Chapter 24 #2
“Don't stare,” Greg said, which was hypocritical given what he'd done approximately forty-five seconds ago, but his face was on fire and his cock was just there, hard and exposed and he hadn't even known it could get hard before tonight.
“Fair's fair.” Dustin's grin was crooked, his scraped cheek flushed, his eyes dark. “You stared at mine.”
“That was different. Yours has jewelry.”
Dustin laughed again and then he settled his weight back against Greg and all thoughts of embarrassment fled Greg's mind.
Because there was nothing between them now.
Just skin and heat and the entire searing length of Dustin pressed against him and Greg couldn't breathe.
The feeling of Dustin's body against his, the piercings dragging against his hip, the heat of him, the weight of him, it all combined into an overwhelm of sensation.
Everything hit at once. Every nerve. Every point of contact between them lit up.
“Oh—” Greg's hand flew to Dustin's back, fingers pressing into muscle, pulling him closer when there was no closer left to go. His hips moved on their own, grinding up against Dustin, and the friction tore a sound out of him that he would never, ever be able to take back.
“Yeah,” Dustin breathed against his mouth. “There you go.”
He rolled his hips and Greg saw stars.
“I didn't—” Greg gasped. “I didn't know. That it could be like this.”
“I know, sunshine.”
They found a rhythm. Slow at first, then faster, Dustin's weight pinning him down as they moved together, the friction building between them. Greg could feel the piercings against him, hard metal dragging on sensitive skin, and every drag sent a bolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure through him.
It was messy. It was clumsy. Greg's movements were uncoordinated and desperate.
But Dustin didn't seem to mind—which was good because Greg couldn't act any different. He couldn't say anything either. Words had left him. All he had were the sounds, the helpless little gasps and moans he was making as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in his stomach.
Dustin's mouth was on his neck again, sucking, and Greg's hips bucked hard. One of Greg's hands was tangled in Dustin's hair and the other was gripping the sheets and his body was singing with tension and he was so close to something.
He didn't know what.
But it was right there.
And it was massive.
“I—” Greg's back arched. “Dustin—”
“I've got you,” Dustin said. “Let go. I've got you.”
Greg did.
The world fractured.
It broke apart into a blinding, silent white light that washed through him, and for one terrifying second, he thought he was finally, truly dissolving.
But he wasn't scattering. He was coming apart and being held together all at once, anchored by the weight of Dustin on top of him and the sounds Dustin was making as he shuddered and followed him over the edge.
They lay there, a tangle of limbs and damp skin, the only sounds their ragged breathing.
Greg's mind was a vast, quiet expanse.
The constant, low-level hum of anxiety that had been the backdrop of his entire existence was gone.
There was no clipboard, no job, no purpose.
There was only this.
The warm weight of Dustin on top of him.
The feeling of Dustin's heart beating against his own.
And the quiet hum of the motel's air conditioner.
Dustin stirred first. He shifted his weight off Greg's chest and settled beside him on the narrow mattress. Their legs stayed tangled. Neither of them moved to fix that.
“So,” Dustin said. “How was the test drive?”
Greg stared at the ceiling. A water stain spread across the plaster above them in a shape that looked vaguely like a duck. He decided not to mention this.
“Better than ice cream,” he said.
Dustin was quiet for a beat. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “Better than ice cream,” he repeated. “That's what you're going with.”
“It's true. The ice cream was very good and this was better.”
“By how much?”
Greg thought for a moment. “Significantly.”
“Significantly better than ice cream.” Dustin pressed his face into the pillow next to Greg. “I want that on my headstone. Here lies Dustin. He was significantly better than ice cream.”
“There won't be a headstone.” The words came out before Greg could think about them.
Dustin lifted his head from the pillow. His hair was tousled, his skin flushed, his eyes still soft from what they'd just done. He looked amazing. “Greg…”
“I'm not letting you die.” Greg said it to the ceiling because saying it to Dustin's face would have made his voice break. “I will find out what's keeping you alive and then I'll make sure nobody messes with it.”
Greg couldn't say when he had reached that decision, but it felt right.
It felt like the only thing he could do anymore.
Cautiously, he glanced over at Dustin.
Dustin stared back at him, but he didn't say anything for a long time.
Then he shifted closer on the mattress and pressed his good shoulder against Greg's. “For a small reaper you make some pretty big promises. Are you sure that's what you want to do?” Dustin's hand found his. Their fingers laced together, loose and warm.
“I'm sure.” Greg's voice was firm.
He would hold on to this. To his promise, to the man next to him.
For as long as he could.