by Zakarrie C
“Sorry, you’re…distracting.”
Gabriel snapped his lids open. Wide. Fuck. Dylan slammed his own shut when his breath cut off. His balls were screwed almost as tight as the torrid clamp upon his finger. How the hell? Despite his fears, the velvet heat did feel familiar. Just…tighter. Strrewth. Rather than seeming strange, unsettling, the slide of his finger back and forth was as silken smooth as the chest pressed to his own. Never still for a second; Gabriel was a ribbon in the wind; a rippling stream of sighs and squirming hips.
“Moorrre…” His urgent plea scythed through the tumble of soft sounds had been spilling from his lips. Impossible to resist. Dylan captured them in a kiss too fierce for finesse; a tangle of tongues and teeth and snatched off gasps. Dylan lined up a second finger and nudged at the taut clutch upon the tip of the first. When it gave way, in they both shot in, alongside a flash of panic, promptly obliterated by a heartfelt “Yessss…” Emboldened now, Dylan scissored as he swept, stretching, his focus fuelled by an unexpected rush of…relief. So sharp, it was a thrill in itself; that he was, somehow, not fucking this up. Was in fact, causing every flex of Gabriel’s fingers, every sublime sound that fed the flames licking along his veins. “Ahhh…”
Almost as intoxicating as all of this, was the absence of the what-the-fuck-am-I-thinking fear he’d dreaded. Expected, because he wanted this, wanted Gabriel, and the demon doubt crouched in the pit of his guts knew damn well that he didn’t deserve him. Even less so now of course, for Dylan was not wrapped in the lying arms of a rent boy. It hit him afresh then—no—almost for the first time. As if he’d heard Gabriel’s words, understood them, but somehow hadn’t felt them. Hadn’t processed their significance: The hope he might allow to flourish, rather than suppress.
“Morrre…” Gabriel pleaded again, throwing his head back. “You…Please…”
“Y’sure?” Christ, Dylan was never going to fit in there, it would flay the flesh off his cock. A thought that, contrarily, ratcheted the need another notch…or ninety.
“D-Dylan. Fuck me…” Gabriel’s lashes fluttered to half-mast, revealing a hazy gaze. Smudgy soft, glazed with lust, those inimitable eyes somehow excelled themselves.
“’Kay.” Dylan managed to gulp around the Stickle-brick lodged in his throat as he retrieved his fingers. He felt as if he was about to leap off the top diving board. Into a test-tube of water. His cock, however, didn’t seem the slightest perturbed by this notion. Nor any other. As it hadn’t from the first. “Gabriel. How…?” The rest of the question clattered to a halt. Behind the Stickle-brick.
“I want…” Gabriel blinked, then his eyebrows twerked in something akin to bemusement; an expression that suggested well, whaddaya know… “To wrap my legs around your waist,” he decided, then threw an arm toward the headboard and grasped the corner of his pillow.
Around Dylan’s waist? Heaven knows why, but he’d sort of figured that Gabriel might turn over, onto his front. It just seemed…practical. But the thought of this? Sent such a sizzle of anticipation thrumming through his system, Dylan felt like a snare drum. The mere thought of having those everlasting legs wound around his waist, while he—? Fuuck. It was touch and go whether Dylan would combust or burst into flames first.
“Kay…” he managed to gulp. Eventually.
“First.” Gabriel’s lips twerked, mischief sparkling in those midnight eyes.
“First?”
“Then I want you to take me from behind. When you’ve got your breath back a bit,” he grinned. Dylan promptly spluttered out a snort of laughter, spraying Gabriel with a sec…third shower of spit.
“’Tis like sharing my bed with a sprinkler…” Gabriel snickered. Two sets of entangled limbs trembled with laughter; a flare of fuzzy friction that chased the adrenaline through his veins. Scaling a cliff face felt a more possible prospect than remaining still a second longer. Dylan launched himself forwards, rolling Gabriel onto his back in a searing slam of skin, then damn near detonated when their cocks clashed, snatching his breath away.
“Fuck! Gawd, that’ll never get old—” Dylan groaned. Then froze in horror, realizing exactly what he’d said. “Sorry, I—”
“Sorry? Why?” Gabriel’s brow furrowed with confusion as he scrutinized Dylan’s face, searching intently. Fucknows what he was looking for.
“I didn’t mean—don’t expect—didn’t um…”
“Dylan, is this a one-shot deal for you?” Gabriel asked with sudden urgency. “Don’t fib, remember. S’okay…whatever.”
“I don’t know how…this works,” he confessed.
“It works however you want it to. I already asked you to stay, sleep with me, open number seven with me. That’s what I want.”
"That’s as far as I’ve let myself think. I um, thought you were rent boy…half an hour ago,” Dylan winced. Again.
“That makes no never minds to me. I just want you. Whatever, whenever. I’m easy, rent boy or no…” That impish grin flashed across his face. As incorrigible as it was enchanting.
“Y’pillock.” Dylan’s chuckle cut off abruptly when his body started quaking. “Gnnhh…”
“Hmm…C’mon laughing boy, before I grow cobwebs.”
“Gabriel!” Dylan groaned, burying his face in the curve of ivory that was his neck.
“Dylaaan…are you trying to kill me off?” He clamped spade-sized palms to Dylan’s arse about a snatched-off breath before snapping his hips upwards.
“FUUCCK!” Ripped from Dylan’s lips like rifle-shot.
“YESS! Are you waiting for a gilt-edged invite in the post?”
“Sorry…” It was with a bashful smile that Dylan lifted his head and tried to focus through the straggling tendrils of hair obscuring his face. At obsidian ablaze with all he’d ever longed for, but feared he’d never merit. “No, I’m not. I want…you. All of you.”
“All of me? You might find it wise to rephrase that, so I won’t hold you to it. Whatever you want…it’s yours.” It was with a slow, incendiary smile that he entwined one, two, calves around Dylan’s waist. Strewth…never had the expression ‘extravagance of riches’ seemed so…fitting. “I’m going to slide these under my bum. T’will be…easier.”
A heel was pressed into Dylan’s back as Gabriel locked his ankles to raise his backside off the bed and shove the pillows beneath it before sinking down onto them. Dylan bent to brush his lips across the ones that had haunted him for three days. Fingers were tangled into his hair, deepening the kiss, dragging Dylan back into a world of moist heat and hot breath, of sighs and eyes that ensnared his own the moment Gabriel prised his lids apart.
“Take me Dylan…” he whispered.
If he’d ever wanted anything—let alone anyone—more, Dylan had no memory of it. After transferring his weight to his left hand, he clasped his cock with his right; he’d sure as hell never felt so hapless. A gasp tore free when its tip made contact with a smooth curve of skin, but the part he’d most feared on the fumbling, inept front, never transpired. Instead, the head of his cock seemed drawn to the heart of all he craved. Okaay… After dragging in a slow, steadying breath—which was not—Dylan thrust into the scorching clutch of Gabriel’s body. Into an incomprehensible blitz of bliss, as indescribable as the god-awful racket that ripped from his lips. So, so tight; glassy-eyed, clenched teeth tight. An agonizing ecstasy almost beyond endurance, ensnaring his cock. All consuming. Incomparable.
“Y’okay?” Dylan just about managed to grind out before panic snatched away the last of his breath. Too hard, too much, too soon, f'fucksakes…
“Oh, yessss…” Gabriel’s face shimmered into focus through the haze of heat and sweaty straggles of his own fringe; luminous with that yesss. Unbearably beautiful. “Move Dylan…” Gabriel whispered, twitching his hips.
Christ…If Dylan moved, he might never stop, or stop far, far too soon. His entire self was so desperate for friction he felt half-insane, so intense was the need.
“’Kay…” Dylan managed to mutter
, when the steel-jaw grip on Dylan’s cock relented. Incrementally. How could he hold himself in check, or even together? Every tendon was as taut as the dragging tug, deep in his guts. Dylan eased back, and stilled to exhale slowly, before thrusting into that mind-boggling vortex of bliss.
“Aaahhh…” That sultry sigh of sound was swiftly followed by a plea for “Morrre…”
Dylan had never seen a sight as erotic as Gabriel in the throes of pleasure, had never felt a need so fierce, nor a desire that drove him to the very edge of himself, and beyond. He clutched narrow hips, grinding himself deeper, somehow sure it still wouldn’t be enough. This…was everything he’d never known he craved—a world of blood and bone deep need, of pounding hearts and primal lust so raw, real, pure—as vital as every gleam of those impossible eyes. All of me? Dylan might just kill to keep this, if that’s what it took. To keep Gabriel.
He didn’t give a toss if it had only been three days. It had felt like a bloody lifetime. He sure as hell had no desire to endure it again, any time soon.
Number seven…? Number twenty-four would be nowhere near enough.
Chapter Nineteen
Gabriel
“Take me, Dylan…” Gabriel pleaded after wrapping his legs around Dylan’s waist.
That was, quite possibly, the most delicious sentence he’d ever uttered. He had never plumped for the position as first preference before, though. It was too…intimate. Too telling a choice. It felt far too vulnerable…and yet, he’d inexplicably requested it. That was more than a mite scary—now, Gabriel did dangerous far too well, with nary a care for consequence—so he wasn’t spooked in the customary sense. ’Twas a very different type of fear. One he hadn’t needed to consider while busy being rent-a-Gabriel.
He had, p’raps—inwardly—accused Dylan of buying into his rent boy belief as a means of bypassing what he might actually want. As opposed to the happy ever after he’d no doubt envisioned. A future that would be obliterated if Dylan owned—rather than rented—a truth he’d rather not know.
Gabriel had never given a figgy pud for such distinctions, nor felt fussed about that fact. He’d never cared a jot about gender He knew what he craved but wasn’t fussed where he found it. If he ever did. A likelihood that had started to feel ever less feasible, as he flitted about, searching for a divine idylle he’d never found. Possibly on accounts of having set the bar far too high. P’raps on purpose…but he’d never admitted that. Not even to himself. Unless he wasn’t listening.
So, it was a bit bloody rude of Dylan to swish into Gabriel’s daydreams and stomp all over his heart in bovver boots. Leaving him no choice, whatsoever, on the wanting front…which was exactly what he’d wanted all along, o’course. Scoundrel. Gabriel only had one escape route left now, then he was done for. Dylan was far too many filthy fantasies come true for comfort—so, if he somehow pulled off what Gabe had begun to fear was a fallacy—then he would be buggered in every way imaginable. Bring it on, taut tush.
When the head of Dylan's cock brushed his bum, Gabriel couldn’t stifle the gasp that tore its way free, despite having done his damnedest not to breathe, perchance it put Dylan off before he began. This was, possibly, not Gabe’s most logical thought ever, it must be admitted, as it seemed to hinge on the fact that ceasing all lung activity would make for a more alluring Gabriel. Luckily for his very alive ‘n’ well self—heart hammering like a woodpecker on crack—he soon felt heady heat nudge at what was practically pulsing like sonar. Torpedoes ‘n’ targets aside, it was but a sharp gust o’breath later that Gabriel’s world blew up. It sure as snap-tastic hips did a fine impression of imploding behind his eyelids, anyhoo.
“Gnnnrrhh!” Dylan buried himself in Gabriel’s body with the most sex-strewn sound he’d ever heard. He had no idea what came out of his own mouth, being too preoccupied by the beatific whereabouts of Dylan’s person.
“Y’okay?” Okay? Blimey, Gabriel had never been less ‘okay’ in his life.
“Oh, yessss…” he sighed, seeing as ’twas the sentiment that mattered most, not the specificities of his splendiferous state. “Move Dylan…” he urged, twitching a tad.
Those bewitching blues were clenched tight, tendrils of hair trembling around Dylan’s face, as he fought to hold himself in check. Need tethered in the tendons that threaded his arms, standing proud like rivers of blood; he was all molten magma, gift wrapped in gold. Slinking into Gabriel’s life with primal, predatory grace…and a heart that beat with the dogged determination of a battle drum. Pounding out the melody Gabe’s ears had forever longed to hear. For all the world as if to prove Dylan was far too capable of pulling off what Gabriel had begun to fear impossible. His very own ‘Lovesong’. A man who could whisk him away to a dreamscape wrought by Hughes from granite and fire.
“Mmore…” Gabriel pleaded, tightening his legs, digging his heels in to press Dylan deeper still. He was mesmerizing; lids lust heavy, the blue barely visible beyond the sooty sweep of his lashes, berry lips softly parted. They twerked a tad as Dylan began to ease back, achingly slowly, then stilled, afore unleashing a thrust so superlative that ‘done-for’ was a done-deal. And yet, the scoundrel had scarce begun.
“Hmmore…” Gabriel pleaded…a lot like a stuck record, but that was the only word resounding ’round his head. Only one other mattered, the name that was busy imprinting itself on his very bones. As if hell-bent on proving this beyond any shadow o’doubt, it was then that Dylan picked up the pace, pounding ever more intently, obliterating ‘impossible’ with peerless aplomb. Fuck…he was beautiful. Beads of sweat shimmered on his skin, the blue ablaze with dark promise as he wound those mind-boggling hips ’til more was left floundering a world away from thisss…
Gabriel had waited forever to be wanted this way, taken with an intensity that shrugged aside all reason. The sinuous sweep of Dylan’s spine was ‘Lovesong’ personified, poetry in motion. Gabriel was reduced to clutching at the covers, straining towards all he’d ever craved, without knowing why nothing had ever felt enough. Ever famished, coveting something he’d never quite fathomed. For it would have been akin to envisioning ‘heaven’. The essence of an ideal; the certainty that there must be more than this. There was. Buried balls-deep in Gabriel’s body.
Dylan bent to claim his lips and ravage those too as he ground ever more intently, almost…as if more was but a passing place along his way…
“Fuck…I-I never, Gabriel…” ’Twas with this tumble of mumble that Dylan raised his head, the blue blurry with lust and loaded with a world o’words he had none for.
Instead, Dylan straightened up a tad and began a hypnotic swish of hips that left Gabriel buttery-boned and breathless…long before he segued into short sharp snaps that fired off a fizzy frenzy.
“D-DYLAAN!” he p’raps shrieked when said scoundrel nailed that scintillating knot o’nerves.
“Fucksorry!”
“Huh?” Sorry? Oops. “NO! Do it again!” Gabriel gasped.
“This…?” Dylan wondered afore rattling off another mind mangling assault on Gabe’s prostate.
“YESSSSS! I c-cahn’t—” His fingers seemed to be grappling some sort o’fabric, so Gabriel snatched them free to grope blindly for his cock. Promptly shoved aside by the hand that encompassed it instead. ’Twas with a final flurry of thrusts that Dylan swept his wrist ’til the blinding pressure burst in a white-hot torrent of bliss. This, as his very own name ripped from Dylan’s lips when Gabe was gifted the most sumptuous sight he e’er did see. He might just rather drop dead on the spot than never witness Dylan mid-orgasm again.
“Fuuck.”
That was Dylan, Gabriel could never have managed such a feat of understatement.
Ne’ertheless, for once in his life, Gabe was afraid to speak, on accounts of being decidedly dazed and feeling a smidge sozzled, despite the scandalous lack of Christmas spirits he’d imbibed. He couldn’t think of anything he wanted to say that wasn’t: Please don’t be done dilly-dallying, stay, for a while, or forever
...
That would be way too many words to wrap his tongue around, especially when it felt more inclined to dangle, in a decidedly doggy fashion. Far too many for Dylan’s festive spirits to survive, that was for sure.
“Oooh…” Gabriel groaned instead while attempting to untangle his ankles and unwind his legs before they seized up—which wasn’t an unwelcome prospect—but would make fetching the smokes a tad tricky.
“Are y’okay?” Dylan muttered, scraping his head off Gabriel’s chest to blink blearily at him. He looked adorable, all mussed ‘n’ moggled.
“Mayhaps I’ve never been more okay…” Gabriel smiled, lifting his hand to stroke the tangled strands away from Dylan’s face. Both to see it, and because his fingers never stopped itching to touch it. Also, to see if it was…still allowed. “Are…you?”
“Verily…” ’Twas with a devilish twerk of lips that he unleashed this Shakespearean sally to mayhaps. A fact that might have distracted Gabriel from the miracle of its meaning, except…Dylan could have rattled off an entire soliloquy and he wouldn’t have pulled that off.
