Chapter 32
“I swear, if this goddamned condo is bugged again, and Pantouffle found the fucking thing like last time, I’m flat out confessing to murder and waiting to get picked up.
I’m so fucking tired, I’ll just sleep in prison!
” With an exhausted sigh, Beckett dropped his go bag at the door and toed off his boots—thankfully, Special Agent Gentry had kept her word and returned them to him.
Pantouffle was not eyeing anything suspiciously, however.
She came trotting over as they walked in, weaving herself through Beckett’s legs in a plea for attention.
They’d asked their neighbour to feed her while they were gone—Mrs. Plumb owed him for his part in rescuing her cat the previous fall—but Pantouffle obviously missed them. Or at least their open admiration.
“Helloooo beautiful,” he crooned softly, picking her up and petting her as she settled in his arms. She shifted a few times, seemingly unable to find a comfortable position.
Then she sniffed him, sneezed twice in quick succession, and swatted his face before jumping out of his arms. It was, without a doubt, the most vicious behavior she’d ever displayed.
“What the actual fuck!” he said, watching her race off and disappear down the hall.
“Wow!” Hayes exclaimed, amazed and amused. “That was—”
“What the hell? What did I do?” Beckett asked, confused. She’d always been a little—particular with others, but with him? Never!
Hayes chuckled and leaned forward. Beckett looked up, ready to receive a kiss, only to find he’d been left hanging as Hayes sniffed him instead.
“You smell like dog,” he determined quickly, scrunching his nose and frowning. “She probably feels like you cheated on her with Nickel.”
And that was the most ridiculous fucking thing he’d ever fucking heard—so, naturally, that meant it had to be what had pissed her off.
He stared after her a few seconds longer, mouth agape.
“If you’re looking for me—I’ll be in the shower—attempting to flay myself to death with a washcloth and that insanely expensive shower gel you always buy,” Beckett said, dragging his feet as he headed towards the bathroom.
“Don’t forget to wash behind your ears!” Hayes advised because he was a fucking pain in Beckett’s ass.
And not the sexy goddamned kind, either.
Hayes found him there a short while later.
While Beckett lingered beneath the spray, forearms leaning against the tile, letting the water pound against the back of his neck, Hayes slipped in behind him.
Beckett didn’t say anything at first when Hayes’ arms encircled his waist and pulled him back against him.
He just hummed—exceedingly pleased to feel Hayes’ hard cock pressed against his ass.
“Let’s never leave home again,” Beckett moaned. He felt the vibrations of Hayes’ laugh against his back.
“I’m serious. It’s nothing but hellfire and chaos out there,” he complained.
Hayes didn’t reply, too busy pressing soft kisses to the skin of his throat, then behind his ears.
He bit gently down on Beckett’s trapezius muscles, making him shudder with a weird combination of pleasure and pain.
Hayes’ hands constantly roamed over his skin—both the unscathed and the bruised—applying a deliciously perfect amount of pressure.
“If this is where I die, I’d do so happily,” he said, blissed out by Hayes’ ministrations. It felt like an eternity since they’d been alone together like this. Home sweet home, indeed!
“You’re too fucking dramatic for your own good,” Hayes scolded but Beckett could hear the smile in his voice. He’d snaked a hand around Beckett’s waist and wrapped a hand around Beckett’s noticeably interested cock.
He moaned as Hayes began to jack him slowly.
“I could have died at least a thousand times for people I’d never met, based solely on the whims of Uncle Sam—” Beckett said, breathing raggedly as Hayes expertly worked his dick. “A guy can only dream of dying with his soulmate’s cock buried in his ass.”
And it was too much. His declaration had a dramatic impact on Hayes, because suddenly, the slow build to ecstasy turned into something far more carnal and urgent. Beckett found himself pressed to the tile, as two lubed up fingers breached him with little care for tenderness.
“Stabbing’s a good way to go, too!” Beckett exclaimed with a crazed laugh as Hayes rammed his fingers into him again and again. Although the sensation was somewhat painful, like some of his injuries he’d yet to recover from, at least this pain was sweet and addictive.
Hayes’ other hand tightened around his cock, and he quickened his movements when Beckett began panting and moaning, wanting to drive him ever higher towards release.
“I’m not going to last,” Beckett warned.
“Then don’t. You wanted to die, didn’t you?
” Hayes chuckled. Beckett moaned as he began the last climb towards his orgasm.
Hayes added another finger and began spreading him open.
Beckett banged his head against the tile, barely able to speak as Hayes’ right hand jacked him mercilessly, and his left pushed against his prostate hard enough to make him see stars.
“I need you,” Beckett mewled, feeling right on the edge.
“I won’t stop if I start,” Hayes warned, pulling his fingers from Beckett’s ass.
Beckett groaned pitifully at the loss, channel clenching around nothing, his quest to achieve orgasm leaving him breathless.
“Whatever, yes. Please. Please,” Beckett begged.
Hayes had stopped jacking him, but he began again slowly as he pressed the tip of his cock to Beckett’s entrance.
“Tell me again,” Hayes said, breath warm against Beckett’s ear.
Tell him? Tell him what? Beckett couldn’t think. His tongue felt too wide in his mouth, his head filled with cotton.
“I love you, I love you. Please—” he begged, uncertain what it was that Hayes had wanted to hear.
“No,” he said, biting Beckett’s lobe. “Call me that again—” he purred, his cock teasing Beckett as he ran it up and down the crease of his ass.
And Beckett was either a genius, or his body was so desperate for release that a few remaining neurons fired long enough for him to come up with the magic word.
“Soulmate,” he breathed out. That was what had sent Hayes’ mind tilting and triggered this sexual frenzy. Soulmate. Like a two-piece puzzle. Two halves of a whole. Beckett had said it teasingly at the time, unaware that it would have such a powerful impact on his boyfriend. It was not funny now.
“I want to die on my soulmate’s cock—” he huffed, turning his head against the tile to catch Hayes’ hungry gaze. “If he’ll hurry up and fuck me already.”
Hayes split him with said cock a second later.
Beckett didn’t last long. All of it was too much.
His body was a mess of bruises, cuts, and some cracked ribs, singing with pleasure and pain in equal measure.
They melted together until he was nothing but sensation.
When the dam broke, and he finally came, mindlessly chanting his lover’s name against the cold tiles he was pressed against, he felt tears pool in his eyes.
Hayes wasn’t finished yet, and kept fucking him at a frantic pace. Beckett shook as over-stimulation took over. But Hayes wasn’t done with him. His hand wrapped around his spent cock, the touch pulling a plea and a hiss from Beckett.
“No rest for the wicked,” Hayes chuckled against his ear.
Beckett leaned his head back against Hayes’ shoulder, letting him do as he pleased, even as his body twitched intermittently, instinctively seeking to escape the continued contact.
His torturous pain only spurred Hayes on.
Beckett could tell he was close to coming, the sounds of Hayes’ groin slapping his ass almost deafening in the small shower.
Beckett clenched around him, bucking into Hayes’ hand as his cock came to life again, growing harder by the second.
A few thrusts later, Beckett’s ass was filled by Hayes’ cum as he came with a shout. Beckett was right behind him, spilling over Hayes’ hand. The release itself was almost as painful as it had been pleasurable.
“Fuck,” Beckett groaned, as he pressed himself even closer to the tile. Hayes was like a weighted, hot blanket on his back as his struggled to recover from his orgasm, feeling a bit unsteady on his feet.
“Did I kill you?” Hayes asked, amused as Beckett attempted, and subsequently failed, to push off the wall.
“Not yet—but really fucking nearly,” he replied, laughing.
“Next time,” Hayes said.
“Yes—next time,” Beckett agreed, and when he turned to look at Hayes, they shared a moment.
Time. What an incredible concept. They had plenty of time.
Years. Decades. For two men who’d spent their entire adult lives flirting with early graves—being so fond of the idea of time was foreign, but not unlike a delayed orgasm—it was something they were desperately looking forward to.
“Take me to bed, Nancy,” Beckett asked. They shared a quick peck before they staggered to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, wrapped around each other.
They set no alarms and ignored their phones.
They had all the fucking time in the world.