Chapter 4 #2
“Sure you don’t,” Becket snorted. He grabbed Hayes’ hand then, and gave it a good squeeze. “That’s why your hands are clammy, right?”
Growling, Hayes attempted to pull his hand away. Beckett refused to let go. Instead, he raised it to his mouth and kissed it, his dark green eyes never looking away from Hayes’.
“You look good in that badass tactical gear,” he commented, his voice low and gravelly as his eyes proceeded to rake across Hayes’ form with a bright spark of lust.
“We’re not fucking in a crypt,” Hayes said, because clearly it needed to be said.
“Why not?” Beckett asked, like it was a genuinely valid question.
Hayes scoffed and finally succeeded in pulling his hand away. He sat up and squared his shoulders, refusing to acknowledge the tent he was suddenly pitching.
“Ah, come on, Haysie-Daisy,” Beckett whispered seductively into Hayes’ ear.
How he’d managed to suddenly move that close without Hayes noticing it before now was a mystery. But there he was, pressed tightly along the length of Hayes’ body, one hand grasping Hayes’ upper thigh while his gorgeous gaze studied Hayes’ expression for any sign that his defenses were weakening.
“You and I both know that no one is gonna break into this place in the middle of the afternoon—the risk of getting caught would be too high, even by accident. You wait ‘til the dead of night—when no one is watching or waiting.” Beckett placed a small kiss on the side of Hayes’ neck, as his hand moved slowly up Hayes’ upper thigh towards his substantial—and growing rapidly—bulge.
He began pressing open-mouthed kisses along Hayes’ neck and jaw.
His right hand came up, and two of Beckett’s fingers settled on the outside of Hayes’ jaw, forcing him to turn so they were now face-to-face.
“All alone, in this huge goddamned school—” he said softly, his smile playful, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Are we still talking about the thieves?” Hayes asked, swallowing with some difficulty as his body responded to Beckett’s advances.
Beckett’s smile stretched impossibly wide, clearly pleased with Hayes’ reactions to his slowly escalating seduction. He placed a long, lingering kiss on Hayes’ mouth, which opened automatically when Beckett’s tongue begged for entry.
Somewhere in the confines of Hayes’ mind, a rational, reasonable voice sternly insisted that he definitely, positively had to call a halt to this immediately—that this was highly unprofessional behavior—that they needed to pull themselves together and—
But as he did all too often these days, he shut down that damned pesky voice. Slammed the door shut, locked the damned thing, and threw away the key. Then he pressed himself eagerly against Beckett and deepened the kiss.
It was virtually impossible to track and quantify time and space whenever Beckett was working his magic on him.
Hayes always lost himself to those soft, persuasive lips and that deliciously rough beard that rubbed against his freshly shaven face.
He buried his fingers in Beckett’s hair and pulled, loving the sensation as his boyfriend moaned with pained delight.
It wasn’t enough—never enough—but as Beckett pulled away, gaze sparkling and clearly proud of himself, Hayes saw stars, even while seeking some modicum of control before he surrendered completely to Beckett’s will.
“Fuck, we’re good at that,” the sexy idiot said, and God was he ever right.
Hayes tugged at the crotch of his pants and had to adjust his dick as he looked around the crypt for any possible threats.
“This really a blind spot?” Beckett asked, voice thick with arousal.
“Yes, I checked it myself,” he assured Beckett.
The crypt was long and dark, with lots of odd angles that made setting up cameras difficult.
He’d opted for placing the camera so it covered most of the space, while ensuring that about ten square feet along the back wall was out of range when choosing a spot for their sleeping bags.
“Fucking hope so—otherwise Cho’s about to get a hell of a show,” Beckett said, licking his lips before diving back in for another round of tonsil hockey.
Hayes intended to launch a protest. He really had.
But before he could, Beckett’s lips were on his again and then Beckett straddled him.
His thoughts scattered as soon as Beckett’s crotch made direct contact with his.
Beckett grabbed the back of his head and roughly forced their mouths together.
They kissed messily, without their usual tenderness or gradual buildup.
It was reminiscent of their first time, and Hayes loved it just that much more for generating that spark of familiarity deep in his gut.
When Beckett finally backed off, it was only long enough to allow him to get to work at Hayes’ crotch, one hand unbuttoning the waistband of his cargo pants while the other yanked down the zipper to free his aching cock.
“Jesus Christ!” Hayes cried out sharply when his hot dick was exposed to cold air.
Beckett cracked up laughing.
“Really? Taking the Lord’s name in vain? In a crypt full of priests?” Beckett chided mockingly.
Hayes groaned, closing his eyes from the intense pleasure of having Beckett’s hand squeezing his shaft just right.