Chapter 14 #2
Asher kisses Caleb as though Caleb is his north star and he is hell-bent on chasing it, straight on till morning. And between the moon and sun, he lets himself go pliant, and Caleb puts him back together.
Then Caleb pulls away, smirks a little, and says, “How about you get on your knees and show me what that mouth is actually good for.”
And just like that, Asher drops. The brace strapped around his knee hits the carpet with a dull thud. It’s pure surrender. Nothing but an electrical storm of desire, a want that crackles so brilliantly, it’s practically visible.
Caleb weaves his fingers into Asher’s hair again and tightens his grip. Not enough to hurt, but enough for his eyes to go distant and cloudy, visibly slipping into a different headspace. Asher sinks in deeper, presses his face into the warmth of Caleb’s skin.
“Asher? Is this okay?” Caleb checks in. He strokes Asher’s temple.
“Yeah,” Asher murmurs. It’s more vibration against Caleb’s thigh than actual speech.
For a long moment, a comfortable silence wraps around them, soothing like a balm.
Nothing except for Asher’s steady breath on Caleb’s skin and desire crackling in the charged air.
Caleb runs reverent fingers through Asher’s hair.
His affection reaches for every fragmented shard of Asher, as though they are pieces of stained glass built to form around his heart.
When he’s finally satisfied, he drags a thumb across Asher’s kiss-bitten lower lip. Beneath him, Asher shudders.
“Look at you,” Caleb says, voice low. Asher’s cheeks flush bright red, like he’s embarrassed about how pretty he looks on his knees. And honestly? He should be.
The second Caleb applies pressure, silently giving Asher permission, Asher sucks Caleb’s thumb hungrily into his mouth.
Caleb tries to go slow, to allow Asher to get used to it.
He really does. But Asher whines, the noise shooting straight to Caleb’s belly, and soon one finger becomes two and Asher is curling his tongue around them, nearly choking as he eagerly he tries to take in more.
Caleb can’t help but laugh at that. “Down, boy. We’ve got all night.”
“I’m a fast learner,” Asher shoots back breathlessly. His darkened eyes twinkle.
“You’re a little brat, that’s what you are,” Caleb tells him. But Caleb is not a strong man; he will give Asher whatever he wants. Anything at all. He shoves three fingers back in, only pulling out to drag the spit-slick digits over Asher’s lips, making a mess of him. “You want my cock instead?”
A whine crawls up Asher’s throat and reverberates loudly in the silence of the hotel room. His eyes flutter shut, ears going pink. Once again, it achieves absolutely nothing except for making him look even prettier. It should be illegal.
Caleb raises his free hand, looping the chain around his index finger, then pushes his thumb against the underside of Asher’s chin, forcing him to look up. “I asked you a question.”
Asher swallows against his hand, slowly coming back from some faraway place before he nods. “Want to taste you,” he says, blinking up at Caleb. “Please.” He pauses to share a small grin, this one earnest and wanting, and—God, Asher is so beautiful.
In fact, Caleb is about half a second away from tugging him back up into another kiss, but right then, deciding delayed gratification to be vastly overrated, Asher sticks a defiant tongue out and gives the underside of Caleb’s cock a kitten lick.
Just one taste is enough to spur him on.
He alternates between rubbing the head of Caleb’s cock against his cheek and lapping at it.
“You’re a nightmare,” Caleb groans. He tightens his grip on Asher’s collar, applying just enough pressure to regain a little bit of control.
It’s hard to unlearn years of trauma. Often, Caleb still catches himself thinking that if he blinks, Asher will vanish.
But Asher doesn’t. He’s still here. In fact, he keeps a roguish tongue out, offering it to Caleb with a glint in his eyes.
Caleb drags the head of his cock over Asher's dark lips then taps it against Asher's tongue, toying with him.
A heartbeat later, the last of his restrain evaporating, Caleb shudders and finally lets himself sink into Asher’s velvety heat.
As soon as he does, Asher takes the reins, and Caleb’s world narrows into this: Asher’s lips wrapped around his length, cheeks hollowing slightly, tongue tracing swirls against the underside of his cock, and all kinds of wet, hungry, and pleasant noises.
Asher sucks hard and gasps when Caleb’s hips jerk forward, following that heat and making him choke.
The room fucking spins. Asher’s mouth stuffed full over and over and over again, slack-jawed on his knees, eyes rolling back as Caleb grips his hair like a vise, keeping Asher in place as Caleb uses him to chase his own pleasure.
When Asher glances upward, eyes dark and clouded over, Caleb is struck with just how much more vulnerable they are like this.
Everything they are is built upon trust. There is miles of it in the ring, unspoken promises to walk the end of the world to keep each other’s bodies safe.
A singular point rooted in tender care amid a whirlwind of hurt, of torn flesh and bloodied knees and shattered bones.
And now, if he’ll let him, a part of Asher’s heart too.
Caleb thumbs Asher’s bottom lip, right where drool is beginning to leak out from the corner of his mouth. It’s unholy. And it’s also a little infuriating, honestly, that Asher is naturally so good at everything he does.
A little mournfully, he pulls out of Asher’s mouth with an obscene pop, who lets out a disappointed whine as he gives chase.
“Don’t tease,” Asher pants, hoarse, the furrow of his brow petulant.
Caleb watches as Asher licks his lips once more, still struggling to catch his breath, before he hauls Asher up into his arms, pulling him into a kiss and licking the taste of himself out of Asher’s mouth. Then he takes Asher’s place and sinks down onto the soft carpet.
“How many times do you think you can come tonight?” Caleb asks, voice rough like nails.
Asher touches trembling fingers to Caleb’s cheek. “I think my body will do anything you want it to.”
Caleb bows his head. Being on his knees before Asher feels like a quiet confession in its own right; the carpet he kneels on a consecrated ground. He finds unexpected sanctuary here—a port in a storm.
Asher writhes when Caleb grips his cock and presses a kiss to its leaking slit. He does it slowly, mindfully, like Asher's something precious. Because he is.
“I like how wet you get for me,” Caleb says softly. Asher preens at that. Then, without warning, Caleb takes Asher’s cock deep into his mouth.
“Fuck,” Asher gasps, hands scrambling for purchase as his head drops backward.
Like this, throat bared in a golden light, Asher looks angelic—his body endlessly responsive, a vision of pleasure, a symphony of whimpers and whines as he tries to keep his hips still, the obscene O of his mouth, the glistening line of sweat down his neck.
Caleb can’t take his eyes off Asher, only forced to when his body demands it, eyelids fluttering shut as Asher’s cock nudges past the tight ring of his throat. It’s like he’s cataloging every twitch of Asher’s hips, every moan he scatters around the room, every shudder of his thighs.
Like Asher’s body is a violin and he is learning how to play it.
Like he intends to practice until he’s perfect.
“I’m gonna . . .” Asher gasps. The fingers in Caleb’s tighten hair in warning.
Caleb pulls back a little, just enough that the head of Asher’s cock rests on his tongue. He suckles on it insistently, relentless.
“I . . .” Asher makes a keening noise, high in the back of his throat before he tumbles over the edge, body coming apart in Caleb’s hands as he spills all over Caleb’s tongue.
Asher sways forward, eyes still squeezed shut, and Caleb is right there, a steadying arm around his waist. A promise being kept. Always.
But he’s not done.
Wrapping the chain up in a fist, Caleb guides Asher by the neck over to the bed, tugging him along.
“Up,” Caleb instructs.
Asher’s body and mind sighs into willing submission. He’s loose-limbed, happy to let Caleb spread him out, lying him flat on his back. He groans at the manhandling, his spent cock giving a feeble twitch. Oh, this will be fun.
Asher bites back a whimper as Caleb’s fingers trace patterns over the golden expanse of his skin, fingers walking up the plane of his thigh, the ridges and dips of his chest. Under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, Asher is made into something ethereal.
Or maybe it’s just Asher. Maybe he’s the one who performs miracles.
It doesn’t matter. When Asher leans forward and kisses Caleb, just a peck on the lips before he lies back down, every thought dissolves like spun sugar in water.
Caleb keeps going. He trails open-mouthed kisses against the hard muscle of Asher’s stomach, up his sternum, the dip at his collarbone—everywhere he can reach. Makes sure to leave one over Asher’s jackrabbiting heart too, just for good measure.
When he’s satisfied, he leans back, and he can see Asher’s chest heaving as he pants.
“You want something?” Caleb asks, injecting a playful lilt to his usually steady tone. He makes his voice go sugary, a reflection of their first meeting in the ring.
If the smirk on Asher’s face is anything to go by, he catches it.
“Yeah,” he says. He hauls Caleb up, lower lip drawn between his teeth like he’s concentrating, like he wants this to be done right, dragging Caleb forward until his knees bracket Asher’s face. Then Asher—his sweet, ridiculous Asher—adds, “Take me. Mark me.”