11. I’m Caught Up Now #3
Harris’s belt caught, Navarro swore against his throat, and Harris tried to help without putting any useful distance between them only to make matters worse before Navarro finally got his jeans open and shoved a hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.
Harris’s head tipped back against the wall with a curse as Navarro’s mouth found his neck again. His hands closed around Navarro’s bare waist and held on.
A man’s hand against him.
The thought barely formed before the sensation overwhelmed it.
Navarro shifted for more room, and Harris helped without being asked, shoving his jeans lower while Navarro dragged his boxers down with them.
Cool air hit him.
His cock sprang free between them, painfully hard, brushing Navarro’s stomach before Navarro stepped back half a pace.
Not away. Just enough to look.
Harris watched his gaze drop and catch. The unmistakable desire in Navarro’s face went through him almost as sharply as the touch itself.
Then Navarro closed the distance again, and Harris stopped having enough room in his head to be embarrassed about any of it.
There was only Navarro’s mouth against his, Navarro’s hand on bare skin, the heat of his naked chest pressed close while the rest of him remained hard beneath denim every time Harris pulled him in.
Harris had known men attracted him in the vague, manageable way a person knew a road existed without taking it. Until now, that knowledge had remained abstract enough to keep at a distance.
This was nothing like knowing.
This was Navarro.
This was Jay.
Harris caught his mouth again and kissed him until neither of them could seem to keep a rhythm with anything else they were doing. A rough sound escaped Jay when Harris pushed against his hand, and something about hearing it made Harris reach between them and grab Jay’s belt.
Jay broke the kiss just long enough to look down.
The buckle refused to cooperate, and his mouth twitched.
“Not a word,” Harris said.
“I said nothing.”
“Keep doin’ that.”
“Absolutely.”
Harris finally got the damn thing open. He shoved Jay’s jeans lower on his hips and hooked his fingers into the waistband beneath them, too far gone now to give himself the careful, contemplative moment he might once have imagined this required.
He pulled them down.
The sight of Jay hard in front of him hit with the strange force of something both completely unsurprising and impossible. Harris knew what a man looked like. He had never seen this man like this.
Jay’s lower stomach tightened beneath the dark trail of hair Harris had noticed in the equipment room all those days ago and tried very hard not to think about since.
“You planning to take notes?”
Harris hooked a hand behind Jay’s neck and hauled him back in. “Won’t be needin’ notes.”
Jay’s breath caught. “Good.”
The sound went straight through Harris. He kissed him again before Jay could say anything else, partly because talking had become difficult and partly because Harris was discovering he liked shutting Navarro up this way.
That was about as much discussion as either of them managed for the next several minutes.
Harris lost track of where their shirts had gone and stopped caring that their jeans were shoved down just far enough to make everything awkward.
He was too occupied with the heat of Jay’s skin against his and the unfamiliar pleasure of having this much of him within reach, of being able to put his hands wherever he wanted and feel Jay respond.
Their hands collided between them, knuckles knocking together hard enough that Jay broke away laughing.
Harris bit his jaw for it. “Asshole.”
“You like me.”
Harris kissed him again rather than dignify that with an answer.
There was no practiced rhythm to hide inside, but urgency made up for a surprising amount.
Harris knew his own body. He knew pressure and movement and what felt good.
Jay told him the rest without needing many words—the sharp intake of breath when Harris got something right, the way his hips moved, the tightening of his hand at the back of Harris’s neck.
When Jay wanted something different, he told him.
“Tighter.”
Harris adjusted.
Jay’s head tipped back. “Yeah. That.”
Something hot and vicious twisted low in Harris’s stomach. Knowing he’d gotten it right affected him almost as much as anything Jay was doing to him.
Harris was already too damn close.
Weeks of wanting him. Weeks of watching his mouth, his hands, his ass in the saddle, that line of hair disappearing beneath his jeans that was now beneath Harris’s hands. Weeks of telling himself none of it mattered because nothing was ever going to happen.
Apparently his body had kept a separate accounting.
“Navarro.”
The name came out wrong.
Jay looked at him, and whatever he saw must have been enough.
“Yeah. Come on, Harris.”
That finished him.
Harris came hard enough that whatever control he still had simply disappeared. His face dropped against Jay’s neck as his whole body locked with it, one hand braced against the wall at his side and the other clamped hard around Jay’s waist.
Jay held on, one arm tight around Harris’s shoulders and his mouth against Harris’s temple while Harris shuddered through it.
For a few seconds, Harris couldn’t do much except struggle to breathe.
Then sensation returned in pieces: the wall solid against his back. Jay’s fingers at the nape of his neck. The heat of their bare chests still pressed together.
And Jay was still hard.
Harris lifted his head.
Jay looked wrecked already—hair a mess from Harris’s hands, mouth red, chest flushed, jeans shoved low on his hips—and Harris liked the sight of him so much it bordered on offensive.
So he kept going.
Neither of them seemed inclined to put enough distance between them to make things easier. Harris stayed against the wall with Jay crowded close, one hand at his waist while the other continued what he’d started. He kissed along Jay’s jaw and throat as Jay’s reactions came faster.
His breathing broke. His stomach tightened. The hand behind Harris’s neck stopped being casual and became something Jay was using to hold on.
“Tighter,” Jay said.
Harris adjusted.
Jay’s forehead dropped briefly against his before his head tipped back again. “Yeah. Fuck. That.”
Harris felt an absurd surge of satisfaction.
He kissed him again, swallowing the next broken sound Jay made.
“Harris.”
“Yup.”
“I’m close.”
Harris didn’t slow down.
Jay came with a rough sound against Harris’s mouth, his whole body drawing tight against him before the tension finally broke. His fingers dug into the back of Harris’s neck as Harris held him close through it, feeling every shudder where their bare bodies touched.
Eventually Jay sagged into him.
“Okay,” he managed. Then, after another breath, “Jesus Christ.”
Harris’s mouth twitched.
Only then did either of them seem to register the state they were in.
Their shirts were on the floor. Their jeans were halfway down. Their hands were a mess, and there was absolutely nothing useful inside an abandoned lookout with which to deal with any of it.
Jay started laughing.
Harris looked at him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Navarro.”
That only made it worse.
Harris laughed too. One rough, disbelieving sound escaped before he could stop it.
Jay went completely still. “Did you seriously just laugh?”
“Nope.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh my God.”
“Navarro.”
Jay was grinning now, still flushed and breathless, his bare chest rising and falling between them. “I have been waiting three weeks to find out whether you were physically capable.”
Harris hauled him closer and kissed him, mostly to make him stop talking.
It worked.
For a while.