Varian Krylov

by Hurt

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  “I know how I'll find you, Galen, when I touch you. I will even make you a bet. If, when I put my hand to your cock, you are not hard, I won't fuck you.” These last words Khalid whispered at Galen's ear in a throaty growl put the steel in his already aching erection, and when the press of Khalid's hand curved against him, Khalid's grin widened.

  “Then I will fuck you.”

  Khalid squeezed, then let go, and Galen panted through the rush of throbbing blood so he wouldn't groan out loud. Deft, slow, Khalid began rubbing him through his jeans. Clutching the counter harder and harder Galen hoped, hoped.

  Khalid's hand, the one not stroking him, combed into his hair, caught a fistful.

  And then Khalid's mouth was on his mouth. Galen turned away and Khalid yanked him back to his mouth with that fistful of hair and bit his lip.

  “Be good, Galen. Be good, and we'll be quiet.”

  Khalid's trembling urgency, the hand on his cock, the grip on his hair all had Galen hard, panting, wanting. But it was hard to be still for Khalid's kiss, to let Khalid touch his lips with his, tease his tongue with his. Until Khalid sank into the kiss, breathing hard, his whole body seeking. Then Galen couldn't do anything else—he had to taste Khalid, feel those full soft lips under his mouth, the sensuous writhing of that tongue against his.

  “Keep your hands on the counter, Galen,” Khalid breathed, then started working Galen's belt open. “Good boy.” Khalid caught the girth of Galen's hard cock in the curve of his hand over the smooth dark fabric of his boxer briefs. Galen fought the urge to 259

  thrust against Khalid's slow-stroking hand and bit his lip against a whimper of need.

  When Khalid took his hand away, Galen nearly groaned.

  “Turn around, Galen.”

  His heart swelled in his chest, beating hard, fast, adrenaline making his hands jittery as soon as he let go of the counter. Galen strained to hear any noise, any sign Vanka might be awake. But beyond the kitchen, except for the crickets outside, it was silent.

  “Open the cupboard on your left. Get that bottle of oil.”

  Galen did as Khalid ordered.

  “Open it.”

  As he worked the bottle open, it was obvious his hands were shaking, and Galen was relieved to set it down.

  “So nervous, tonight. Tu as peur que Vanka nous trouvera ici. N'est-ce que pas?”

  “Yes.”

  “And also, that is why you're so hard. Why your want is so strong, tonight. Yes?”

  Galen didn't answer. When Khalid took hold of his jeans and dragged them down, Galen caught and held his breath. The bottle of oil disappeared from the counter, then reappeared. Tense, hardly breathing, Galen waited. The length of Khalid's taut, warm body pressed up behind him, a strong arm cinched across his chest, holding him, and Khalid drove up into him, forcing the air from his lungs.

  Both Khalid's hands slipped up under Galen's shirt now, stroking and raking his chest as he fucked him in slow, deep thrusts, Khalid's breath already ragged, his whole body taut, quivery. Both of them taut and quivery.

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  Then Khalid stopped, stopped writhing up against him, stopped pumping into him, stopped teasing his nipples and mouthing his neck, and he said, “Admit it to me, confess to me you want this. That all day, this is what you've wanted.”

  “No,” Galen panted back. Refusal and denial.

  “I want my confession, Galen. If you won't give it to me, I'll take it from you.”

  Galen kept silent, almost confused whether he did it out of resentment or want.

  “Yes, you'd like that better, wouldn't you?” Khalid growled, driving hard into him, fucking him now with fierce heat, every thrust jolting Galen so he had to work hard to keep his knees from banging into the cupboards, had to focus on letting the breath from his lungs quietly, not grunting and groaning the strain and want provoked by the urgent pumping of Khalid's hips.

  Desperately hard, heavy with need, his neglected cock swayed and bounced as Khalid jolted him, every growling pant driving a fresh surge of want through him, until he parted his lips, almost ready to beg for a touch, for release as Khalid gripped his hip and his shoulder and went almost still against, him, shuddering, flexing against him in three final, quivering pulses, his trembling heat finally sagging against Galen's back. Galen bit back a whimper of frustration as Khalid's cock slipped out of him.

  “Stay still,” Khalid said coolly when Galen bent to pull up his jeans. Then, a moment later, after Khalid had done up his fly and buckled his belt, “Now, turn around.”

  Galen turned, met Khalid's golden gaze, watched his eyes wander down his body.

  “My god, look at you,” Khalid sighed. “Really I don't need more proof than that, do I?” he said, glancing down at Galen's aching hard-on, then back up to meet Galen's 261

  defiant gaze. “But as you know, I am a greedy man. I often take more than I need, don't I, Galen?”

  Of everything, this was always the hardest, for Galen. Enduring these taunts.

  “I'm going to take your confession now, Galen. I'm going to take it on my knees. I won't tie you. But Galen, if you do even a small thing to push me away, if you take your hands off that counter, the next time Vanka is in the room with us and I'm in the mood, I promise you, Galen, I'll take you down, and I'll fuck you right before her eyes.”

  A cold bolt of genuine fear shot through Galen, twitching his cock and making him take a tighter grip on the edge of the counter. A smug grin curved Khalid's lips, and then he sank to his knees.

  God fucking damn it, his need was so bad, and Khalid just teased him, barley brushing his soft lips against him. Unthinking, just needing, seeking, Galen pushed his hips out, wanting Khalid's mouth beyond shame, beyond reason. But the wet warmth he knew was there hovered out of reach, tauting. So he wouldn't grab two fistfuls of Khalid's hair and force his mouth down on his cock, Galen gripped the counter tighter, and waited.

  Finally, god, finally there was a faint, warm, wet touch. Tongue. Then lips. A convulsive shudder rippled down his body as Khalid's hot, wet mouth enveloped his aching cock.

  Taunting, torturing, Khalid barely moved over him. So soft. So slow. Galen was sobbing as much as moaning, his want so painfully outstripped the teasing hint of relief he was getting. He'd never, god, fuck, never come like this. And every time he flexed his hips, dying to pump into the grip of Khalid's full lips, to feel the firm brush of his tongue 262

  against the length of his cock, the lips seemed to soften, the tongue drew back. Only when he stilled did Khalid caress him a little with that tormenting, moist heat.

  “Please. Please.”

  He didn't care. He needed. And, at last, Khalid gave him just a little more, just enough, brushing his soft wet tongue against him, pulling all of him deep into the wet heat behind the full, strong lips, until the unbearable pressure in Galen's groin went tight and blew apart and he was arching back and clamping his jaw against a loud, fierce growl of release.

  A vague pain. The edge of the counter carving into his back. Galen straightened his trembling body, opened his eyes. Khalid's placid, laughing eyes, his tranquil gaze.

  Fingers raked into his hair, and Galen gasped as Khalid pinned him against the counter, his pelvis pressing against Galen's just-spent, super sensitive cock.

  “This is the last thing I'll demand of you tonight,” Khalid breathed, then took a long, deep kiss. Galen tasted Khalid, laced with his own flavor. This part always hurt.

  Made him ache.

  “Goodnight, Galen,” Khalid whispered at his ear, then turned and went out the door, closing it silently behind him.

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  Chapter Eight

  “Khalid.” The golden eyes, Khalid's tranquil gaze answered and waited. Galen's throat went tight. “I want Vanka to come live with us.”

  No shift of expression. Just that mute harmony of perfect features, and that quiet gaze. His own breathing was erratic, and Galen struggled to smooth it out, focusing on that to reli
eve the agony of waiting for some sign from Khalid. His shirt felt damp, clinging uncomfortably under his arms, sticking to his back, and his hands, moist and he pressed his palms to his thighs to dry them and keep them steady until finally there was the hint of Khalid's faintest—his most ironic—smile.

  “But Galen. You and I do not live together.”

  The tightness in Galen's throat swelled and rose, but everything else in him dropped and shrank. He'd been an idiot to think—

  “It's a good idea, Galen. Between the two of us, we can take care of her, when she's not well.”

  Galen was afraid to speak, so he just nodded.

  * * * *

  His smile made her realize she was smiling, too. That she'd been smiling for she didn't know how long, lying there, looking into the dark, warm depths of Galen's eyes, purring like a cat under his soft, warm hand as he caressed her belly. This euphoria, she knew what it was.

  “Can I ask you something?” he asked, his fingertip teasing in a circle around her navel.

  “Mmmm?”

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  “Khalid and me. You never ask.”

  “What would I ask?”

  “Lots of things.”

  “What would you tell me?”

  Galen grinned. “I don't know.”

  His finger feathered over a hip bone, along the low-riding waist of her sweats, just an inch or so above where her pubic hair would be, if she still had any. The tickle faintly, pleasantly tugged at her ab muscles.

  “Just . . .” he started again, still smiling, still looking into her, “I know Khalid's told you things. True things. And I want to make sure you know, that you feel, god, I don't know. Safe. With us. I don't mean your physical safety. I mean . . .”

  Now she was grinning. Galen rambling. Embarrassed. It was endearing.

  “Of course I do. I feel good, safe, with the two of you, in a way I never have with most people. People like David. Like Sasha.”

  “Really?” Galen's grin was still there, dimpling his cheek. And his eyes were tearing up.

  “Yes. Really.”

  He sighed and cupped her face in his hands, kissing and nuzzling.

  “Vanka.” She waited, something knotting her stomach. “I want us, the three of us, to live together.”

  For a second, she thought she'd laugh. It was sudden. Reckless. It didn't even make sense.

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  Then there was a spark of anger. She wouldn't be taken in like some sickly puppy from the pound to be cared for and looked after. If hanging out at her house night and day, holding her hand through chemo was getting old, getting in the way, he should just fucking say so. He didn't owe her anything. And she'd get by fine on her own. Not like she was fucking bedridden.

  But his face. God, he looked so hopeful, his eyes fixed on her like he was willing her to say “yes.”

  And then she thought of Khalid. Of the “true things.”

  “All right,” she said, only then noticing how her heart felt swelled up in her chest.

  “Yes.”

  In a lot of ways, it was perfect. She moved in with Galen and Khalid, and her dad, who'd insisted on staying in L.A. during her treatment, moved out of Sasha's. Her brother was too shamed by filial piety to let his dad stay at a hotel, but he was going crazy living under the same roof. Sasha had never been close to their dad, like she was.

  And this way, not renting her place out to strangers, she could come back when things didn't work out at Galen's.

  * * * *

  Bare feet padding across the wood floor went still just behind her, then there was a flutter of tiny kisses at the nape of Vanka's neck.

  “Morning,” Galen said.

  Vanka swiveled around on her stool at the breakfast bar to face him. “Morning.”

  “Mmmm,” Galen mused, “apple flavor.”

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  With more little kisses he played at sampling the taste of the Golden Delicious Vanka had sliced and nibbled at. The teasing touch of his lips, the brush of his stubble, the nudging of his nose had Vanka giggling. They went on, nuzzling and murmuring, all Galen's little coos and touches making Vanka warm and happy. But then she glanced down at his cock, half hard, pushing at the front of his boxers.

  “I'll go put some pants on.”

  Not even knowing why, or what she would do, she stopped him. Hooked her feet behind his calves. For the first time, Galen looked vulnerable to her, his cock straining helplessly against the boxers, something like an apology flickering through his expression.

  “I remember what I promised,” he said. “I was just being playful. I can't help it if this one,” he pointed at his blatant erection, “has other ideas.”

  Galen's vulnerability did something to Vanka, sparked an unfamiliar kind of want.

  Eyes locked on his, she touched him through the thin cotton of his shorts, feeling a little thrill, not at the heavy, swollen heat of his cock, but at Galen's startled expression. Barely touching, she traced the upward slanting outline of his stiffening erection, sensing the veined texture of his shaft, the swell of the head behind the soft weave of fabric.

  Galen's look, his hesitant smile, were more tender than hungry until she curved her fingers around him in a firm grip. His lips parted in a gasp and a little shudder rippled down his naked torso. He leaned in to kiss her, but Vanka covered his mouth with her fingers. Now it was hard to read him. Consternation. Excitement.

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  “Put your hand down,” she said when he curved his hand at her neck, smiling to hear the echo of his words on her own lips.

  He grinned back and let his arm hang at his side as she slowly slid her hand down his stiff cock, cupping and caressing his balls, noting with a weird sort of detachment the texture of the hair under the fabric, the warmth, the weight of the delicate roundness in her palm.

  But his wanting, intent stare, how his mouth was open, breathing, slightly panting against her fingers—that excited something in her. Something above primal instinct.

  Grinning, eager, she took her hand from his cock and said,

  “Make yourself come. I want to watch.”

  She guessed at the shifting shapes of his features. Disappointment. Amusement.

  Arousal.

  “All right,” he said when she took his fingers from his lips. “Right here?”

  “Right there. Take those off.”

  Holding her gaze, he pushed the elastic down, baring his pale hips and his stiff, pink cock, and let his shorts drop to the floor. He brought the pads of four fingers to the underside of his prick and drew his touch along the delicate ridge there, from just above his balls, up the the flare of the full, flushed head.

  “Do you touch yourself like that? When you're alone?” she asked him.

  “Sometimes.”

  He closed his fingertips over the head of his cock, teasing the swollen dome for a few seconds, then wrapped his grip around his shaft and thrust his cock into his hand with a slow flex of his hips. He did that for a while, fucking his hand as if it were the body 268

  of a partner. Then his hips stilled and his hand stroked up and down, fast and frenzied for a while, his fist tight, then languorously, his fingers in a loose circle, brushing over his rigid length, his other hand working over his balls.

  Each time she looked up, his eyes were locked on hers, and a couple times her face went hot, and he grinned. Little by little, his face flushed, his breaths got shallow, rapid. His muscles—his belly, his hips, his thighs, his arms—were flexing, almost twitching. Then his brow furrowed in two deep, vertical shadows, and, still watching her watch, he came, jutting his hips forward, arching back and spattering his belly and chest. And then he stood there, watching her watch as he breathed through the quivering after, as he came back to himself. Then he grinned.

  After he'd mopped up with a damp towel he came to her. There was no surprise, but Vanka admired how at ease he was, naked, his cock still flushed and heavy, while she sat there, clothed and untouched. Nuzzling up to her, the he
at from his body curling around her, he purred by her ear,

  “That was fun.”

  “Was it?”

  “I liked how you watched me. And I liked that you asked something of me.” He kissed along her cheekbone, kissed along her hairline, kissed her ear. “Whatever you want of me, Vanka, I'll be happy—excited—to give you.”

  * * * *

  “Is that what you're like, when you're writing?” Galen asked Khalid without taking his eyes off Vanka at her laptop.

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  Khalid looked up from the book he was reading. Vanka, curled up in the yellow leather armchair, stared intently at her screen, her hands scampering blind over the keyboard they'd memorized long ago.

  “No. My writing happens in my head, not at the computer. That is just . . .

  transcription? Is it the same in English?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Writing, I almost forget the computer is there. Only some small, obedient part of my brain silently tells my fingers to spell out the words for me.”

  “Whereas Vanka forgets we are here,” Galen teased.

  “I am impressed. If I had to work with you hovering over me, commenting on every little thing I do, I would never have written one chapter. It is why you have never seen me writing.”

  “Hey,” Galen said, tapping the bottom of Vanka's foot with his. “You've been at that for hours. Take a break. Why don't we all have a soak in the hot tub?”

  Vanka leaned closer to her screen, scrutinizing some detail there, fingers clicking and stroking. Then she leaned back and looked up. Her eyes were so bloodshot, looking at them made Galen's eyes start to water..

  “You two go ahead. I want to finish editing this segment.”

  Galen looked over at the little plate of food she'd hardly touched since he'd brought it to her two hours earlier, back to her bloodshot eyes, already focused back on the screen of her laptop.

  “Come on. Seriously. You need to rest, now and then. You'll wear yourself out,”

  Galen pressed.