by Cole McCade
But Malcolm still didn’t realize what was happening until Seong-Jae was in his lap—straddling him, strong thighs flanking his hips, long fingers in his hair, that red mouth drawing in close, and suddenly his world was nothing but the scents of smoke and diesel, the heat and weight of Seong-Jae’s body, the crush of muscle to muscle, the crash of mouth to mouth. Seong-Jae’s lips tasted like need and desperation, as he kissed Malcolm as though Malcolm were the answer to every unspoken question in the world.
And Malcolm tried.
God, did he try to be that answer; the music of Seong-Jae’s body against him, slow and slinking in rhythmic movement, was a siren-song drawing him in to drown, willing to give anything to sate that endless, constant need that always, always threatened to tumble them over into the ceaseless dark together.
Always together.
They would rise together, or they would fall together.
But if Seong-Jae ever slipped into that terrifying night…
Malcolm would follow, and stain himself dark to live in the shadows with the man he loved.
He could feel that darkness in Seong-Jae—in the hard clutch of hands to his shoulders, raking down his back, ripping at his suit coat; in the savagery of Seong-Jae’s teeth biting at his lips, his tongue. He took the pain and gave it back, clashing and tangling and digging his fingers into Seong-Jae’s thighs, dragging them up, savoring how Seong-Jae gasped and rose up in a shivering thrill of undulating motion until Malcolm grasped hard at his ass and pulled him back down with his palms full of the satisfying pleasure of taut-clenched muscle and his cock rising hard to meet the crash of pressure that brought them together.
Fuck.
Fuck, their lives were all wrong, everything torn to pieces, the world a horror show of misery.
But they were still right.
And even the shadows on Seong-Jae’s lips tasted right, tasted perfect, as Malcolm claimed control of that wild mouth that challenged him, that tested him, that demanded he give his all and let that siren-song draw him into oblivion. He needed Seong-Jae like this: mouth bruised hot from the crush of Malcolm’s lips and teeth, gasping and growling out softly erotic sounds each time Malcolm nipped, bit, licked, thrust deep to explore and tease the inside of that burning-slick mouth, leaving his mark again and again and again. He might not be a jealous man…
But God, did he need to possess.
And be possessed.
Possessed by the needy touch ripping his suit coat away, coiling his tie into a leash around a brutal fist, jerking him in until there was no space left between them; possessed by the liquid, sinuous roll of Seong-Jae’s hips grinding against his with deliberate taunting strength, Seong-Jae’s cock hard between them, teasing at his own, daring Malcolm, enticing him, sizzling him with every rolling rush of deep-burn sensation that stole his breath and left him panting, gasping, breathing in not air but the pure dark smoky essence of Seong-Jae.
Too much clothing. There was too much clothing between them, and he caught the hem of Seong-Jae’s shirt, ripped it up, forcing Seong-Jae to let go of that hold on his tie just long enough to tear the black cotton over his head, leaving him even wilder with his silken black hair disarrayed in a gorgeous tangle and falling across those ferally hungry eyes, that wicked scar. There was something dangerous in Seong-Jae, something that seemed to vibrate through him when they slammed together like this, something hypnotic and alluring and addictive that Malcolm would never tame.
Would never want to.
He only wanted to taste it—and he tore his mouth from Seong-Jae’s, clasping the lean, hard-muscled lines of his waist as he fastened his mouth over one dusky nipple, grazing his teeth along it just to feel Seong-Jae’s hips buck in a sharp rush of pleasure against his before Malcolm drew tender flesh in deep.
He circled with his tongue, tracing rough skin, rousing it into a hard tight knot on his tongue, while Seong-Jae dug his fingers into his hair, whispering out his name in a ragged rasp and throwing his head back, arching that beautiful body into a lithe curve. Malcolm bit his way down Seong-Jae’s chest and stomach, taking that elegant arch of perfect musculature as an invitation to taste, to explore every tight-pulled slope of sinew, the arcs of his ribs, the dips and rolls of his chiseled, rippling stomach, the crests of his hip bones, that delicious plunge of perfectly flowing tightness leading down toward the waist of his jeans.
When he hit that barrier of denim, he dug his fingers in, ripped the button free, dragged the zipper loose and tore Seong-Jae’s jeans and boxer-briefs down around his thighs, baring his cock. Thick, ridged, slicked with wet pre-come and dripping more from the tip, it pulsed in hard rhythmic jerks—only to buck harshly as Malcolm dragged his tongue over the tip, tasting the full swell of his cockhead in all its salt-flesh maleness, gathering that wet slick gleam of pre before pulling the swollen flare of the tip fully into his mouth.
Just to hear Seong-Jae groan.
It was a sound that came up from deep inside Seong-Jae, rough and raw and heady and deep, something Malcolm felt vibrating all the way through the hard body clasped under his fingers as he pulled Seong-Jae deeper into his mouth, let that thickness slide over his tongue and fill him until he could barely breathe—and God, did he love it. Something about the intimacy of taking Seong-Jae into him this way, his mouth struggling to fit around his full length and breadth, the heat and musk of him, that desire pulsing on his tongue and invading his mouth, his throat, so fully as he took an inch at a time deeper, deeper, deliberately drawing so tight, so hard, just to hear Seong-Jae make those desperate, hitching sounds, just to hear his breath catch, just to make him writhe and shudder as his thighs quivered and clasped against Malcolm’s hips.
“Malcolm,” Seong-Jae gasped, hips rolling, cock thrusting deeper into Malcolm’s mouth, almost deep enough to gag him, moving in short little uncontrolled motions, as frantic as Malcolm needed him, his fingers digging into Malcolm’s hair and dragging through roughly, painfully, bright sparks of pleasure in every sharp burn.
Malcolm only thrummed out a moan, savoring every moment of it, sliding his tongue along the thickly ridged vein beneath Seong-Jae’s cock before tracing, spiraling over his full length, drawing back just to lick from root to tip only to swallow him in deep once more, letting Seong-Jae violate his mouth the way he never had for any other when some part of him always needed to maintain a certain distance, a certain inviolable boundary that had never let his one-night stands get beyond a certain point of closeness, of intimacy.
His boundaries had shattered for Seong-Jae long ago.
And he would do anything to Seong-Jae, let Seong-Jae do anything to him, as long as every touch of their bodies brought them closer together.
He couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed that closeness deeper, hotter, as close as they could be…and he drew back from that pulsing cock with one last deliberately rough flick of his tongue against the tip, ripping a strangled, hotly broken cry from Seong-Jae’s throat as his omr-an bowed over him, entire body convulsing.
Fuck, Seong-Jae was stunning like this.
Breathtaking.
And Malcolm’s cock hurt with the need to be inside him.
“Seong-Jae,” he growled, resting his brow to the taut plane of Seong-Jae’s stomach. “…need you.”
“Yes,” Seong-Jae gasped—already ripping at Malcolm’s belt, his slacks, tearing them loose with one hand while he reached over the side of the bed with the other. For a moment he caught Malcolm’s mouth in a brutal kiss that left his mouth tasting of salt and bruises, before he leaned away, fumbled down the side of Malcolm’s bag, found the bottle of lube tucked away in a little side pocket.
Then that callused, heated hand enveloped Malcolm’s cock, a sheath of roughness and perfect, stroking fire as Seong-Jae caressed swift and hard over his length, made him moan, made him tremble with the burn rushing through him to steal his thoughts and leave him lost in a white-hot place of raw animal energy and need. Their mouths caught, dueled, all wetness and warmth
and sharp biting edges, twined tongues and low sounds and the rush of breaths. The next stroke of Seong-Jae’s fingers was damp, smooth, sliding slickly over Malcolm’s cock, coating his skin in a silken layer of lubricant that did nothing to cool the heat throbbing in his cock; instead it simply turned molten, making Malcolm snarl and bite down harder on Seong-Jae’s lower lip.
“Stop,” he gasped, “teasing me.”
“Why?” A harder stroke, Seong-Jae’s palm squeezing tight enough to make Malcolm gasp, voice breaking on a strangled sound, as pleasure-pain shot through him. “If you want me to stop…fuck me, Malcolm. Just like this.”
Malcolm shuddered, licked at the swollen redness of Seong-Jae’s lower lip, reached for the bottle of lube. “I might hurt—”
“I do not care.”
Seong-Jae pulled the lube out of his reach, pointedly flicked the cap on with his fingertip, and dropped it on the nightstand—before catching Malcolm’s face in his palms, digging his fingers into his beard, pulling him roughly for a deeply plunging kiss that left Malcolm dizzy, seared down to his core with a throbbing rush of pure, unrestrained lust.
“Fuck me,” Seong-Jae hissed against his mouth, before biting viciously hard at Malcolm’s tongue.
Malcolm tasted blood.
And, with a growl building deep in his chest, he shoved Seong-Jae away from him, tumbling him down onto his back on the bed.
One last second of restraint kept him from ripping Seong-Jae’s clothing to shreds as he tore the last of it away, leaving that wildcat of a man naked beneath him, legs spreading willingly, offering that glorious body to Malcolm as Malcolm moved over him, settled beneath his thighs, gripped Seong-Jae’s ass and spread him, lifting him, positioning him just right.
And waiting.
For just a moment, another breath of anticipatory tension, just to make Seong-Jae feel it, open and bared and vulnerable and empty.
Black eyes flashed, violence threatening as Seong-Jae glared up at him.
And Malcolm gave him what they both craved, the storm between them breaking in a lightning-strike of sensation as he pressed his cockhead to Seong-Jae’s ass and forced his way into the heated depths of his body.
Fuck.
No matter how many times Malcolm tore him open just like this, more and more Seong-Jae begging for it with no prep, just lube and a moment of care…he was always so tight. Painfully so, his body seeming to resist Malcolm even as Seong-Jae clutched him closer with straining arms and an arching body and fingers digging into Malcolm’s back through his shirt, the husky cries in his throat begging, pleading. There was no going quick, not when Seong-Jae gripped him so hard inside heat that felt like it would pour into Malcolm and melt him from the inside out until he was just a hollow core filled with pure churning magma.
This was breathless. This was destructive. This was primal nature battling to break free—fought in inches, fought in breaths, fought in flexing and flowing bodies, in kisses, in fractions of ground gained one at a time as Malcolm sank deeper and deeper while Seong-Jae pulled him in with strong thighs against his hips, with that beautifully flushed face, the sweat-tangled fall of his hair across his brow, the way his lips parted in lush, red-swollen, wet-gleaming perfection each time Malcolm filled him just a little deeper, paused, gritted his teeth, sought even more. Malcolm couldn’t be satisfied until he had Seong-Jae completely.
And he wasn’t sure if it was Seong-Jae’s cry or his own shattering over them as, bracing his knees, with one last hard surge…
He brought their bodies together in that perfect lock, buried so deep inside Seong-Jae he could feel their tandem heartbeats throbbing through their flesh.
This.
This was right.
No matter where this road took them, no matter what horrors they faced…
This was where he found home.
When Seong-Jae trusted him enough, needed him enough, cared for him enough to let him in this way, to give Malcolm his body and his desire and his complete open vulnerability, the way he went so lax and soft and gave himself over to pleasure, the way every arch of his body and tremor of his flesh begged with such unrestrained passion.
And Malcolm’s name on his lips, a pleading sigh of “Malcolm” as Seong-Jae kissed him, teased his mouth, gave him back the taste of salt flesh and blood and something that was just…them.
Malcolm gave himself over to that taste, that perfection, that closeness that gave him the strength to survive anything, tracing Seong-Jae’s lips with his tongue, stealing his name from his mouth, bringing their bodies together as he wrapped his arms around Seong-Jae’s waist, lifted him up, practically holding him off the bed so that when Malcolm moved…he took Seong-Jae with him. As he would always go where Seong-Jae went—he brought Seong-Jae with him into this heat, this rhythm, this desperate, tumultuous cadence as he brought their bodies together again and again, a crashing of riptide sensation and swiftburn pleasure and dizzying eroticism, each time joining their voices in wordless cries as they parted, came together, parted, together again.
Always together again.
I will always find you, no matter how far you go.
No matter how deep you hide.
I love you, he thought as he sought Seong-Jae’s mouth, his pleasure, the peak of desire as they dissolved into wildness, clutching and savaging and shuddering with frantic heat, with the arching of their bodies, with the stroke of his thumb along the ridged scar along Seong-Jae’s thigh, with the rush and sigh of skin and flesh and gripping fingers, deeper thrusts, convulsing muscle, slicking wetness and pulsing hardness. With that shivering peak, something that felt like it reached deeper than Malcolm’s flesh to make the shattering of his desire the shattering of his heart.
I love you…
And if this breaks me, then I’ll break for you.
[16: WHERE MONSTERS HIDE]
MALCOLM LAY IN THE UNCOMFORTABLE, oversized hotel room bed and stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling.
Unfamiliar ceilings always seemed to mark strange changes in his life. He wasn’t someone who traveled often, not when work always kept him so busy; his wasn’t a life moving from one hotel room to the next, carrying home with him in a suitcase. His first unfamiliar ceiling had been in the Army barracks, the next a series of tents overseas that all blended together into sand-colored canvas and didn’t count because you couldn’t call a tent real shelter, safety, home.
Then his first shitty bachelor’s apartment, rent barely scraped by on a beat cop’s pay, refusing help from his parents even if they would have happily given it to him.
Then Gabrielle.
Shopping for a home together, a place they could call their own.
Then the same ceiling night after night after night after night, until one night the calm uncaring blandness of that ceiling had made him snap and end up in a hotel on the other side of Baltimore, because he just couldn’t stand staring up at those same little dots of stucco that hadn’t changed their patterns and never would. He and Gabrielle had changed forever, with that plus sign on the pregnancy test.
And broken irrevocably, in a single night of blood and pain.
It had felt wrong, somehow, for the ceiling to stay exactly the same, unaffected by the people below it, lying together in a tense and miserable bed without touching.
Then his loft apartment…and then for so long, the same ceiling.
Until Seong-Jae.
Until that bedroom with bits of glass mosaic tile embedded in the ceiling, filtering the light into undersea rays.
And then that ceiling had become familiar, too, as familiar as Seong-Jae in his life, until the day Malcolm had said hey—hey, I know you don’t feel safe at your place anyway, so why not just…?
So his familiar ceiling had become their familiar ceiling. Maybe it already had been, for quite some time.
But now they stretched together beneath a roof that was just the floor of another room above them, a city he didn’t know glittering in tall towers and glassed edges and red
tail lights through the smoke-tinted windows, the ceiling a deliberate swirl of sheetrock that was likely supposed to be artistic, white on white ridges in looping, oceanic patterns.
Tomorrow it would be back home to his own ceiling, their own ceiling, even if it was a temporary thing because to make room for Seong-Jae, they would need to find a new space, a different ceiling. Then away, again…
Because a man in a white rabbit mask wanted to play.
Home wasn’t home anymore. Home was just a temporary holding pattern, now.
And Malcolm saw a long line of unfamiliar ceilings in his future, changing again and again with every new wave of bodies in patterns of one, one, two, three, five, eight…
Too many.
And he would lie there remembering each and every one beneath the impersonal blankness of an unfamiliar ceiling.
He rolled his head to the side, resting his cheek against the pillow and the mess of his unbound hair. Seong-Jae was still as death next to him; Malcolm couldn’t tell if he was asleep or just faking it until he made it, when Seong-Jae’s tension hadn’t unraveled since they’d walked into Anjulie’s office to find Aanga Joshi waiting with an edict that could change their lives…
Forever, Malcolm thought.
They might spend forever in this limbo, chasing a man who wanted to toy with them but didn’t want to be found.
And he wondered how many unfamiliar ceilings Seong-Jae remembered, now.
Fuck.
He couldn’t stay like this, maudlin and brooding and tense. He didn’t want to bother Seong-Jae, and all Seong-Jae would be able to do was hold him and tell him it would be all right when Malcolm didn’t think it would. Not really.
That was what was shaking him the most, right now.
That he couldn’t look at this case, at the sheer monstrosity of it…
And truly believe, without a doubt, that sooner or later everything would be all right.
He pushed himself up gingerly—and got his answer about whether or not Seong-Jae was actually asleep when his lover made a soft, disgruntled sound, burying his face in the pillow he was currently hugging to himself.
