Pounding Skin

by L. A. Witt

  “Sure.” Matt smiled. “After all this bullshit with my car? I could use a night of kicking back with booze and candy.”

  “Great.” Jon grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Chapter 17

  A few days after Matt got his car back from Tyler, it was time for the squadron’s Halloween party. It was an all-ages party with costume contests and prizes for the kids until about ten, at which point it was adults only. Jon had expected Matt to want to show up after the kids had gone home, but he seemed okay with being there for the family-friendly charity side of things too.

  He was still kind of surprised Matt had even taken him up on the invitation. Just a few nights ago, he’d asked for the hundredth time if Matt was still onboard.

  “Are you kidding? I love Halloween.” Matt had grinned. “What other night is it socially acceptable to gorge myself on candy corn?”

  “That’s never socially acceptable,” Jon had retorted. “Candy corn is an abomination.”

  Matt had gasped, putting a hand to his chest in mock horror. “The only reason I’m going to let you get away with saying that is that you’re so good at sucking cock.”

  And then, like usual, things had devolved into cock-sucking, and the candy corn was forgotten. Somewhere in the sweaty tangle before they’d gone to sleep, though, Matt had confirmed that, yes, he really did want to go.

  Of course costumes were encouraged—both for the entertainment of the kids and because it was even fun for adults to dress up for a night of drinking and dancing—but Jon hadn’t thought to ask Matt what he’d be wearing. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Matt was one of those guys who thought anyone over the age of twelve putting on a costume was lame. And maybe they were, but it was fun, especially since the squadron was notorious for pulling out all the stops when it came to costumes. Jon couldn’t wait to see what the CO wore this year.

  The night of the party, Jon broke out the insanely cool Assassin’s Creed costume—hooded tunic and all—that he’d ordered. He’d pretty much decided Matt would be coming as himself, and it didn’t bother him in the slightest. As long as Matt was a good sport about everything—and the fact that he was willing to come along at all suggested he was—then nobody would mind one way or the other if he dressed up.

  So when the condo doorbell rang on the night of the party, Jon was more than a little shocked to find Matt standing there in costume.

  Especially since he’d picked a priest costume. The black shirt. The white collar. The cross on a chain hanging in the middle of his chest. And he’d opted for the short-sleeved black shirt, leaving his tattoos exposed.

  “Whoa.” Jon stood aside to let Matt in. “I wasn’t . . . expecting . . .”

  “Something so sacrilegious?” Matt turned around and grinned wickedly, and Jon was suddenly surprised he wasn’t wearing a set of devil horns to complete the ensemble.

  Jon gulped. “I was going to say hot.”

  Matt laughed. “It was Colin’s fault. He always says the only way he could ever completely cover his ink is to dress as a priest—you know, because of the collar—and it gave me an idea.”

  Jon looked down at the short sleeves, which definitely did nothing to hide the elaborate designs on Matt’s forearms. The collar was even worse. Jon could think of nothing in the world that could possibly be hotter than Matt’s ink reaching above the edges of his black collar and the white strip across the front.

  Fuck, but he was hot like that. Maybe it was sacrilegious. Jon didn’t have the brain cells left to really debate it—his mind was way too focused on all the things he suddenly wanted to do to Matt. To Matt who was dressed as a tattooed and wicked-eyed priest.

  He wrapped his arms around Matt. “You look seriously hot.”

  Matt ran his hands up the Assassin’s Creed tunic. “You don’t look so bad yourself. I might get a boner next time I play that game.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh-huh.” Matt’s hands and gaze slid downward, and he added a low, “You just made the whole game pornographic.”

  Jon laughed and kissed him. From the way Matt returned his kiss, he wasn’t entirely joking. Oh, this was going to be an interesting evening. Starting right now, according to Jon’s quickening pulse and hardening dick.

  “Forgive me, Father,” Jon growled against Matt’s lips, “for I am about to sin.”

  “You’d better believe you are,” Matt whispered, and claimed a deep kiss.

  “I can’t decide if I want to get on my knees and blow you,” Jon said, barely breaking the kiss, “or bend you over something and fuck you.”

  Matt groaned softly, kneading Jon’s ass through his pants. “Like the sound of that second option.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Jon stepped back long enough to pull off the tunic, then kissed him again, harder this time, and his heart went crazy at the thought of watching himself fuck Matt in that costume. Or at all, really, but the costume just made it that much dirtier and sexier.

  He broke the kiss and took Matt’s arm. “I want to see this. Come on.” Without waiting for a response—not that there was any kind of protest—he led Matt into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and bent him over the sink. He made quick work of unzipping his pants and getting on a condom and lube. Then he shoved Matt’s knees apart with his and guided himself in, and they both swore as his cock breached Matt’s tight hole.

  Matt grunted, grabbing at the sink and the counter. “Oh God, yeah . . .”

  Jon took a few slow, easy strokes at first. He’d topped Matt enough times that he knew he didn’t need to spend half the night prepping him, but still—no point in hurting him.

  Using the counter for leverage, Matt rocked back against him. “More,” he moaned. “Please . . .”

  Jon slid a hand up Matt’s back, grabbed his hair, and pulled his head back. Oh dear sweet Jesus, was that a sight. Matt and his tattoos and that white collar, his skin flushed and his face the very picture of arousal. Jon wasn’t sure what a fallen angel was supposed to look like, but he decided it had to be something like this.

  He thrust into Matt, driving another moan out of him. Matt bit his lip. “Fuck . . . hard. Please.”

  “Yeah?” Jon grinned. “You want it hard?”

  “You know I do.” Matt shivered. “Really hard.”

  As if he needed to twist Jon’s arm. Jon gripped his hips and pounded him as hard as he could, until his quads and ass muscles ached from exertion. If it hurt, Matt didn’t protest. Hell, he probably liked that kind of pain.

  “Oh God,” Matt let his head fall forward, and his cross pendant clattered against the counter. “Oh, yeah . . .” He was the epitome of sexiness—the disheveled priest, covered in ink and sweat, bent over and taking Jon’s cock.

  “Jerk yourself off,” Jon ordered.

  Grunting softly, Matt shifted onto one arm. His other hand disappeared beneath the counter’s edge. Jon couldn’t see what he was doing, but he saw enough—Matt’s shoulder rising and falling, his arm practically shaking with his rapid pumping motions, Matt biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut. It would have been hot any time, but with the costume, it was a hundred times dirtier.

  Jon gripped Matt’s hips so hard it had to be painful, and he fucked him violently. Moaning and begging for more, Matt flailed for purchase on the counter, knocking a razor and a stick of deodorant into the sink, but neither he nor Jon stopped to right the fallen toiletries. If anything, Jon just rode him harder, and Matt’s arm knocked something else off before he finally grabbed the edge of the sink.

  “Like that?” Jon asked through his teeth as he watched himself fuck Matt.

  “Unngggh. Yeah.” Matt lifted his head, meeting Jon’s gaze in the mirror. “So good. I’m . . . gonna . . .” His eyes rolled back, and he bit his lip as he furiously pumped himself beneath the counter. Then his ass clenched hard around Jon, and his eyes flew open, and he shuddered so hard he nearly toppled.

  And oh, yeah, Matt’s flushed, sweaty face in mid-orgasm, his di
sheveled hair and blown pupils and that white collar with tattoos sneaking up behind it—that was a sight Jon couldn’t handle without exploding.

  “Fuck!” He pulled Matt’s hips back in the same moment he thrust as hard as he could, and the sounds of Matt crying out and his cross pendant clattering on the sink drove Jon the rest of the way over the edge.

  Matt slumped over the counter. Jon slumped over him. Both breathing hard and trembling, they met each other’s gazes in the mirror.

  “If I’d known this kind of thing turned you on,” Matt panted, “I’d have shown up like this sooner.”

  Jon laughed, nuzzling Matt’s neck. “It usually doesn’t. I don’t have a religious fetish or anything. But the tattoos just set the whole thing off.” A shiver ran through him. “I don’t know why, but it’s insanely hot.”

  It definitely was. Matt, dressed like a priest, bent over the sink with his pants around his ankles and Jon’s dick still inside him, looking thoroughly debauched and disheveled—no, it absolutely did not get any hotter than that.

  Jon kissed the back of his neck one more time, then carefully pulled out. They cleaned themselves up and pulled their clothes back together, and in a matter of minutes, the only evidence of their quickie was the hint of sweat at Matt’s hairline and the items they’d knocked over on the counter.

  “You know, I wasn’t sure about this costume.” Matt scrutinized his reflection as he fixed his hair. “But I definitely don’t regret it now.”

  “Can’t imagine why you would.” Jon put a hand on the small of Matt’s back and kissed his cheek. “It looks great on you.”

  They exchanged grins in the mirror.

  Matt turned and rested his forearms on Jon’s shoulders. “So, we still going to the party?”

  Jon glanced at his watch. “Well, we’ll be fashionably late, but I did tell everyone we’d be there.”

  “Fine by me.” Matt’s expression turned serious. “But when we get home? You’ve got some serious Hail Marys to catch up on.”

  Jon kneaded Matt’s ass. “You keep that up, we’re not getting out this door.”

  “Oh, we’re going.” Matt grinned. “And I’m going to spend the entire night teasing you until you go crazy.”

  “You’re a bastard.”

  “Is that any way to talk to a man of God?”

  “Keep teasing me, and—”

  Matt cut him off with a kiss. “Bedroom. Now.”

  * * *

  Eventually, they made it out of Jon’s condo, and to his surprise, they were only about half an hour late. He felt a little like his hips weren’t properly connected to his body anymore—always happened after Matt laid him out and fucked him good and hard—but he was pretty sure he was walking normally enough that no one would catch on.

  At the door, though, Matt balked. “Wait.”

  Jon turned. “Hmm?”

  Matt swallowed. “Is, uh, everyone here going to be okay with us? With two guys being together?”

  “Oh yeah.” Jon waved a hand. “Nate and his husband are on the planning committee. If anyone’s got a problem with gay men, they bailed a long time ago.”

  “Oh.”

  Jon slipped an arm around him. “It’ll be fine. I promise. If anything, the wives might start grilling you about when you’re going to start coming to spouse events.”

  Matt’s eyebrows jumped. “Uh . . .”

  “Just tell them you’ve already joined the Facebook group, and they’ll leave you alone. Promise.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” As they went inside, Matt looked around, probably warily searching for the spouses’ group. Jon just snickered.

  They continued through the party, and it only took a minute to find Nate and his husband. Nate was refilling a punch bowl, and Caleb was distributing plastic spiders into a couple dozen plastic jack-o’-lanterns for the kids.

  For as googly-eyed as they were over each other, at least they didn’t do the couples costume thing. Jon might’ve had to spray them with a fire hose or something if they took things that far.

  Fortunately, their costumes were as unrelated as they could be. Nate had picked a fairly generic pirate costume—eye patch, fake parrot, hat. Jon suspected he’d be changing into something a bit more risqué after all the kids left. Nate and Red—one of the two female pilots in their squadron—were forever bitching about how female Halloween costumes consisted of “sexy” everything. So, Nate made a point of wearing one of those every year. Last year, their commanding officer had almost needed the Heimlich maneuver after Nate had strolled into the party dressed as a sexy mechanic, complete with his shirt tied into a skimpy bikini top, a pair of booty shorts with a wrench sticking out of the front of his waistband, and some very suggestive grease smudges on his exposed skin.

  Caleb was, as always, more conservative. Hair slicked pack, face pale, a little blood on the corner of his mouth, though he’d foregone the set of fangs. He wore a suit, and above the breast pocket was a nametag that said Senior Partner—Dewey, Cheetum, & Howe Law Firm. Jon wondered how that had gone over with the other lawyers Caleb worked with.

  As Jon and Matt approached, Nate looked up. “Oh hey! Finally decided to join us?” He stepped around the table, and he and Jon shared one of their usual half-handshake, half-hugs. “I thought you were bailing on us.”

  “No, we were just . . .” Jon cleared his throat. “Just ran a little late.” Judging by the smirk and the subtle eyebrow lift, Nate knew exactly why they were late, and he’d be giving Jon hell about it for weeks after this. Jon gestured at Matt. “Screws, you remember Matt.”

  Caleb scowled. He hated his husband’s call sign. Apparently it implied he screwed around—as in, with other men—rather than just a being joke about the dude having some screws loose. Ten years, and he still hadn’t gotten over that.

  Jon ignored him. “Matt, this is Screw—Nate’s husband, Caleb.”

  Everyone shook hands, and Matt nodded toward the mountain of candy bags next to the pumpkins Caleb was filling. “You need help with that?”

  “Sure.” Caleb tossed him a bag of Snickers. “Drop two of those in each, if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem.” Matt tore open the bag and did as he was told.

  Jon grabbed a Butterfinger bag and did the same. He glanced around the room. “Nice crowd tonight.”

  “Yeah,” Nate said. “We’re expecting a few more, but”—he glanced at his watch—“I think Louise is going to start the games in the next twenty minutes or so.”

  Between the three of them—four when Nate finished with the punch and joined in—it wasn’t long before they had all the bags emptied and the pumpkins brimming with candy.

  “Thanks, guys,” Caleb said as he wadded up the bags. “Goes a whole lot faster with extra hands.”

  “No problem,” Matt said. “Anything else I can do to help?”

  “Nah,” Nate said. “Everything is pretty much under control for the time being.”

  Caleb stuffed the bags into a trash can, then turned to Matt. “So you work at Skin Deep, Inc, don’t you?”

  “Sweetie, this is a party,” Nate said. “Don’t make the man talk about work.”

  “Nah, it’s okay.” Matt smiled. “Yeah, I work there.”

  “Hmm.” Caleb gestured at his leg. “I’ve got an older piece on my calf I’ve been thinking of getting either touched up or redone. The shading’s faded pretty bad, and the lines aren’t so great anymore.”

  “Can I have a look?” Matt asked.

  “Sure.” Caleb came around the table and rolled up his pant leg. Matt crouched for a closer look. From what Jon could see, it was definitely some old ink. The black lines had faded to a pale blue-green, and he suspected they’d never been terribly sharp to begin with.

  After a moment, Matt rose. “On a tattoo with that much dark color, you usually want to get all or most of it removed before you start on the cover up.” He paused, lips quirked. “You know, we’ve got an apprentice there. Lucas. He’s a magic
ian when it comes to cover-ups, so he’s probably the one you want to talk to.”

  Caleb arched an eyebrow. “But he’s just an apprentice?”

  “We all have to start somewhere. He’s good, though. Trust me.”

  Right then, a woman in a Raggedy Ann costume—Hannah, Taxi’s wife—sidled up next to them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” She looked at Matt. “Are you a tattoo artist?”

  Matt smiled shyly and nodded.

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh! You know, I’ve been thinking of getting one for each of my kids . . .” She rolled up her sleeve. “You know. Names. Birth dates. Maybe a little picture for each?”

  From there, it didn’t take long for word to get around that Matt was a tattoo artist, and he quickly became the most popular man in the room. It was almost comical how many people came up to him and pushed costumes aside to reveal either unmarked skin or tattoos that needed help.

  Nate and one of the other organizers needed a hand loading the donations into someone’s van, so Jon bowed out and left Matt to charm the masses. On the rare occasion Jon brought a date—and he used that term loosely—to a squadron function, he usually stayed close to them since these things could get a little intimidating for the uninitiated, but Matt seemed to be holding his own.

  The donations—mostly non-perishable food—barely fit into the vehicle. Good thing everyone had grown up playing Tetris. With some time and creativity, they wedged every last can and box into the van. Even if the driver slammed on the brakes, Jon doubted any of this shit would move, though he didn’t envy whoever had to unload it all.

  Duty called, and Nate sprinted off with the other organizer—he’d be running himself ragged until the bar opened later—so Jon strolled back inside. The group asking Matt about tattoos had dispersed, and Matt was gone. Jon looked around, and quickly zeroed in on him. To his surprise, Matt had crouched in front of some young kids, and they were even more enthralled with his tattoos than the adults had been. He held out his arm for them to look at the designs, turning it and letting them touch the lines. He even pulled up his sleeve and tugged down his collar to give them a better view of the partially obscured designs.