14. Freshly Debauched #3
Harris’s hips moved, a short instinctive push he stopped almost immediately.
Jay drew back far enough to breathe, one hand still twisting around the base of him. “You can move.”
“I’m trying not to—”
Jay put his mouth back on him before Harris could finish.
This time Harris followed the rhythm, still controlled but deliberate. Jay relaxed into it, opening around him while his tongue worked beneath the head.
One of Harris’s hands remained firm in Jay’s hair while the other cupped his jaw, thumb moving across his cheek.
The intimacy of it landed harder than Jay expected. He looked up to find Harris already watching him, hungry and almost awestruck. One hand held Jay firmly by the hair; the other cradled his face while Harris felt the hollow of Jay’s cheek move beneath his thumb.
His thumb slipped lower, and Jay watched realization cross his face when he felt Jay swallow around him.
“Fuck.”
By then Jay’s own cock ached inside his jeans. He opened them blindly, pushed the denim low enough to free himself, and wrapped one hand around his cock.
The first stroke made him moan around Harris. Harris went still, his gaze dropping to Jay’s hand as Jay kept sucking him and stroking himself, letting Harris understand exactly what having him in Jay’s mouth was doing. The knowledge changed his entire face.
“Jesus, Jay.”
His hips pushed forward harder. Jay opened willingly, eyes watering as Harris pressed deeper. The sound Harris made nearly pushed him over.
Both hands moved into Jay’s hair, not forcing, only holding while his control began to break.
Jay stroked himself faster. He wanted Harris coming in his mouth while Jay came in his own hand. He wanted the taste, the sounds, and the exact second Harris stopped holding anything back.
Harris’s breathing broke into rough pulls. “Fuck. Jay, I’m—”
His hands loosened automatically, as though he expected Jay to move away, but Jay did not. Holding Harris’s gaze, he deliberately took him deeper.
Harris understood, and his face came apart; the rest of him followed. He came with a rough, helpless sound, hips jerking as the first hot pulse struck Jay’s tongue.
Heat and salt, Harris still deep in his mouth, both hands tightening in his hair as another broken sound tore from him. Jay swallowed once, then again.
For those few seconds, there was no ambiguity left in Harris at all, and it was all too much.
Jay came almost immediately, pleasure moving through him hard enough that his hand faltered before tightening again.
Release spilled across his stomach and fist while Harris came in his mouth and those involuntary sounds carried Jay through every final pulse.
For several seconds afterward, neither moved.
Jay rested his forehead against Harris’s thigh. One of Harris’s hands remained loose in his hair while the other lay open against the couch.
When Jay could make his hand cooperate, he reached toward the side table. Harris caught the tissue box first and handed it down.
“Very dignified,” Jay muttered as he cleaned himself.
“You were real concerned about dignity thirty seconds ago.”
“Eh. Dignity is situational.”
The corner of Harris’s mouth shifted.
Jay sat back on his heels and took him in: hair disordered, chest rising too fast, expression suspended between satisfaction and disbelief. He felt ridiculously pleased.
“I’ve been thinking about doing that for four days.”
Harris stared. “Four days?”
“More or less continuously.”
His gaze moved over Jay, slow and newly assessing. “Eager, aren’t you?”
“Shut up.”
“Didn’t say it was a complaint.”
Jay began to stand, but Harris caught him behind the neck and pulled him into a kiss.
The taste made him hesitate for the smallest fraction of a second, and then Harris kissed him harder.
Jay braced one knee against the couch and kissed him back, slower now that the frantic edge had passed. Harris’s hand stayed behind his neck, and when they separated, Jay remained close enough that their foreheads nearly touched.
Eventually reality returned in small, inconvenient pieces: the lodge, Harris’s family, Jay’s colleagues, and the fact that he could not walk back across the ranch looking freshly debauched without inviting questions.
He pulled his jeans into place and caught his reflection faintly in the dark window. His hair was wrecked, his mouth looked thoroughly used, and color remained high across his chest.
“I should give it a few minutes before I go back looking like this.”
Harris was assembling his discarded clothes. “Stay as long as you need.”
Jay washed up and returned to find Harris dressed again. Jay sat beside him rather than taking the chair.
Five minutes became ten. Somewhere in there, Harris asked about a festival screening Jay had mentioned on the mountain, and Jay told him about failed subtitles, a panicked moderator, and his attempt to translate half the film aloud from the back of the theater while everyone pretended the situation was intentional.
By the time Jay noticed how long he had been talking, his face had cooled completely. He didn’t make a move to leave.