FOURTEEN #2
Skin on skin was an absolute revelation.
The slide of Rory’s chest against his sent sparks cascading down Kieran’s back.
Both their heartbeats hammered now—competing, frantic rhythms pounding against each other through their ribs.
Rory’s mouth found his neck again, sucking gently at the junction of his shoulder.
Rory caught him instantly, a strong arm banding around his waist, pressing him harder against the wall. “I’ve got you.”
The promise in those words unraveled Kieran completely, stripping away the last thread of self-consciousness, the lingering voice in his head keeping score. Gone.
He reached down between them, his fingers fumbling with the metal of Rory’s belt buckle. Rory went entirely still, breathing hard against Kieran’s collarbone.
“Yeah?” Rory asked, his voice strained.
“Yeah,” Kieran confirmed, finally getting the belt open and popping the button of his jeans.
Rory groaned low in his throat and kissed him again, desperate now, all pretense of control dissolving entirely. His hips rolled forward, and Kieran felt him through the heavy denim—hard, obvious, and undeniable.
“Bedroom?” Kieran managed to gasp out.
“Now.”
They stumbled down the short hallway, blind and clumsy in the dark, mouths still locked together as feet tangled.
Kieran’s sweats were already hauled down his hips by the time the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress.
He kicked them off, sitting back on the bed and looking up at Rory, whose jeans hung open beneath his unfastened belt, his chest heaving as he watched Kieran through the shadows.
“Can I—” Rory started, his voice cracking.
“Yes,” Kieran said before he could even finish the question.
Rory huffed a breathless laugh, stepping closer to the bed. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“I don’t care. Yes.”
Rory’s expression shifted, the heat still burning there, but layered now with a tenderness so open it almost hurt to look at. He sank to his knees on the floor.
The sudden change in height made the rest of the room tilt, vertigo washing over him as he looked down.
“These need to come off,” Rory said, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Kieran’s underwear.
Kieran lifted his hips, and Rory pulled them down in one swift motion, tossing them aside. Cool air hit his overheated skin. Kieran resisted the initial, panicked urge to cover himself, hyper-aware of how exposed he was, how hard, how incredibly obvious.
Rory’s breath caught audibly in the quiet room. “You’re killing me, Kieran,” he said. Then he was pressing Kieran’s thighs wider, leaning in, and Kieran’s grip twisted desperately into the sheets.
The first touch of Rory’s mouth was gentle, almost reverent—a light kiss to the inside of Kieran’s thigh that made his entire body shudder. Then another kiss, higher. Closer.
Rory looked up at him through the dark, his eyes searching. “Still good?”
“If you stop, I’ll kill you,” Kieran said, only half-joking, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Rory smiled, his thumb tracing his inner thigh. “Can’t have that.”
He ran his tongue eagerly along the sensitive seam of Kieran’s balls, kissed his inner thigh one last time, and then took Kieran into his mouth.
The world narrowed down to wet heat, intense pressure, and the slick sound of Rory working him with focused, devastating intent. Kieran gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily against the mattress. Rory pressed his hands firmly against Kieran’s hipbones, pinning him down, controlling the rhythm.
It was slow. Torturously, beautifully slow.
Rory took his time, his tongue cataloging exactly what made Kieran gasp, what made him moan, what made his thighs shake against his shoulders.
“Rory,” Kieran choked out, his fingers threading through dark, windblown hair. “Fuck.”
Rory hummed an approval, and the ripple shot straight up Kieran’s spine.
It nearly undid him on the spot. Then, Rory’s hand moved lower, cupping him with careful pressure before one finger stroked further back, dragging gently along his opening.
The touch was featherlight, it radiated outward through his thighs, his stomach, to the base of his skull.
He heard himself make a sound that was closer to a sob than a moan.
Pressure built rapidly, coiling hard in Kieran’s abdomen, spreading through his limbs in a live current. He was close, embarrassingly close, and Rory sensed the shift because he doubled down, hollowing his cheeks and taking him deeper.
“I’m close,” Kieran warned, his fingers tugging at Rory’s hair to pull him back. “Rory, you need to stop—”
Rory didn’t pull off. If anything, he intensified the pace, one palm sliding up Kieran’s stomach, pressing flat against his skin, possessive and anchoring.
The orgasm broke over him deep and total, pulling him under before he could brace for it.
Kieran’s back arched off the bed, an unapologetic moan tearing from his throat as he came, his vision whiting out entirely as every muscle in his body seized and released in waves.
Rory stayed with him through every bit of it, swallowing, steadying his movements as Kieran shook apart beneath his hands.
When the aftershocks finally subsided, Kieran collapsed backward onto the pillows, gasping for air.
Rory kissed his way back up his body—hip, stomach, chest—each press of his lips leaving a trail of intense heat.
When he finally reached Kieran’s mouth, Kieran tasted himself on Rory’s tongue.
A salty musk. Rory kissed him deeply, hungry for more, as if the taste itself was a prize.
“Holy shit,” Kieran breathed against his mouth, his chest heaving.
Rory grinned, his eyes dark. “Good?”
“Understatement.”
Rory kissed him again, slower now, the initial urgency banked to embers. Kieran’s palms roamed across Rory’s bare back, mapping the topography of muscle and bone and the ridge of his spine, then slid down to the waistband of his open jeans.
“Your turn,” Kieran said, pushing at the denim.
“Bossy,” Rory murmured, but he was already standing up, letting the heavy denim fall to the floor.
No underwear. Rory had been freeballing the whole time—through the entire dinner, through the walk home, through that desperate kiss at the front door. Just denim against bare skin. The realization sent a fresh jolt of liquid heat straight through Kieran’s core.
Then Rory was gloriously, unselfconsciously naked beside the bed, flushed, breathing deep, and visibly, achingly hard. Kieran reached out a hand for him, and Rory came willingly, letting himself be pulled down onto the mattress.
Kieran shifted his weight, ready to move between Rory’s legs, when Rory suddenly caught his wrist. His expression changed in an instant, the easy confidence flickering away, replaced by a vulnerability so raw it looked almost painful.
“Will you sit on my face?”
The words landed heavily in the space between them, vivid and undeniable.
Kieran blinked, his mind stalling. “What?”
“I want to eat you out while you suck me.” Rory’s voice came out rough, gravelly, but he held Kieran’s gaze unblinkingly. “I want my tongue in your ass while you make me fall apart.”
Kieran’s mouth went completely dry. His body responded before his brain could even process the words, blood rushing south, his skin prickling, a sharp, heavy clench low in his belly.
“You want us both at the same time?”
“Yeah.” Rory looked stripped bare in a way that had nothing to do with the clothes he wasn’t wearing. “Is that weird?”
“No,” Kieran said immediately, his voice steadier than he actually felt. “No, Rory, that’s not weird. That’s…yeah. We can do that.”
An unmasked wave of relief flooded Rory’s face, as if he’d braced himself for rejection and gotten a green light instead. He shifted up the bed, settling his back against the pillows, and held out an arm. “Come here.”
Kieran’s body thrummed as he moved, positioning himself over Rory, his legs bracketing Rory’s head as he faced down toward his hips.
The clumsy friction of two tall men trying to find an axis on a mattress hit him all at once—the absolute exposure, the immense trust the position required—but Rory gripped his thighs, his thumbs pressing firmly into the muscle, steadying him.
“You sure about this?” Kieran asked, looking back over his shoulder.
“So sure,” Rory breathed, and pulled him down.
The first touch of Rory’s tongue made Kieran’s whole body jerk, a sharp gasp punching out of his lungs. Rory’s hands dug deeper, anchoring him as he worked with devastating focus—licking, sucking, his tongue doing things that made Kieran’s vision instantly blur.
“Oh fuck,” Kieran choked out, his hands gripping Rory’s shins to keep himself upright. “Rory.”
Rory hummed against him, and the deep vibration detonated through Kieran’s entire nervous system. He forced himself to focus, leaning down to wrap his lips around Rory, wanting to give back even a fraction of the pleasure tearing through him.
Rory groaned aloud when Kieran took him in, the sound muffled and desperate against Kieran’s inner thigh. His hips lifted off the bed, seeking more depth, even as his tongue kept up its relentless, swirling rhythm.
They found a pace—imperfect, desperate, and absolutely obscene. Every time Kieran took Rory deeper, Rory responded by doubling his efforts, his tongue pressing inside him now, and Kieran shook and cursed around the thick length in his mouth.
Kieran’s thighs trembled violently with the effort of holding himself up. Rory reached around, his fist wrapping around Kieran’s cock, which was already fully hard again. He pulled back long enough to murmur against Kieran’s skin, “That was fast.”
“I’m aware,” Kieran mumbled against him.
“Like, record-breaking fast. I’m impressed.” Rory stroked him, slow and light. “You should call Guinness.”