Chapter 18 #3
Javi snorted his opinion of the sheriff’s dress code and buried his face in the crook of Cloister’s neck.
His breath was warm and sweaty against Cloister’s skin, fast and ragged as the thrusts that shoved him against the glass.
Cloister straightened his arm to steady himself, muscles outlined in strained lines under freckled skin, and dragged his hand roughly along his cock in time.
Heat built under his skin, the knot of muscle-melting pleasure deep in his stomach racked tight enough it tickled on the edge of pain. His legs trembled under him as his thighs trembled and his breath got tight.
Javi rubbed his face against him like a cat, the stubble on his jaw just dense enough to scrape, as he buried himself in his ass. His hand slid from Cloister’s hair and moved to his throat, thumb just under the hinge of his jaw.
Cloister rocked his hips back to meet each thrust, sweat-slick flesh sliding against each other.
His breathing turned ragged as he felt himself slip closer to the edge, and he twisted his fist roughly along the length of his shaft.
Before he could get himself off, Javi reached down and pulled his hand away.
The noise that escaped Cloister’s throat in protest was not dignified. It made Javi laugh at him, warm and familiar, as he tightened his grip on Cloister’s wrist.
“Trust me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The answer was easy. Cloister didn’t need any time to think about it.
He felt Javi’s pace falter briefly and then a softer kiss against his throat.
Javi let go of his wrist and reached down to wrap his own hand around Cloister’s cock.
His palm was softer, trigger calluses on his fingers instead of rope on his palms, but by this point familiar.
Cloister braced both forearms on the window and let Javi take over.
Come and lube slicked the length of his cock as Javi pumped his hand along it.
It smeared over his stomach and splattered the window.
When he came, it was between Javi’s fingers, and Javi casually smeared it up his stomach as he wrapped an arm around Cloister’s waist to steady him.
Aftershocks of pleasure prickled under Cloister’s skin, almost to the point where it hurt, as Javi thrust into him again. He felt Javi’s hand tighten on his hip, hard enough to bruise, and then make a thick, strangled sound in the back of his throat as he came.
Cloister felt the warm spill inside him, and then they both slid down the window onto the floor.
They squirmed around, sticky and sweaty and naked, until Cloister was leaning against the window and Javi was sprawled back against his chest. Javi rested his head back on Cloister’s shoulder and his hand along the inside of Cloister’s thigh, from groin to knee, in a lazy caress.
It felt…not simple. Neither of them were wired for simple.
Steady, maybe, and it was that. It was the still that Cloister leaned into.
After days of aggressively ignoring the emotional shrapnel clattering around his head because there were other things that mattered more, it was just quiet for once.
“Tomorrow—” Javi risked that stillness as he spoke.
Cloister interrupted him. “It can wait until tomorrow,” he said, and pressed a kiss to Javi’s damp temple. “Let’s go to bed.”
It felt like Javi was going to argue with that. Cloister braced himself for it. Instead, Javi used Cloister’s crooked knee to push himself up, crumpled shirt sweat-glued to his body, and offered Cloister a hand to do the same.
“I did promise a night’s sleep,” he said as he tangled his fingers through Cloister’s. “But we should get our food first.”
Sweaty body sprawled out on expensive sheets, Cloister idly traced his finger down Javi’s back from nape to the dip of his ass. He’d been going to say it. The words had been on the tip of his tongue, and then the back of his throat.
What if he’d got it wrong? What if it had just been sex? Or affection.
Love but not in love.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d chased that golden ring and only realized too late that it wasn’t for him. What was it his mom had said once, when he’d told her?
Cloister’s hand paused at the curve of Javi’s ass, and he wondered why he was pretending he didn’t remember. To himself, of all people.
He could still remember the threadbare apron she’d had on as he hugged her, the smell of flour hanging in the air as she made something for his school.
“I love you, Mom,” he’d said.
He’d seen his friends say it to their moms, at their houses and in the street, and with blatant intent to just get something out of it. For a second, he thought it was going to work. His mom had reached down to pat his hand, dusting him with flour.
“I suppose you would.”
That had hurt. It still hurt. It wasn’t a mistake he wanted to make twice. He rolled on his side and looked at his hand against Javi’s ass. His tan was darker, freckles sprayed over his knuckles, than the light, soft brown of Javi’s skin.
Especially not a mistake to make when he meant it this much.
The yawn caught Cloister by surprise. For once, despite the thought of his mother, he was relaxed enough to lean into sleep. As he dozed off, he heard…
…dogs in the distance, and when he looked down at his hand, he was gripping a yellow truck. It was a long way to the ground, and as he watched, blood dripped off it to splatter over a man’s boot.