good food wasted. “But it was totally worth it.”
“Of course it was.” Like after waiting so long, the sex wouldn’t be crazy hot. He’d known it had to be; he’d needed it to be. And it had still eclipsed even his wildest dreams.
“Get over here,” Bastian grumbled. “You’re completely capable of prepping these mushrooms while I try to salvage the risotto.”
Kian thought it was the height of the fantasy to sit here, watching as Bastian made him dinner with his own hands, crafting the flavors just for the two of them. But it turned out that he’d been wrong.
The real fantasy? The fantasy that bled into real life until Kian didn’t know where one ended and the other began?
It was standing hip to hip with Bastian in his kitchen, preparing dinner with him.
Maybe, Kian thought as he chopped the mushrooms into chunks, dropping them onto a fresh sheet pan, it was because this felt like something a couple might do together.
Because his deepest, most closely held fantasy, the one he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to confess to Bastian was just that: living as an established couple.
Fighting, loving, working—doing it all together.
They’d just taken the very first step towards that, but there were a hundred roadblocks and those were just the ones he’d thought of. In the end, it might not be possible, but Kian knew now that he could at least say he’d tried.
And tonight, that was enough.
Bastian finished the risotto, Kian pulled the mushrooms from the oven, and together, they plated.
Nothing fancy like at Terroir, but aesthetics were still important. They dished up the pale risotto in dark brown enameled bowls, Kian arranged the mushrooms over the top and then Bastian grabbed a bottle of basil oil, drizzling that over everything.
Kian picked up one of the bowls as Bastian grabbed spoons, hesitating over the silverware choice. “Forks maybe?” he asked.
“Bring both,” Kian suggested, and hesitated, because he didn’t know where to go. Were they eating in the kitchen? The living room? It was far too cold to eat on the table on the terrace. And Bastian was fairly fastidious—Kian couldn’t imagine he’d ever want to eat in bed.
In the end, Bastian surprised him by balancing his bowl and the silverware in one hand, and gently placing the other on the small of Kian’s back and leading him to the couch.
Kian played it safe and sat on one end, curling his bare legs underneath him.
Glancing over at Bastian, he was surprised to see a hurt flash through the other man’s eyes.
“Do I smell bad or something?” Bastian asked.