Bat #2
We crept through the corridors, listening for Brad’s heavy footsteps, but who knew where he’d fucked off to. Probably sulking in the garden or torturing some other poor spirit with his ridiculous equipment.
The attic stairs creaked under our weight despite Charlie trying to step lightly. I floated beside him, arms full of blankets, watching the concentration on his face as he navigated the narrow steps.
And then we were there, in the place I’d first heard Charlie play my guitar. Where I’d felt all those feelings crash over me, all-consuming, overwhelming. Where I’d first touched his lovely cheek and somehow ended up completely gone for him already.
We shuffled boxes and suitcases and other attic debris out of the way, creating a large space near the window.
Dust motes kicked up, dancing in the grey afternoon light as we spread the duvet and blankets across the floorboards.
I found a bag full of old pillows—frilly, lace-edged things that may well have been as old as Molly.
Creating our little nest together, we kept giving each other tiny, secret smiles. Charlie’s cheeks stayed flushed, and every time our fingers brushed whilst arranging the blankets, my chest cracked open a little wider, heart threatening to beat again.
Then we were tumbling onto the duvet, me yanking off my Converse and peeling away jeans and underwear, desperate to feel his skin on mine.
Charlie’s breath misted slightly, the attic air even colder than me. “Fuck, it’s freezing up here. Sorry.” I bit my lip. This was a bad idea.
Charlie pressed his thumb to my mouth, freeing my lip from my teeth. “I’m sure you can find creative ways to warm me up.” His finger hooked under my thin leather collar, tugging gently. “Did I tell you yet how fucking sexy you look in this collar?”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Like my teenage wet dreams.”
The words punched straight through me. I almost made a joke—bet you weren’t having wet dreams about fucking fifty-year-olds when you were sixteen—but the words didn’t quite make it past my lips. Because Charlie was twisting me onto my back, straddling my hips with his thighs bracketing my waist.
His hands explored my body, slow and deliberate. Fingertips traced over my thighs, up my stomach, across my ribs, along my arms and shoulders, each touch a lit match dragged across my skin.
Nobody had ever touched me like this.
I was as sure of that as I was that Charlie was meant for me. That we were meant to find each other. That if I were alive, I would give Charlie everything.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice gone all rough. He dipped his head, tongue darting out to lick the small bat tattoo on my shoulder, tracing the shape of it. Wet heat that had me arching off our makeshift bed, a broken moan ripping out of me before I could stop it.
Then his lips found mine. Passionate didn’t cover it.
This was desperate, hungry, like we were trying to consume each other.
Teeth scraped my bottom lip, gorgeously frantic in their need to devour me.
His tongue swept into my mouth, and I couldn’t remember kissing being quite like this—like drowning and being saved at the same time.
Like every terrible song lyric about heartbreak suddenly made perfect sense.
My hands fisted in his overalls. They needed to come off. I wanted to feel his soft, warm skin under mine, wanted nothing between us. I flipped us, rolling Charlie beneath me on the duvet. His fluffy golden hair fanned across the pillow in wild tangles, glasses particularly askew.
Catching the zipper of his navy overalls between my teeth, I dragged it down slowly whilst holding his gaze. Charlie’s breath hitched, hands clutching at the blankets beneath him.
No shirt under his uniform today. Just his lovely skin. Perfect.
Lower. Lower. Until the jumpsuit gaped open, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, the soft curve of his stomach, the trail of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband.
I peeled the fabric away from his shoulders, down his arms, pulling it over his hips and legs until Charlie lay naked beneath me, skin flushed pink in the dim attic light.
“Fucking hell,” I breathed, drinking in the sight of him.
Charlie reached up, fingers threading through my hair, and pulled me down for another kiss, and I inhaled his scent deeply, that summer fruit shampoo, and imagined what he tasted like: strawberries and sunshine and sweet, sweet love songs.
I dipped my mouth lower, mouthing the light stubble along his jaw. As I traced a path down his throat, I swore I could almost taste his sweat—sweet and salt and sharp and utterly human. Utterly alive.
I started to move further down his chest, but Charlie’s hands fisted in my hair, holding me in place.
“Mark me.”
I froze.
His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “Mark my neck. Do it.”
The desperate edge in his tone sent pure electricity crackling through me. I pressed my lips to the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, breathing him in.
“Please, Bat.”
My mouth opened against his throat. I sucked gently at first, feeling his pulse flutter beneath my tongue. Charlie’s hips bucked up, his cock rutting against my stomach, smearing precum across my skin.
“Harder.”
I increased the pressure, drawing his flesh between my teeth. Charlie cried out, hands tightening in my hair, pushing me closer. His cock dragged against my stomach again, leaving wet trails.
“Harder.”
I sucked as hard as I dared. Maybe if I bruised him deep enough, the mark would last forever. He’d carry me with him when he left this place. Part of me would exist beyond these walls, branded into his skin like a promise.
Time dissolved. I wasn’t sure how long I worked at his throat, lost in the rhythm of suction and release, Charlie’s desperate sounds filling the dusty air. His body writhed beneath mine, cock leaking steadily against my stomach.
Eventually, I pulled back to find Charlie hazy-eyed, pupils blown wide.
“Can you see it?” he panted.
Could I see it? It was a work of pure art. An enormous purple bruise bloomed across the side of his neck, dark as wine, standing out starkly against his pale skin.
Charlie pressed his finger into the centre of it and cried out, back arching off the duvet.
The sight of him—marked, desperate, completely undone—made something feral unfurl inside me. I kissed him deeply, swallowing his moans, before trailing my mouth down his body. Charlie’s hands found my shoulders, pulling me closer as I settled between his thighs.
I dragged my tongue across the tip of Charlie’s cock, and he made a sound like I’d destroyed him. His entire body shuddered beneath me, hips lifting off the duvet, and fuck, how I wished I could taste him.
He looked up at me through his lashes, lips parted, breathing hard. Those blue eyes were nearly black now, pupils swallowing the colour. “Let me suck you too,” he rasped.
I tilted my head to one side, considering. The idea of Charlie’s mouth on me while I worked him until he was a writhing mess…
Umm, yes please. “Twist around and sit on my face.”
Oh.
Charlie shaped that single word with his mouth, silent, before scrambling to reposition himself, movements clumsy with desperation. I helped guide him, hands on his hips, until he straddled my face, his cock hanging heavy above my mouth.
We were almost the exact same height—another piece of proof that the universe had carved us for each other. Two halves that only made sense when slotted together, designed to fit in ways that made my dead heart break.
Charlie’s lips wrapped around my cock, and every coherent thought scattered. Wet heat engulfed me as he took me deeper, tongue swirling around the head before pulling back to trace patterns along my length.
Fuck, Charlie’s dick. I’d almost forgotten I was supposed to be returning the favour until his cock twitched against my cheek, demanding attention.
I wrapped my lips around him, drawing him into my mouth slowly, savouring the weight of him on my tongue. Charlie’s hips jerked, a muffled moan vibrating around my cock. Lightning shot through me, white-hot, vicious.
We found a rhythm—messy, desperate, utterly perfect. Charlie’s mouth worked me with increasing urgency whilst I lost myself in the taste of him, the way he filled my mouth completely. His thighs trembled on either side of my head.
I needed more of him. Needed to claim every part of him before our time ran out.
My hand fumbled blindly for his rucksack, fingers rummaging through the contents until they miraculously closed around his small tube of lube. I squeezed some onto my fingers, coating them thoroughly.
Charlie’s breath hitched around my cock when I stroked a slippery finger up his crack, pressing gently against his hole. His moan wrapped around me, squeezed tightly.
I circled his entrance with the pad of my finger, teasing, applying the gentlest pressure. Yesterday had been rough—all desperate need and claiming. Today I wanted to worship him properly, pull him apart slowly, piece by piece.
My finger sank in to the first knuckle, and Charlie’s entire body went rigid. His mouth pulled off my cock with a gasp, head falling forward as he panted against my thigh.
“Fuck, Bat—”
I held perfectly still, letting him adjust whilst pressing soft kisses to his inner thighs.
Only when his muscles relaxed did I push deeper, working my finger in.
I began to move, slow and careful. He gripped me tight, fever-hot around my finger.
I crooked it slightly, searching for that spot that would make him see stars.
“Oh fuck—”
Found it.
I stroked over his prostate again, gentle but insistent. Charlie’s hips bucked, his cock leaking steadily now. I craned my neck up, tongue darting out to catch another bead of precum at his tip. Another broken moan tore from his throat.
“More,” he gasped. “Please, more.”