by N. J. Lysk
He heard Uri take a hasty drink of whiskey and put his empty bottle down with a smirk. “So I guess you aren’t a workaholic, right? What with the volunteering to do more lawyering in your free time and all.”
“You’re either very confused about being a lawyer or about volunteering,” Uri told him calmly. He was a little flushed, but it could have been embarrassment or the drink he’d clearly never tried before. It didn’t detract from the appeal either way.
Thomas laughed. “Both, probably,” he allowed, leaning back with an arm over the back of his own strangely light chair. He hadn’t fallen off them in a while, but it did take some getting used to. He didn’t miss Uri's gaze dropping to his chest. “So how is it different? It’s paperwork either way.”
“There is a lot of paperwork,” Uri admitted, mirroring his posture. “But work is all pretty dry stuff; inheritances, lawsuits, contracts. There’s more interesting cases, but family law is normally reserved for more experienced barristers.”
He nodded to show he’d followed that far. He didn’t know any lawyers, but he watched television, although if Uri’s endearing shyness was any indication, there were probably a lot less dubious trysts at his office than on The Omega Prosecutor. “And the adoption centre...?”
“The adoption centre is family law,” Uri said. His tone made it clear it was the type he preferred. “And those kids... They really need my help, they didn’t decide to make a fuss about a contract or a divorce, or... Well, there are some people at work who are there for a good reason, but not most of them. At the centre, I know I won’t waste my time. Even if they don’t have anyone who needs legal help, there’s always something to do to help them. Sometimes it’s homework, and sometimes it’s football,” he added with a wry smile. “But it’s all time well spent.”
Thomas offered a dramatic grimace in response. “Sure, football is a sacrifice, isn’t it?” he asked sceptically.
“I do it for the children,” Uri replied with perfect panache.
Thomas snorted out a laugh, leaning forward to thump the table for emphasis. He’d been drawn to the guy for his looks; no one could blame him for noticing those dark eyes and light stubble, an odd detail on someone so perfectly tidy and put together, one that spoke of a certain... softness. But there was clearly something to quiet waters running deep; they’d known each other for a couple hours at most, and somehow, they kept finding all the ways in which they fit.
Thomas had tried dating before, and he’d sought out potential partners among those he’d have a lot in common with, and yet... This weird, casual encounter felt more like a date than most of the formal dinner affairs he’d so carefully planned.
It was also hard to find fault with the fact that even if the specific activities were unclear, their imminent arrival was not. Uri was shy, sure, but he could tease like the best of them too, and he wasn’t nervous over nothing. “How’s the whiskey?”
“Mmmm.... Burning my oesophagus?” Uri suggested. He paused, as if he hadn’t meant to say it, but it made Thomas grin; it was exactly the kind of thing Thomas had always wanted to say in response to inane questions at the parties his parents organized—and mostly hadn’t dared. “I don’t really have anything to compare it to,” Uri added.
The opening couldn’t have been more perfect. “Let me try it.” He got up and pushed his chair back. “I know a little.”
Uri looked bemused right up until the moment Thomas put his right hand on the table and bent over enough to get their faces almost level. He let the tension hold, meeting Uri’s darkening eyes from almost too close. A beat, then Uri gulped and Thomas let himself go, pressing their mouths together a little too hard. Uri didn’t seem to care, he surged up under Thomas’s, opening up to his tongue. He barely tasted like whiskey anymore by the time the table digging into his side became a problem for Thomas. He leaned left and pulled Uri's chair across the floor—for some reason, the material was almost frictionless as well as light and only Uri’s weight kept it from tumbling over. That and Uri’s hold, once again, on Thomas’s shirt.
“You are fucking dangerous,” the man accused, looking up. His lips were shining with Thomas’s spit, and his cheeks were dark with blood. Thomas was dying to see how far that blush went, but he didn’t think tearing that nice dress shirt wouldn’t go over well.
He shrugged off the accusation, then took hold of Uri’s arm and pulled him to his feet with a little too much force and stepped into him to stop his forward momentum. Getting all of Uri’s weight shoved against his chest left him a little winded, but it was worth it for the feeling of Uri’s strength against him—the guy had probably got the muscles lifting boxes for the food bank or something. It was both sweet and a little uncomfortable to think about, but he felt amazing in his arms, and Thomas wasn’t looking the gift horse in the mouth.
Uri’s hands were already on his own chest, big and powerful and, fuck, dexterous too if Thomas went by how fast he found a nipple and then the exact amount of pressure to make Thomas go weak at the knees.
He exhaled, ragged and frantic, and followed blindly when Uri guided his face down and took his mouth into a kiss that was as much teeth as lips. Desperate and clumsy, inelegant and true. Thomas knew exactly how he felt: cock hard, skin hypersensitive, burning up like he'd fallen asleep under the sun. Uri’s touch was like a balm on that unbearable tightness; one of his hands had made it under Thomas’s shirt and was exploring his lower back, tugging him closer to push their groins together. Thomas’s hips snapped forward, starting them off into a perfect dance even as his fingers struggled to tug Uri’s dress shirt out of his trousers. He lost Uri’s mouth, getting his wet breath and the rasp of his stubble on the sensitive skin of his collarbone instead, and shuddered hard at the added stimulation, cock trapped between their bodies. Uri pushed back, his own erection hot through his dress trousers, nails digging into his back as he clung harder, and it was just friction—Uri hadn’t even taken off his jacket—but it didn’t feel like the old teenage workaround, it felt...
“Fuck, lemme—” Uri demanded suddenly pulling away. Thomas barely had time to react before Uri was going down. To his knees.
“Wh—” he started to ask, but Uri was already unhooking the button of his jeans and not only was the question moot, so were any possible objections. He thanked the gods he’d turned on the lights to see this: Uri's dark eyes looking up at him from under thick lashes were a sight he wouldn’t have minded photographing and placing right on his bedroom wall.
“Let me,” Uri asked, voice rough but body gone still. Absolutely immobile, like he’d simply commanded himself to stop.
Thomas offered a shaky nod, feeling himself leak steadily into his shorts. Uri’s hands had lost their urgency, acquiring a steady, almost unnerving precision. He lowered the zip, then cupped Thomas’s engorged cock through his underwear with tenderness that had an edge of teasing.
He inhaled sharply, struggling to stay still, and Uri leaned closer and pressed a kiss to the head through the thin cloth, so wet it was almost transparent. Thomas shivered hard and spread his feet to keep his balance. “Mmm... Yeah, like that,” Uri murmured, breathing it out right on the sensitive skin.
“Fuck,” he said, not exactly in response.
“Not quite,” Uri said, pulling the cloth down and letting Thomas’s dick spring free. He at least had the consideration of taking hold of him by the hips to keep him from falling on his arse.
“You—”
“Sorry,” Uri said at once, and kissed him again in apology.
As apologies went, it was a hard one to turn down. Uri made it harder by licking up his shaft, slowly and visibly enjoying the taste of it. Thomas only noticed he’d swayed when the hands keeping him upright tightened painfully on his sides. He cleared his throat just as Uri reached the head and twirled his tongue around it, swallowing precome even as he glanced up.
Thomas just stared at him, brain not quite able to process the sight of his reddened lips stained with a pearly drop
he’d missed. “Um, wall,” he managed to get out. It was meant to be a question, which Uri smirked about once he understood.
He shot to his feet to drag Thomas to the nearest vertical surface—a kitchen cabinet, not a wall—and then went back down, taking Thomas’s underwear and trousers with him.
Thomas fumbled for the cabinet behind him, desperate for something to hold onto. He clutched at the handle on his right, bracing his elbow against the cold material of the cabinet door. He still didn’t feel all that steady when Uri tilted his head right and opened his mouth, sucking the head back into his hot, wet mouth.
Thomas whimpered faintly—Uri was still holding onto his hip with one hand, but the other was caressing down his thigh, and just then it got between his legs and rolled his left ball between his fingers, gentle but firm. He exhaled, heart hammering in his throat as Uri rubbed his tongue against the underside of his cock and trailed a long finger behind his sack with frankly criminal coordination. How did he...?
He glanced down between his legs, but the image of Uri’s dark curly head bent over his groin didn’t help much, and he lost control for a moment, thrusting into the warm heat of his lover’s mouth before he could stop himself. “Sorry,” he breathed out, braced for an interruption he was almost too turned on to bear.
But Uri didn’t stop, instead he sucked harder, leaving Thomas’s perineum alone and clutching at his arse cheek to shove him forward into his mouth. He grunted, torn between blowjob protocol and what his partner was demanding. Then Uri pulled almost all the way out and slammed his mouth back onto his cock and he whited out. He must have, because the next thing he knew was that he was deep enough to hit the back of Uri’s throat. He shoved in again and was sucked right in with a recklessness he’d never experienced in a partner—male or female—outside of fucking. Uri moaned around him, the vibrations of his vocal cords like electricity running up Thomas’s cock and straight to his balls, and he was coming—sudden, intense and endless.
It did end, or at least his brain managed to start keeping track of time again, and he discovered Uri had swallowed the first load and had kept sucking, as if eager for more.
He closed his eyes, too overwhelmed by his firing nerves to watch.
This wasn’t cock-sucking, this was worship.
He didn’t think he could live up to it.
But he had to, he thought as he opened his eyes to see Uri licking his swollen lips as he got to his feet. He couldn’t—
“That—” He had to stop and swallow; his mouth was dry as fuck, probably from panting like a dog in summer for the last... He wasn’t even sure how long it’d been. Forever, or an instant.
Uri seemed to take his speechlessness in stride, standing and shutting him up with another kiss—clearly a proven technique. But this wasn’t a peck, insofar as kisses were in a spectrum, this was as far from one as could be; wet and deep and salty and irresistible. Somehow, he’d gained access to the skin of Uri’s back and he’d seriously consider having his hands glued to it if it wouldn’t have prevented him from rubbing his fingertips over the light hair growing there.
Uri pulled back first and if his face hadn’t been burning up already, Thomas could have blushed that he’d been so distracted that he’d forgotten his partner hadn’t orgasmed yet.
“What... What do you want?” he asked, hoping the answer wouldn’t be for him to return the favour. Not that he minded blowjobs; in fact, before today he’d have said he was really quite good at them, but he didn’t want his performance compared to this. At least not right away; Uri might not have given himself a blowjob—he tore his traitorous eyes from the man’s still covered middle as his brain started wondering if he’d have the flexibility for it—but he had to have thought about the techniques a lot to get that good.
The other man’s face was guarded, his smirk nowhere to be found and he actually looked... The answer hit Thomas like a stick to the face. “You want to fuck me?” It wasn’t quite a question, maybe because he already knew the answer.
Dark eyes widened, and Uri’s spine straightened at once, putting a little more distance between them despite Thomas’s arm around him. “I....”
“What? Like I mind getting another turn?” Thomas teased him. Some guys were weird about fucking, although he couldn’t imagine why—it wasn’t like beta men could get pregnant, so why would having a cock up your arse matter beyond whether you enjoyed prostate stimulation? Unless...
“You like it?” Uri asked, his voice a little rough. From taking Thomas’s cock. Gods above and below, Thomas not only did not mind getting another turn, he—
It took him a moment to find neurons that would obey enough to allow him to make his mouth move. “You bet, if you’re half as good at fucking as you are at sucking cock...”
Uri snorted and he was blushing like a schoolboy questioned about a crush. There was something a little insane about a guy who could blow him so expertly getting all shy about his prowess. “I guess you’re about to find out,” he said almost off-handedly—except Thomas could tell he was nervous.
“Yeah, okay, lube is in my bedroom, so you’re about to get your wish about safe sex.”
“I didn’t say anything about safe,” Uri replied, following him down the corridor. “Just stable enough we don’t die before it’s over.”
“Oh, gods.” He turned to give him a horrified look, but took off his shirt and dropped it on the desk chair. “Is that a French pun?”
“What?” Uri asked, averting his gaze before continuing, “Didn’t you take it in school?”
Thomas felt a little guilty, but if the guy insisted on proving he was immune to blue balls... He toed off his shoes, then bent sideways to get rid of his socks. “You mean to tell me your school taught you about la petite mort?” he asked, then dropped his shorts down his legs. He’d only pulled them back up to be able to walk.
Uri's silence was almost palpable.
Thomas smiled at him, enjoying the very obvious bulge in his trousers. “You want something?”
It was the wrong thing to say, or the best, Thomas thought as Uri stepped up to him and pushed him bodily onto the bed. Thomas could have resisted, but he didn’t exactly mind the heavy weight of a man on top of him—fully dressed while he was almost naked. Uri would have to undress if he wanted to get his cock in him, but Thomas was happy to indulge him if he wanted to rub off against him instead. Or just as an entrant. They had all night, after all.
Thomas arched under him, sucking on his tongue as he got kissed to within an inch of his life and bending his knee to press against Uri’s still-trapped cock. Uri grunted into the kiss, turning his head to the side to pant hotly against Thomas’s neck. Thomas didn’t waste time, twisting his hips until he could roll on top. Uri was still blinking up in shock by the time Thomas got his trousers unbuttoned. He started on the shirt.
“I’m not fucking you in the suit,” he warned. “Well, not this time,” he clarified. He could see how the formalwear could give things a bit of an edge. Even without going into role playing, Uri looked hot as hell in it. The man laughed under him, and Thomas pushed the shirt open, caressing his pecs, thumbs flicking his nipples hard enough to make him shudder.
“Okay, I’ve done all the hard work. Get rid of them,” he instructed, rolling off the bed and going for his bedside table where he kept his supplies.
He heard movement behind him, but he was focused on finding the best brand of lube so he almost jumped when a warm body pressed close from behind, a strong arm coming to rest around his waist. He could feel Uri’s erection poking him in the buttocks, bare now, but it was the wet mouth sucking on his earlobe that made him lose control of his own muscles and drop the condom back into the drawer to lean back into the embrace, body burning up again like he hadn’t come hard enough to lose consciousness less than fifteen minutes earlier. Uri could probably figure out what the noises coming out of his mouth meant because his other hand travelled down Thomas’s stomach, detouring a little to tangle in his happ
y trail before getting to his boxers and tugging them down once more.
Thomas moaned as his dick, still sensitive but newly hard, was hit by the cold air of the room. Uri slid his hand lower and took hold of him; he didn’t stroke, just gripped him hard enough to straddle the line between pleasure and pain. Thomas reached back for his arm, digging his nails into it and pulling—he’d have begged, if words had been possible past the desperate beating of his heart, echoed in his throbbing cock in Uri’s grip.
“You want something?” Uri asked into his ear, and it took Thomas a whole thirty seconds of trying to push into his hand to realise he was being teased. He could have broken the hold, instead he shoved his bare arse against Uri’s erection.
Uri growled, then leaned sideways to snatch the lube out of the drawer and let go of Thomas’s cock to pour half the bottle into his cupped palm. He’d asked for a somewhere that wouldn’t get them killed before they got to come, but apparently, he had a weakness for vertical surfaces because he crowded him forward until Thomas had to put his hands to the wall or faceplant into it. His hole twitched as he felt Uri’s hands on his buttocks and he shoved back into them until he felt Uri’s thick fingers skim against the sensitive skin. “Come on,” he demanded.
Uri pressed the tip of one finger against the puckered skin, sending a jolt of pleasure through him that had him whimpering. He was surprised to feel the man pressed himself against his flank even as his hand kept working to open him up—not that he could blame him for needing a little relief for the erection he’d been sporting for going on half an hour.
One fingertip caught at the rim, then withdrew for more lube before pushing in again, this time up to the second knuckle. Thomas tossed his head, struggling for more and held still by Uri’s iron grip around his chest. He opened his mouth; to beg, or complain, or... Uri pushed two fingers fully inside and fucked into him with two quick jabs that silenced any coherent part of Thomas’s brain. He clenched, then relaxed around them. More fingers followed while he was still trembling from the sensation of having his prostate stimulated so abruptly and intensely.
