Chapter Ten #14
“No.” Zavier snorted. “You have to already be good in order to reach the next tier. You hover between cookie-stealing and eyes-darting lie level.”
“I am not that obvious,” Flynn argued. “I can get in and out of any room, pockets stuffed full of cookies with no one the wiser. Never underestimate my noodle arms and legs. They’re surprisingly stealthy.” He held up his arms and flexed. “See for yourself.”
Zavier’s fingers circled Flynn’s arm with inches to spare. “Can’t argue with proof. Very nice.”
“You’re so full of shit.” But Flynn still preened at the compliment.
Chapter Eight
“Your arms are nice.” Zavier brushed aside a few stray hairs from Flynn’s forehead. “Do you think the only qualifying factor is how big a muscle is?”
“Nobody flocks around a beanpole.” Flynn rolled his eyes. “They drool over a body built like yours, not mine.”
Zavier was truly baffled at Flynn’s measure of worth. “I’ve travelled extensively, have meet many people. What I’ve come to realize is, looks fade and bodies age. So, what remains?”
“Funeral planning?” Flynn frowned then his face lit up. “Pudding! Old people are addicted to that stuff.”
Zavier lost it. He laughed so hard, a few tears fell. “Kitten, I love how your mind works.”
“Well, you’re old.” He ticked off his fingers as he spoke.
“Your medicine cabinet is a sea of orange bottles. Your fridge is nothing but soft foods and prune juice. You smell like a sports injury. You watch gameshows at full volume because the hearing aids are charging. And you’ve got one dying fern you’ve named Gerald because he’s the only one left who understands you.
” Flynn paused thoughtfully. “You’re basically just waiting for Gerald to go first so you don’t have to feel guilty about leaving him. ”
“You’re strangely well-versed in geriatric living.”
“My nana.” Flynn’s expression softened. “She practically raised me. She loved squishy hugs. Just means hugging a little tighter.” He played with a beltloop on Zavier’s jeans. “Can we change the subject?”
Zavier had been trying to make a point about what gave life meaning. Companionship, comfort, being understood, and how love defied aging. His mate had understood. He’d just answered in Flynn language.
“I would die of mortification—which I vehemently believe can happen—if I ugly cried in front of a rizzler.”
“Rizzler?”
“You.” Flynn flapped his hand to encompass Zavier’s entire body. “Charisma, charm, magnetism, gorgeous. Do I need to break it down into subcategories? And you’re a cat, because somebody is clearly an overachiever.”
Zavier’s cat purred in satisfaction.
Flynn glanced up. “Now that sound is obvious. I thought my house was purring. Would I have to scratch the walls for tummy rubs?”
Zavier was pretty sure his mate was assembled from caffeine, poetry dust, and nana hugs.
“It’s still unclear to me what a squishy hug entails. Maybe a demonstration would help.”
Flynn’s lips twisted to the side. “Smooth. If you want a hug, just ask.”
Before Zavier could answer, Flynn scooted closer on the couch and wrapped both arms around him. Warm, slim, all lean lines and sleepy heat, he fit against Zavier so fucking well it nearly made his teeth ache. A playful growl rolled out of his chest on instinct.
Flynn laughed softly, breath warm against Zavier’s jaw, and then kissed him.
Everything in Zavier stilled.
For one suspended moment, Zavier only felt. The soft press of Flynn’s lips. The faint taste of morning dew. The little hitch in Flynn’s breath when Zavier cupped the side of his face and kissed him back.
Slowly, carefully, Zavier turned into it. He kept one hand at Flynn’s jaw and let the other settle at his waist, feeling the slim line of him beneath the thin fabric. Flynn fit against him with an ease that knocked the air from Zavier’s lungs. Soft, warm, and right.
Flynn made a quiet sound into his mouth and kissed him again, deeper this time, more certain.
Zavier followed, easing him back against the couch cushions for another few breaths, exploring instead of taking.
Their mouths parted and met, parted and met, each kiss lingering longer than the last. Flynn’s fingers curled in his shirt, then slid up into his hair, a little clumsy and eager.
“Squishy hug,” Flynn murmured against his lips, voice gone breathy.
A smile tugged at Zavier’s mouth. “That what this is?”
“Handsy demonstration.”
Zavier kissed him again before he could say anything else.
This one turned hungry too fast. Flynn opened for him with a soft gasp, and Zavier tasted him properly.
Tongue, breath, the wet heat of his mouth.
A low moan caught in Flynn’s throat, and hearing it nearly snapped the last thread of restraint Zavier had left.
He forced himself slower.
At Flynn’s back, Zavier’s hand spread wide, drawing him closer.
His mate was all narrow hips and lean muscle, a slim body that made something possessive and reverent burn under Zavier’s skin.
He touched Flynn gently, wanting to learn every line with his palms. The warm curve of his ass.
The flat plane of his stomach. The slight tremor that ran through him whenever Zavier’s hand slipped under his shirt.
Breaking the kiss long enough to breathe, Zavier dragged his mouth to Flynn’s cheek, then to his jaw. “Bed.”
Flynn swallowed, green eyes dark and blown wide, and nodded once.
They made it there in a mess of hands and half-stumbling steps. The bedroom smelled like Flynn—that woodsy scent Zavier had grown addicted to. Lamplight washed the room gold. By the time Flynn sat on the edge of the mattress, his hair was mussed and his lips looked kissed raw.
God.
Zavier stepped between Flynn’s knees and pushed the hoodie up, then off. His gaze dropped and stayed there. Slim torso. Smooth skin. Small nipples already peaked. Flynn looked up at him with color high in his cheeks, trying for bravado and missing by a mile.
“You’re staring.”
Because he couldn’t stop. Zavier brushed his fingertips down Flynn’s sternum, over his stomach, feeling the quick flutter of breath beneath his hand. “You’re beautiful.”
Flynn’s throat worked. “That’s very rude to say while I’m sitting here half naked and underprepared.”
Zavier hooked his fingers in Flynn’s waistband and drew him closer until Flynn’s knees framed his hips. “Then let me fix that.”
With a soft sound, Flynn leaned in and kissed him again.
The mattress dipped as Zavier eased him back onto it, stretching over him without dropping his full weight.
He kept the contact deliberate—chest to chest, thigh between Flynn’s legs, one hand sliding under Flynn’s back to unhook him from the bed and hold him there while their mouths moved together.
Flynn moaned more openly now. Little helpless sounds. Wet breaths. A startled gasp when Zavier sucked gently at his bottom lip and then soothed it with his tongue.
“Zavier,” Flynn whispered.
The sound of his name from Flynn’s mouth went straight to his dick.
He kissed down Flynn’s throat, slower again, giving himself time to breathe through the urge to strip him bare all at once.
At the hollow of Flynn’s throat, he lingered.
At his collarbone, he kissed and licked.
He took one nipple into his mouth and sucked lightly until Flynn arched under him with a broken moan and his fingers tightened in Zavier’s hair.
“Fuck,” Flynn breathed. “That—fuck.”
Zavier smiled against his skin and worshipped the other one too, using his hand to stroke down Flynn’s side, amazed by how narrow his waist felt under his palm. His mate squirmed beautifully, laughing once under his breath at himself when his hips jerked up.
“So much for cool,” Flynn said, voice thin.
“You were never cool.”
“That’s hateful.”
The insult dissolved into a gasp when Zavier dragged his hand lower and palmed Flynn through his sweats. Hard already. Heat soaked through the fabric. Zavier groaned, forehead pressing briefly to Flynn’s ribs while his own cock strained painfully behind his fly.
He wanted all of him.
Working Flynn’s pants down inch by inch, Zavier kissed the skin he uncovered.
His hipbone. The soft place just below his navel.
The lean inside of his thigh. Flynn’s breathing turned ragged above him.
Every time Zavier got close to his cock and then moved elsewhere, Flynn made a frustrated little sound that made Zavier’s mouth twitch.
“Mean,” Flynn muttered.
Zavier looked up from between his thighs. “I’m admiring.”
“You can admire faster.”
A laugh left him then, low and helpless. He pulled Flynn’s sweats and underwear off fully and sat back for one burning second just to look.
Flynn’s cock stood flushed and hard against his stomach, damp at the tip.
His thighs parted for Zavier without hesitation, slim and tense, and the sight of all that bare skin spread on Flynn’s bed nearly drove him feral.
Zavier ran both hands up his legs, slow, feeling the muscles jump under his palms.
“So fucking pretty,” he said, mostly to himself.
Flynn covered his face with one hand. “I was hoping nudity would make me more eloquent. It has not.”
Zavier caught his wrist and kissed the inside of it. “You don’t need eloquence.”
Then he bent and licked a stripe up Flynn’s cock.
Flynn’s whole body jolted. A sharp gasp broke out of him, followed by a helpless moan when Zavier did it again, slower this time, savoring the taste. He mouthed the head, sucked lightly, then flattened his tongue underneath and listened to Flynn unravel above him.
“Holy shit,” Flynn said weakly.
Zavier loved that Flynn couldn’t stop talking even now. He loved the tremor in Flynn’s thighs when he opened his mouth and took him deeper. He loved the way Flynn’s hand came to his hair and then immediately loosened, as if remembering himself.