Chapter Ten #15
No need for that distance. Zavier wrapped his fingers around Flynn’s hip and held him still while he sucked him with patient, deep pulls. Wet sounds filled the room. Flynn’s breathing turned into a string of gasps and wrecked little moans, the mattress shifting under him every time his body arched.
“Zavier, fuck, that feels—” Flynn cut off on a broken sound.
Heat coiled harder in Zavier’s gut. He loved making him fall apart. Loved the taste of pre-cum on his tongue. Loved the sight of Flynn’s stomach pulling tight with strain, his chest heaving, his cock sliding hot and heavy over Zavier’s tongue.
When Flynn got too close, Zavier eased off just enough to keep him there, panting and shaking. He kissed his way back up Flynn’s body instead, licking the salt from his skin, taking his time until Flynn looked glassy and ruined already.
By the time Zavier stripped out of his own clothes, his dick ached. Flynn looked at him and made a helpless little noise that went straight under Zavier’s skin.
“Well,” Flynn said faintly, staring hard and not pretending otherwise. “There goes my remaining dignity.”
Zavier climbed back onto the bed and settled over him, enjoying the slide of Flynn’s thighs against his hips, the direct hot press of their cocks between them. Flynn’s lashes fluttered and his mouth fell open. He reached down, wrapped his fingers around Zavier’s dick, and stroked once.
That nearly ended him.
“Flynn.”
His mate looked up through tousled hair, lips swollen, expression soft with want. Then Flynn shifted lower on the bed and pushed at Zavier’s shoulder until Zavier sat back against the headboard.
Zavier understood only a second before Flynn pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh.
A rough groan tore from his chest.
Flynn glanced up with a quick flash of wickedness that nearly made Zavier laugh despite the pressure pounding through him. Then Flynn kissed the base of his dick, licked upward, and opened for him.
Every thought in Zavier’s head scattered.
Flynn sucked him carefully at first, as if learning. Wet, warm, hungry despite the nerves he still couldn’t quite hide. Zavier watched his mouth take him in, watched the hollow of his cheeks, watched one hand brace against Zavier’s thigh while the other stroked what his mouth didn’t hold.
“Fuck,” Zavier said, voice gone rough as gravel. He threaded his fingers through Flynn’s hair, not guiding, just touching. “Kitten.”
Flynn moaned around him at that, the vibration dragging another growl out of Zavier’s chest. He had to tip his head back for a second just to survive it.
The sight when he looked again was even worse—Flynn’s lips stretched around his cock, spit shining, eyes half-lidded and fixed on him like he liked what he was doing.
Zavier’s abdomen tightened painfully. Every pull of Flynn’s mouth sent heat through him in thick, pulsing waves. He stroked a hand over Flynn’s hair, down the back of his head, along the line of his neck. Soft. Beautiful. His.
When Flynn drew off with a wet sound to breathe, Zavier caught his jaw and kissed him hard. He could taste himself in Flynn’s mouth, and something about that made his pulse slam.
“Come here,” he murmured, easing Flynn onto his back again.
Flynn’s chest rose and fell too fast. His lips were wrecked. His cock looked painfully hard, flushed against his stomach. Zavier reached into the nightstand, found the lube, and let out a slow breath when Flynn watched his every movement with hungry focus.
No more waiting.
He poured some into his palm and wrapped his hand around Flynn’s cock first, stroking slowly. His mate cried out softly and grabbed at the sheets. Zavier kissed him while he touched him, swallowing each sound. Then he let his slick fingers slide lower.
The first press at Flynn’s hole made him tense.
Zavier paused only long enough to kiss his mouth, his cheek, the corner of his jaw. “Breathe kitten.”
Flynn’s hands gripped at his shoulders. He nodded against Zavier’s lips, and the trust in that nearly wrecked him more than anything else had.
Gently, Zavier circled him, slicking him thoroughly before easing one finger in.
His mate gasped and went rigid for a heartbeat, then softened by degrees under Zavier’s steady touch. Zavier kept his mouth on him the whole time, kissing him slow, murmuring low nonsense against his lips, feeling each little tremor as Flynn adjusted around him.
“That’s it,” Zavier said, more to steady himself than anything.
Flynn exhaled shakily. “Very strange thing to get praised for.”
“You’re doing beautifully.”
A soft, wrecked laugh left Flynn. “That was smoother than my line.”
Zavier smiled and worked him open carefully.
Another finger. More slick. More time. He paid attention to every reaction, every tightened breath, every clutch of fingers at his shoulders.
His mate was so responsive, so honest in his body.
When Zavier crooked his fingers just right, Flynn moaned helplessly and shoved his face into Zavier’s throat as if embarrassed by the sound.
There.
Zavier did it again until Flynn was trembling, his cock leaking against his stomach, his thighs spread helplessly wide.
“Zavier,” Flynn said, half plea, half dazed wonder.
The room felt too warm. Rain had started outside at some point, tapping softly at the window, but Zavier barely heard it over Flynn’s breathing and the wild beat of his own pulse.
He slicked his dick, then guided the slick over Flynn’s entrance again, working him open with patient circles before giving his hole another slow press of two fingers.
Flynn arched under him with a broken moan, one hand flying to Zavier’s wrist while the other fisted the sheet. “Fuck, you really commit to a bit.”
A laugh rumbled out of Zavier before he kissed him, softening the edge of the stretch with his mouth. “You’re still talking. Good sign.”
“Bad sign,” Flynn gasped, eyes squeezed shut as Zavier curled his fingers and rubbed that sweet spot again. “Talking means I’m trying not to combust.”
His mate’s body answered everything for him.
Every little flutter around Zavier’s fingers, every sharp inhale, every helpless roll of his hips into the touch.
Zavier could not stop looking at him. Flynn was sprawled across the bed with his thighs open and his skin flushed gold in the lamplight, narrow through the waist, lean all over, cock hard and wet against his stomach.
He looked devastating. He looked made for worship.
Bending his head, Zavier kissed his way down Flynn’s jaw and throat, then lower, mouthing one nipple until Flynn made that wrecked little noise again.
At the same time, he eased a third finger in with excruciating care, loving the way Flynn’s body resisted for a second and then gave, heat closing around him.
“Oh my God,” Flynn whispered hoarsely. “You’re trying to turn me into soup.”
“That was always the plan.” Zavier sucked lightly at his throat, then licked the spot to soothe it.
Flynn laughed weakly, but the sound dissolved into a moan when Zavier stretched him deeper. His abdomen tightened. His cock jerked against his skin. Zavier wrapped his free hand around it and stroked once, slow from root to tip, and Flynn nearly folded in half.
“Zavier.” His voice came out thin and wrecked. “You are doing entirely too much and also not enough.”
Amusement warmed through him even while lust clawed at his insides. “Greedy.”
“Very,” Flynn breathed, then opened his eyes and looked straight at him. “You made me this way.”
That gaze punched through him harder than anything else.
Zavier kissed him again, deeper, wet and unhurried, swallowing the sounds Flynn kept making while he worked him open.
He wanted this drawn out. Wanted Flynn loose and flushed and shaking before he gave him what they both wanted.
Wanted to feel every second of his mate giving himself over.
Rain tapped more steadily at the window now, a soft patter under the wet sounds of lube and breath and shifting sheets. The room smelled like sex already, warm skin and Flynn’s sweet scent wrapping around Zavier’s senses until he felt half drunk on it.
When Flynn started grinding down against his hand, chasing pressure with shy little movements that were anything but subtle, Zavier finally drew his fingers out.
The loss made Flynn whine.
Zavier almost came from that alone.
“Cute,” he murmured.
Flynn glared up at him with blown pupils and flushed cheeks. “That was a very vulnerable noise. I want it stricken from the record.”
Instead of answering, Zavier hooked a hand behind one of Flynn’s knees and spread him wider, then stroked more lube over his own dick.
The slick glide of his hand was almost too much.
His cock ached, heavy and hard, and the sight of Flynn watching every movement with his lips parted nearly unraveled his self-control.
When he lined himself up, Flynn’s breath caught hard.
Zavier brushed their mouths together once, twice, then pushed in slowly.
Heat engulfed him in a tight, wet press that made his vision pulse. Flynn gasped and gripped his shoulders, thighs tensing around Zavier’s hips. Every inch felt hot and snug and fucking perfect, his body yielding little by little under steady pressure.
“Look at me,” Zavier said roughly.
Flynn did. His lashes fluttered. His mouth stayed open on a quick breath. The trust in his face hit almost as hard as the sensation of Flynn’s body taking him in.
“Still trying not to combust,” Flynn whispered, though his voice shook.
Zavier kissed him through the last of the tension, not hurrying, just holding him there while Flynn adjusted. He stroked a hand over Flynn’s side, marveling again at the slim line of him, the smooth skin, the way his body trembled under each careful touch.
“So fucking beautiful,” he said against Flynn’s lips.
Color deepened across Flynn’s face. “Rude time for compliments.”
“That’s when you need them most.”