Chapter 2 #4
Mac pulled off, flattening his tongue and running it along the underside of Archer’s aching cock before swirling his tongue around the swollen head, humming around it in a way that made Archer’s thighs shake.
He couldn’t stop himself from looking down, moaning at the picture before him. His hot husband on his knees, lips stretched around his cock, messy and eager. When Mac sucked harder, Archer’s hips bucked, going deep enough to have Mac gagging wetly around him.
“Fuck. Your mouth is a goddamn weapon,” he said, rolling his hips, half gone on the feel of Mac’s soft tongue on the underside of his cock.
Mac didn’t answer, couldn’t really, not with the way Archer was using him, driving past his lips lazily, enjoying the way he tried to choke himself on Archer’s cock. It felt incredible, goosebump inducing, really.
They’d been together long enough for Mac to know just what he liked and how he liked it.
There was comfort in the familiarity, there was also mind-numbing pleasure.
“Fuck, just like that,” he said, quickening the thrust of his hips, unable to stop himself from fucking his mouth even when he heard him choke a bit.
There was nothing particularly elegant about his technique.
Maybe that’s why it was so perfect. His mouth was hot and wet and sloppy, drool dripping from his chin as he let Archer fuck his throat.
When he started moaning around Archer’s length, he knew Mac was jerking himself off while he sucked him.
“Oh, fuck. That’s it. God, keep this up and maybe I’ll forget all about your super secret caroler fear.”
Mac pulled off, glowering up at him with a sulky face that made Archer so fucking happy, he couldn’t help but laugh.
He loved this sexy, dangerous, silly as fuck, chaotic man.
He loved him so much it made him want to punch something.
Archer didn’t know if he was a psychopath or a product of early trauma or just someone misdiagnosed, but nobody could tell him he didn’t love this man with every atom in his body.
“I’m sorry, darling. You know I’m just kidding. Continue…please?” he added when Mac seemed like he was contemplating whether to leave him in his current condition or not.
Mac swallowed him down with purpose, working him with deep, sucking pulls of his lips.
He wasn’t trying to drag it out or elongate anyone’s pleasure.
This was quick and dirty, meant to get them both off, not reaffirm their love for each other.
Pleasure pulsed through him like a heartbeat, his cock throbbing hot on Mac’s tongue, seconds away from bursting.
“I’m close. Fuck, are you close?” he asked, knowing Mac wouldn’t stop to answer.
Mac’s responding hum was all it took for Archer to let go, his release flooding his husband’s mouth until it dribbled from his lips. Archer didn’t care if he’d made a mess of him, he couldn’t. He was too busy seeing the face of God as his vision went white and his knees went wobbly.
He hissed as he felt Mac come, groaning around his over-sensitive cock.
When he pulled off Archer, he tipped forward, leaning his forehead on his bare hip, both of them catching their breath.
Mac’s breath came in hot, uneven bursts against Archer’s skin, grounding them both in the absurd contrast between what they'd just done and the Christmas-horror-hellscape surrounding them.
Somewhere from deep within the recesses of the bathroom, the carolers whirred softly, like they knew.
“Well,” Archer finally said, a little breathless.
He felt Mac nod against his hip. “Yeah,” he agreed.“Now call your dad and get us the fuck out of here. I don’t care if he has to land a helicopter on the roof of this hellmouth. I need to get out of Holly Harbour now.”
“Can I put my dick away first?” Archer asked around a laugh, petting his fingers through his husband’s ginger tresses. The gesture came out softer than he intended—half affection, half reassurance that Mac was truly back among the living.
“If you have to,” Mac mumbled, getting to his feet and grimacing when he looked at his sticky cum-covered hand.
Instead of going to the bathroom, he headed to their backpacks, rummaging one-handed until he found the pack of wet wipes they kept in there, wiping his hand before handing the pack to Archer to clean himself up.
A true act of love: field sanitation after panic-driven sex in a murder motel.
Archer cleaned himself then tossed the wipe aside, eyeing the bathroom door suspiciously. From behind the shower curtain came the faintest plastic clunk, and every hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“Mac,” he whispered, horrified.
Mac held up one warning finger. “Katniss… don’t. We aren’t acknowledging anything else in this room tonight.”
He was contemplating calling his father using the landline—the rotary phone, which absolutely had not existed anywhere near this century—when his cell began to trill in his pocket. He pulled it free and looked at the screen, frowning.
“Weird. It’s Lucas.”
Mac’s brows went up. “Lucas? Maybe he’s calling for an ETA?”
“You don’t think anything’s happened to anyone…do you?”
Archer felt a faint sense of dread tighten in his chest—not the Holly Harbour kind, but the Mulvaney kind. The ‘something happened’ kind. Even through the walls of the Yuletide Suite, he could hear the storm ramping up outside, the wind dragging icy claws across the window in long, slow scrapes.
A storm that bad plus a Mulvaney calling unexpectedly never equaled good news.
“Lucas? What’s wrong?”
Lucas’s voice was a half-octave higher than usual when he asked, “How fast can you get home…”