Whiskey and Wry

by Rhys Ford

  “Really now, boyo?” Sionn snorted but allowed himself to be pushed back into the sheets. “So I’ve not been satisfying you?”

  “Guess not.” Damien’s face was somber, but a teasing lilt tugged at his words. “I think you’re going to have to try harder. You know, practice. We’ll need a lot of practice.”

  “One thing, love.” Sionn cupped his lover’s cheeks, his hands nearly lost in the curtain of black hair shrouding their faces. “You okay with this? With us?”

  He didn’t want to bring up the man’s mother, but she clung to the air around them, a ghost of ill intent lurking at Damien’s side. Her body had been signed out of the morgue by a lawyer, whisked away before Damien had a chance to arrange for a service. Challenging the release, they’d found out she’d been cremated, the crime lab clearing the disposal of her remains some time before Damien discovered his mother’s body been taken.

  “You’re all I’ve got, Irish.” Damien’s hooded eyes were nearly ebony, their bright blue dulled in the shadows. “You and Miki. I need this. I need you. I need you to make me feel alive right now, Murphy. I want to feel you around me; then I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk. Anything you want. Just… remind me I’m alive.”

  “That I can do, love,” Sionn promised.

  They’d both bled on a stick, as Damien put it, but their time together had slipped away into exhaustion and quick fumbling hand jobs during showers. Torn apart by appointments and police interviews, Sionn found himself able to take the time to reacquaint himself with his lover’s body, and from the speculative look on Damien’s face, it appeared the guitarist was thinking the same thing.

  “You want to do this…?” Damien’s fingers sought out the stretch of Sionn’s foreskin and played with its hem as his cock lengthened to shove back its hood. “Without… you know….”

  “Yeah,” Sionn murmured. “I want to feel you when you lose it, love. Can’t think of a better way to spend the evening.”

  “Sticky?” The other man chuckled, reaching for the bottle of lube they’d left on the nightstand.

  “Aye, boyo.” Sionn tugged at Damien’s nipple, pinching the nub between his fingers. “Let’s get a little sticky.”

  The bottle got lost amid the crumpled sheets, but Sionn knew it would probably find him with its sharp-edged cap as soon as they started rolling around on the bed. He was more interested in the cut of Damien’s teeth on his shoulder, especially when he felt the press of Damie’s oiled fingers stroking his taint.

  “You drive me nuts, you know?” Damien muttered, his tongue finding the ticklish spot on Sionn’s neck. “I don’t remember ever wanting to bareback someone before. Not like I want to have you. Or, shit, not like I want you to have me.”

  “Remember-remember, or holes in the noggin remember?” Sionn teased, then gasped when Damien’s index finger pressed down on his entrance. “Fuck, love. That was….”

  “I am going to pound you so hard,” Damien threatened as he left behind a string of nipping bites down Sionn’s chest, scraping his nails over the tender skin above Sionn’s entrance. “Hole in the noggin. Asshat.”

  “Ah, aren’t I your asshat, boyo?” He met Damien’s answering grin with a wink.

  Foreplay probably was going to go by the wayside. Sionn realized that about the time he’d struck his funny bone. Neither one of them needed a prolonged erotic warm-up. He’d hit an erection nearly as soon as he’d seen Damien lean over the edge of the wall to look out at the city. Having the man in his lap only ground down his willingness to hold off, and as Damien raked lube over his own cock, Sionn’s muscles clenched in anticipation.

  If he couldn’t recall when he’d had sex prior to Vienna, Sionn sure as shit couldn’t remember the last time he’d spread his ass for anyone. Damien’s long cock glistened, promising to hit every bundle of need Sionn had hidden deep in him, and his hole puckered at the thought of the man’s sleek sex parting his cheeks.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Damien’s fingers pressed into him, smearing a line of lube around his entrance. He tried to force himself to stay open, but the ring had its own idea, clenching tight around Damien’s intrusion. Panting shallow huffs, he forced his body to relax. Then the burn of Damien’s oiled skin on his silken heat told him the man’d found his way in.

  “Shit… damn, Damie….”

  Growling about it wasn’t doing much good. He was losing his mind. Damien Mitchell knew his way around Sionn’s body, because he seemed to find every single stretch of skin that needed touching. From the powder-soft span under Sionn’s sac to the sleek insides of his entrance, Damien skillfully played him out. At some point, Damien’s mouth joined in on the fun, his lips wrapping around the head of Sionn’s cock, his foreskin tickling when the tip of the man’s tongue lapped at its edge.

  The burn began again, a slower creep of pleasurable fire inching deep inside of him. Then a press of Damien’s fingers against the walls of his core, and Sionn nearly lifted off of the bed. The man’s limber touch stroked out a tingling flame from the hidden clutch in Sionn, and it was all Sionn could do not to slam himself down on Damien’s hand.

  Only the bitching about how he needed his fingers to play the guitar kept Sionn from fucking himself on Damie’s fingers, but it was close.

  Then self-control went by the wayside when Damien twisted his wrist, plunging up deeper into Sionn’s heat, and Sionn nearly screamed from the storm breaking through him. His hips thrust down, riding the sharp length of Damien’s fingers, and the man let him, holding still as Sionn fought to find the spot he knew would tear him apart.

  The pleasure eluded him, drawn out from Damien’s fingertips flicking back and forth around the area even as his palm was nearly buried in the spread of Sionn’s hole. Through the red blush of thwarted passion, Sionn heard the click of the lube cap opening again, then felt the cool thrush of slippery liquid being dribbled down his sac and over his entrance. Damien’s thumb rubbed up and down his crease, spreading the lubricant around and slicking his hole.

  The second Sionn felt himself empty of Damien’s touch, he hooked his hands under his knees to draw them up. The room’s walls were cast back into the shadows, their color leeched away from the faint city-bred light pouring in from the warehouse’s high, frosted windows. Damien loomed over him, one hand on his slender erection, jutting up from its black curl nest, while his oiled fingers played at Sionn’s entrance, teasing him anew.

  After stroking himself once, Damien bent forward to lick Sionn’s belly, his hair curling down to brush over Sionn’s side. Damien snapped lightly at the skin around Sionn’s navel, glanced up his lover’s chest, and asked, “You ready for me, Irish?”

  “Yeah, a rún,” Sionn gasped, arching his back as Damien pushed into him, his cockhead parting the clutch of Sionn’s body. “God, a ghrá… give yourself to me, Damie love. All of you to me.”

  HE DIDN’T think he was going to last.

  In fact, Damie was pretty sure he would have to suck Sionn off for the rest of the night… maybe week… for how fast he was going to shoot off. Not even certain he was fully seated in the man’s heat, Damien rocked his hips to make sure he was at least past the tight ring, hoping he could find his lover’s pleasure point before he shamed himself beyond all forgiveness.

  The perfume of Sionn’s seed and musky sweat weren’t helping either.

  Everything about the man under him was perfect. If he’d placed an order with God himself, Damien didn’t think he could find someone who fit him better, who held him any tighter or said anything that could warm Damien’s cold insides like Sionn Murphy.

  And now some part of him… that broken and hidden part in the rubble of his soul, was crawling out of the murky darkness to reach for Sionn’s golden light, seeking the man’s heart as if he had a right to it. Then Sionn whispered something, an indescribable phrase Damien never thought he would hear outside of a treacle-sweet song or from Miki’s sarcastic mouth.

  Wrapping his arms tight around Damien’
s torso, Sionn held onto him, their thrusts bottoming out into shallow plunges, and the man brought his kiss-swollen lips to the ridge of Damien’s ear to whisper something nearly too soft to hear above Damien’s frenetic panting.

  “I love you, Damie boy.” Sionn’s Gaelic thickened the words, rubbing them smoky with peat and Irish whiskey. “And I’m never going to let you go, a ghrá. Never.”

  Enflamed by the shock, Damien lost the beat of his thrusts, and they stumbled, bodies slapping together until they found the rhythm between them again. Pushing his hands down on the bed on either side of Sionn’s shoulders, Damien thrust harder, pounding deep into the man. He needed to breach Sionn’s control, make him shudder with the want of their joining until nothing existed between them but a thin layer of skin and the sweat of their bodies.

  Sionn spilled his Irish, pouring words shaped from craggy shores and smoke-tinted fog into Damien’s mouth when their mouths touched, and Damien lengthened his strokes, arching up into Sionn’s tight body. Breaking off their kiss was painful. Damien wanted to plunge himself into the moist sweetness of Sionn’s mouth as deep as he thrust his bare cock into his lover’s slick hole, but he couldn’t trust himself not to lose control before he ground every weeping drop of pleasure from Sionn’s body.

  The first tingle of his climax began along his spine, its tendrils stretching down from his shoulder blades to the clench of his ass and climbing up to wrap around his face, tightening the skin on his cheekbones. Panting, Damien tried to hold off, but Sionn tightened on him, his entrance closing down on the base of Damie’s cock. They slid in and out, no longer in pace with their thrusts, but the pull and push no longer mattered. Their bodies raced, chasing a sun breaking through the closed-in darkness they’d wrapped around themselves.

  Their lightning hit Sionn first, surprising Damien when he felt the ripples of the man’s orgasm start to compress his cock. Reaching between them, he gripped his lover’s dick, keeping up a steady flow of pressure to help Sionn reach his peak. Sionn’s Gaelic turned animalistic, falling into growling pleas and urging mewls.

  Gritting his teeth, Damien rode out the waves of intense release rolling through the man underneath him, needing to see Sionn through. The shuck of his cock’s skin through Sionn’s ass caught on the drying lube, and they ran nearly raw against each other, but Damien didn’t dare stop.

  Sionn was holding onto him for dear life, begging Damien to bring him over.

  And Damien had no intention of letting the man down.

  Sionn’s fingers bit deep into Damien’s hips, and he pulled at Damie, snapping his hips up to meet his thrusts. The strain on their bodies showed, sleeking their skin with sweat. Where they met ran wet, the salt-laden smears passing between them, trickling down Damien’s thighs and Sionn’s sides.

  At the first hot wave of fluid from Sionn’s cock hitting his belly, Damien flinched from its intensity. Another followed, nearly as strong as the first, and the tang of Sionn’s pleasure in the air was his undoing. Angling his hips up, Damien pistoned into his lover, pushing Sionn’s ass cheeks apart until their balls were flattened sacs as they met with the increased force.

  He wasn’t sure what was lube, sweat, or come, but Damien didn’t care. The wet between them was a heavenly slide, catching him in its grip as his balls boiled out his release. His climax grabbed a hold of his thighs, locking his muscles into arched stone, his cock buried deeper into his lover than Damien thought possible.

  Damien felt his dick gush. Then the heat of his come wrapped around him, creeping into the tight crevices and hollows of Sionn’s core. His lover’s grip grew nearly painfully tight, and Sionn’s silvery eyes were closed, his lip captured between his teeth. He let loose a grunt and came again, a final slithering part of liquid that caught the trail of hair weaving down to Damien’s crotch.

  Heaving from lack of oxygen, Damien collapsed forward, careful not to land too hard on Sionn’s outstretched body. But the other man barely whispered a complaint, other than moaning a soft, regretful sigh as Damien slid free. An anguished mewl soon followed as Sionn stretched his legs, sluggishly working out a cramp in his thighs with a lazy pass of his hand.

  “I’m fucked loose,” Damien muttered. His cock was floppy, exhausted from the ride, and he briefly considered getting up to retrieve a towel from their bathroom, but he didn’t trust his legs. He had enough energy to grab a shirt lying on the edge of the bed and turned onto his side.

  It took him a few seconds of catching his breath and working the blood back into his limbs, but he was able to swipe most of the mess he’d made from Sionn’s body, then folded the shirt in half to clean off his belly. Looking down, Damie saw he’d only succeeded in smearing the wet over his skin, and tossed the shirt aside in disgust.

  “I can get a washcloth,” he offered, sliding himself up along Sionn’s side. He draped an arm over his lover’s waist and listened for a moment to Sionn’s heavy breathing. “Or I could just lie here and die. I don’t know if I can even breathe.”

  “I’ll die later,” Sionn gasped. “I don’t have the strength to do it now.”

  “How about if we sleep on it?” Fatigue drew Damien down despite his best efforts to keep Sionn company. His body had begun to hurt, aching in places he’d not strained in years, but the pain felt good. It reminded him of being inside of Sionn and filling the man to the brim.

  “Sounds good.” The murmured reply was broken, as if Sionn’s tongue was too clumsy to form proper words.

  Burying his face in Sionn’s shoulder, Damien licked at a drop of sweat poised on the man’s collarbone. Exhaling tortured his strained lungs, but Damien knew breathing probably would be a good idea, especially since he’d planned on being beneath Sionn at some point soon. A flicker of something bright lingered in the back of his mind, and he leaned his cheek on Sionn’s chest.

  “Hey, Irish?”

  “Yeah, Damie boy?”

  “I love you, you know.” He thought he’d caught himself before he began crying, but Damien felt the damp sting his eyes, then a trickle of moisture fall from his cheek to Sionn’s sweaty chest. “Fucking hell.”

  “I love you too, a ghrá.” Sionn bent his head and kissed away the tears trembling on Damien’s lashes. “Probably more than you know. Much more than you’ll ever know.”

  THE warehouse was still, too still for Sionn’s liking. Padding downstairs, he nearly stepped on Dude sleeping in the middle of the lower landing. Cursing the terrier, he sidestepped the still snoring dog and continued down to the first floor, curious about the permeating silence.

  The living room and kitchen were empty, and the other couple’s bedroom door was wide open, a king-sized bed dominating the space. A small lamp shone brightly near the door, and Sionn headed into the kitchen and plucked a note from under a magnet on the fridge. Kane’s block-form writing nearly gouged black lines through the paper, and Sionn read it aloud as he rifled for leftovers.

  “Steak and veggies are in the ice box. Beer should be cold. Went to a movie. Don’t have hot penguin sex on the couch. We’ve got to sit there.” Sionn snorted at his cousin’s written orders. “Oh, boyo, I’m sure the couch has already seen your naked ass on it a few times. And Miki’s too.”

  The meat was rare enough he felt comfortable warming it up without losing too much of its tenderness. A few minutes in the microwave took the chill off the veggies, and Sionn piled the food up on a single large platter, thinking he and Damien could share. Dressed only in a pair of sweats, he was debating how he could carry two bottles of ice cold beer upstairs without tucking them into his armpits when his cell phone sang out from the living room.

  Grumbling, he padded over to the table where he’d tossed it with his keys. Kane’s number flashed up on the screen, and he grinned, wondering if his cousin was checking to make sure they’d eaten. He unlocked the screen and tucked the phone against his shoulder as he returned to the kitchen to figure out his beer dilemma.

  “Whatcha be needing, cousin mine? Checking up
on your couch?” he teased, sliding a thin piece of steak between his lips.

  “I need you to get Damie cleaned up and down here. Now.” Kane’s voice was a tight growl through the phone, giving Sionn little room to question him. “We’re at UCSF. Just head to the ER. Dad’ll bring you in.”

  “What happened?” Sionn’s belly went cold with fear. “What the fuck’s going on, K?”

  “Just hurry.” An overhead announcement blurred Kane’s words, but Sionn heard them clearly enough to turn the cold fear to a deathly ice floe. “I need you to get Damie here. Miki’s been stabbed.”

  Chapter 15

  D, what the hell is this chord?

  It’s an Em chord. You know that one.

  Really? Cause it looks more like you wrote Murphy.

  Fuck you. I didn’t.

  Did you write Missus Sionn Murphy all over my notebook too? Draw little hearts maybe?

  Oh fucking hell. Screw you, Sinjun. Shit. Give me that.

  Nuh-uh, I’m going to go through and see if you drew me a unicorn too.

  —Living Room, Recording 61

  FORTY bucks and an autograph scored Damien a pack of Djarum Blacks from a kohl-eyed Goth boy visiting his grandmother. Driven out by the noise and smell of the hospital, Damien was barely outside of the fifty-yard perimeter when he lit up, sucking in a large mouthful of the fragrant smoke. When he heard the soft tread of footsteps coming up behind him, he turned, expecting Sionn.

  Nothing could have shocked him more than seeing Kane’s father, Donal, approaching him with two steaming cups of coffee.

  “Ye heard the doctor, didn’t you, boy? He’s fine. Just some stitches and a foul mood. Although they might keep him overnight. That knee of his looks blown out, but it’ll be fine. Just swollen some.”

  The man loomed over him. When he sat down on a bench, Damien felt a little bit better. At least the shift in their height difference meant he could look Donal in the eyes instead of his chest. Damien took one of the cups and sniffed at the coffee, catching a whiff of cream and sugar in it.