spell.”
“Like I’d do this to myself on purpose,” Tom shot back, before biting and sucking on Prophet’s nipple.
Prophet hissed and threaded then tightened a grip on Tom’s hair in the hopes the man would do it again. Tom didn’t care about his transparency and obliged Prophet over and over, staring up at him the entire time he abused Prophet’s nipple, concentrating on the one with his mouth and pressing the other hard between finger and thumb.
Needing someone this much couldn’t be fucking normal.
Finally, Tom pulled back, grabbed for his jeans and, when he straightened, held up a condom. Then he pushed himself against Prophet, their cocks and balls rubbing together, chest and thighs sliding together, a perfect fit. Prophet braced himself as best he could, prepared to let Tom take him there and hang on for dear life, and at the same time, knowing Tom wouldn’t let him fall.
The man had always been physically strong, but months of merc work had hardened his body more. Prophet recognized the honed muscles that came with target practice, walking miles in the heat, fighting against an invisible enemy to be ready for when it became real.
Tom’s hands stroked his shoulders and biceps, every touch firm and sure, a reassurance that Prophet was actually there, and that he was fine.
Physically. Neither of them was fine on the other front.
The wind whipped the house, battered the windows and doors like it wanted in and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Tom was that storm, demanding Prophet open to him, insisting on it. Grabbing one of Prophet’s legs, balancing it against his hip so his fingers could open him. All he could do, all he wanted to do, was give in.
He found no reason not to.
He heard the rip of the condom wrapper, watched Tom roll it on carefully over the piercings. “Don’t have lube,” Tom told him. “I haven’t needed any.”
Prophet processed that for a second, then said, “I don’t need it.”
“Okay, Proph. I’ll go slow.”
Prophet wanted to tell him not to bother, but the look in Tom’s eyes made his breath catch in his throat. Tom put two fingers together and pushed them against Prophet’s mouth. “Suck them, Proph.”
Prophet did, as Tom watched and groaned. Prophet did the same when Tom took his fingers out and mixed the saliva with the slick of pre-cum from Prophet’s cock. And then Tom leaned in, slid his fingers back along Prophet’s ass, then urged, “Come on, Proph . . . that’s it. Let me in,” as his finger slid inside.
Prophet nodded, closed his eyes, and willed himself to relax at this new assault on his system. Part of him was already floating, flying, but another was listening to the sound of warning bells.
He ignored them, let Tom back in, because he knew he really had no other choice.
Tom buried his face against Prophet’s chest as he slid his fingers in and out of his ass, dragging his teeth against the man’s skin, then sucking hard, needing his taste. He wanted to leave a mark, so he did, higher on Prophet’s neck where everyone could see it. Wanted to give Prophet something to see when he looked in the mirror.
Because the man damned well needed some reminding.
But the damned man was here. And thank fuck Tom had ignored Phil’s orders, listening instead to his gut, which had screamed to him that getting on a plane would be the most important thing he’d ever done in his life.
The ground shook from a loud slam outside, and Prophet was shuddering. Tom could see his gray eyes beginning to crowd with too much sensation, too much intensity threatening to close in and overwhelm him.
“S’okay—just a tree down,” Tom said as he grabbed for Prophet’s hips to push him up further. Prophet’s wet feet slipped on the floor, and he grabbed for Tom’s shoulders. Wound his legs around Tom’s back and ended up holding onto the back of Tom’s neck as his cock wept between their bodies.
Being taller made this position perfect—Tom eased his
“Like I’d do this to myself on purpose,” Tom shot back, before biting and sucking on Prophet’s nipple.
Prophet hissed and threaded then tightened a grip on Tom’s hair in the hopes the man would do it again. Tom didn’t care about his transparency and obliged Prophet over and over, staring up at him the entire time he abused Prophet’s nipple, concentrating on the one with his mouth and pressing the other hard between finger and thumb.
Needing someone this much couldn’t be fucking normal.
Finally, Tom pulled back, grabbed for his jeans and, when he straightened, held up a condom. Then he pushed himself against Prophet, their cocks and balls rubbing together, chest and thighs sliding together, a perfect fit. Prophet braced himself as best he could, prepared to let Tom take him there and hang on for dear life, and at the same time, knowing Tom wouldn’t let him fall.
The man had always been physically strong, but months of merc work had hardened his body more. Prophet recognized the honed muscles that came with target practice, walking miles in the heat, fighting against an invisible enemy to be ready for when it became real.
Tom’s hands stroked his shoulders and biceps, every touch firm and sure, a reassurance that Prophet was actually there, and that he was fine.
Physically. Neither of them was fine on the other front.
The wind whipped the house, battered the windows and doors like it wanted in and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Tom was that storm, demanding Prophet open to him, insisting on it. Grabbing one of Prophet’s legs, balancing it against his hip so his fingers could open him. All he could do, all he wanted to do, was give in.
He found no reason not to.
He heard the rip of the condom wrapper, watched Tom roll it on carefully over the piercings. “Don’t have lube,” Tom told him. “I haven’t needed any.”
Prophet processed that for a second, then said, “I don’t need it.”
“Okay, Proph. I’ll go slow.”
Prophet wanted to tell him not to bother, but the look in Tom’s eyes made his breath catch in his throat. Tom put two fingers together and pushed them against Prophet’s mouth. “Suck them, Proph.”
Prophet did, as Tom watched and groaned. Prophet did the same when Tom took his fingers out and mixed the saliva with the slick of pre-cum from Prophet’s cock. And then Tom leaned in, slid his fingers back along Prophet’s ass, then urged, “Come on, Proph . . . that’s it. Let me in,” as his finger slid inside.
Prophet nodded, closed his eyes, and willed himself to relax at this new assault on his system. Part of him was already floating, flying, but another was listening to the sound of warning bells.
He ignored them, let Tom back in, because he knew he really had no other choice.
Tom buried his face against Prophet’s chest as he slid his fingers in and out of his ass, dragging his teeth against the man’s skin, then sucking hard, needing his taste. He wanted to leave a mark, so he did, higher on Prophet’s neck where everyone could see it. Wanted to give Prophet something to see when he looked in the mirror.
Because the man damned well needed some reminding.
But the damned man was here. And thank fuck Tom had ignored Phil’s orders, listening instead to his gut, which had screamed to him that getting on a plane would be the most important thing he’d ever done in his life.
The ground shook from a loud slam outside, and Prophet was shuddering. Tom could see his gray eyes beginning to crowd with too much sensation, too much intensity threatening to close in and overwhelm him.
“S’okay—just a tree down,” Tom said as he grabbed for Prophet’s hips to push him up further. Prophet’s wet feet slipped on the floor, and he grabbed for Tom’s shoulders. Wound his legs around Tom’s back and ended up holding onto the back of Tom’s neck as his cock wept between their bodies.
Being taller made this position perfect—Tom eased his
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