by P. W. Davies
“Good eye, Dr. Dawes,” Christian said. “Stabbed, yes. Shot twice. Cut a few other times. You’d be surprised what people can improvise as being weapons.”
“I work in an ER. Nothing surprises me anymore.” He straightened, looking down at Christian once he had. “What sort of misadventures leads a person to get stabbed and shot?”
Christian drew a deep breath inward, sobering while he did. “Like I said, I’m complicated. To tell you the truth, I don’t normally let myself get attached, because nobody likes hearing the word I’m about to say.”
“What word is that?”
“Hitman.” He flashed a small smile at Peter. “I usually preferred the term ‘assassin’ in England, but that suggests my targets are political and my position here doesn’t involve anything of that nature. At least not when it comes to the grander scheme of things.”
“Hitman?” Peter blurted a laugh. The incredulity of the idea refused to connect, sounding more like boasting than a true confession. Yet everything in Christian’s expression indicated he was being deadly serious. Slowly, Peter sobered when Christian remained impassive. “You… kill people?”
“It makes my affinity for a medical professional a little ironic, doesn’t it? You’re the one who pointed out how contradictory I am, though.” As he stepped closer to Peter, he hesitated first before resting his hand over Peter’s chest. “Tipping the balance of power in the criminal underworld is a more apt description of my activities. While I work with Roland, I’m mostly a freelancer.”
“How…?” Peter tried to form the question he wanted to ask, while a hundred other ones crowded in on him. “Why would you kill people?”
“Mainly because it’s profitable. I have other reasons, though. More personal ones. I’m not affiliated with any sort of mafia, though I’ve been employed by them in the past. Generally, they leave people like me alone and attack each other, as they should.”
“So, those people who were after you tonight weren’t mafia?”
“Calling them that suggests they have a code of conduct. More like a gang.” Christian frowned and lifted his hand from Peter. Bending for where his shirt had fallen, he scooped it up and clung onto it. “This is me, though, Peter. For better or worse.”
“Jesus.” Peter took a deep breath. “I’m trying to wrap my head around this, Christian. I really am. You kill people, you… actually kill people.” He watched Christian motion to slip on his shirt again, frowning at what appeared to be an effort to cover up his sins. “Please tell me you haven’t killed a kid.”
Christian stopped, lowering the shirt back down until his hand hung to his side. The way his expression darkened suggested to Peter that he might lose his temper, but whatever crossed through Christian’s mind caused him to quiet. He shook his head instead. “No,” he said, his voice soft. “Never children. Never anything other than other criminals. That is why I work with Roland. He doesn’t accept anything else.”
Silence settled between them, both men engaged in a staring contest. ‘You knew I was dangerous,’ the look in Christian’s eyes said. ‘I warned you. You acknowledged it. I told you that knowing more about me would dissuade you.’ While Peter felt indignant – telling himself, as Christian turned away, that asking somebody to accept something like that was a lot to swallow – he also couldn’t help but to see another piece of the puzzle. His heart connected that to the other piece, prompting him to touch Christian’s shoulder. “It has to do with your father, doesn’t it?” Peter asked.
The question had as much impact as his previous statement. While Christian kept his back to Peter he also froze in place, with the neck-hole of his shirt stretched enough for him to slip the garment over his head. He took a deep breath and held onto it, not answering with words, but speaking loud enough in actions for Peter to realize he’d been right. “Your father was murdered,” Peter continued, “and that’s why you only kill criminals. Am I right?”
“Yes,” Christian said softly. While Peter slid his hand down Christian’s shoulder, feeling the marred topography beneath his palm, Christian remained statuesque. “A few of the more graphic scars were gained in the effort to find his killers.”
“You said you were fourteen?”
“Fourteen. Yes. I started down this path at the age of sixteen.”
“That’s kind of funny. Only in the sense that I decided I wanted to be a doctor around the same time.”
Christian blurted a laugh. As he finally turned to face Peter, dropping the shirt onto the floor, he raised an eyebrow at the other man. “One a mender and the other a killer. What an interesting combination we would be.”
“You…” Peter couldn’t help but to laugh at the bold way it had been stated. While Christian closed the distance between them, skimming his fingers up to the collar of Peter’s shirt, Peter exhaled a breath rife with tension. Slowly, he shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m not running out of here and thanking you for the strangest night of my life.”
“Yes, appreciate the wild time, Christian. Now, lose my number.”
“For the record, I hate guns.”
“For the record, so do I.”
“What do you want from me?”
“The same thing you want from me, love. I might be a hitman, but I’m not a monster.”
Hitching up on his feet, he lifted enough to match the gradual bend offered by the taller man. That draw which had afflicted them from the start – from the first time Peter had lain eyes on Christian – asserted itself, this time without anything to stop them. Everything about the situation had been presented before Peter and while that voice of protest screaming at him about things like the future didn’t still, he couldn’t determine why he should resist. ‘Well, no,’ he thought as the warm caress of Christian’s breath hit his face. ‘There’s a hundred reasons to resist. But I’ll listen to them later.’
A shudder ran the entire length of Peter’s back as their lips touched, starting from the base of his neck and spiraling to the small of his back. The sensation of Christian’s arms weaving around him wrapped him in a cocoon of euphoria, silencing the final echoes of whatever objections remained; reminding him of how much he’d missed living in the moment. Whatever force had him walking backward, did so without his permission, and even the basic knowledge that he was surrendering himself to a hitman dissipated like smoke in a cloud of moral gray. As they spun around, the kiss ended, but the blissful silence occupying Peter’s mind lingered as his eyes slowly opened.
Christian sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Peter down with him. While Peter straddled Christian, life became less about important-life changing decisions and more about the staggered breaths Christian took while Peter reached for the bottom of his shirt. Pulling it over his head, he freed his arms from the sleeves and tossed it to the side, his gaze fixed with Christian’s throughout the duration. “You are… a very pretty man, Peter,” Christian breathed.
Peter smirked. As Christian reached for his neck, he clung on for leverage, surrendering to open-mouth kisses which brought their tongues close to touching. While Christian fell onto his back, Peter listed on top of him and both surrendered to a laugh before Christian urgently sought to reconnect their lips. Stirring in Peter’s groin pooled blood into an already-forming erection. As Christian pushed Peter flush on top of him, he undulated to emphasize his own arousal and begged Peter in actions toward further surrender. Christian refused to let him pull away, rocking his hips as if he knew how much he was torturing the other man.
If he had to be honest, Peter didn’t mind the teasing.
He didn’t want the easy victory of clothing flying off; of condoms and lube being dispensed like he would be another conquest. The longer Christian seemed to draw it out, the more he seemed to be asking Peter to stay and the other man immersed himself within how good that felt. As Christian ground into him, he ground back, and while knots formed in his stomach, he wondered silently how long until the friction drove them crazy. Until they could challenge eac
h other naked and touching skin-to-skin. “Clothes,” Peter panted, surprising himself by being the first to issue the demand. “Clothes off now, please.”
When Christian bit his bottom lip, Peter shuddered and moaned. “Patience is a virtue, love,” Christian said with a chuckle, pushing Peter onto his back.
Rolling willingly, he reached for Christian the moment he straddled him. “And you’d consider yourself a virtuous man?” Peter asked.
“Touché.” A slow smirk lazed across his lips. He rocked his hips one last time before reaching down to unbutton his pants, dragging the zipper down as slow as he could. Making a show of lowering further onto Peter, Christian pushed his jeans past his hips and shimmied from one side to the next to pull them past his knees. One shoe hit the ground. Another followed. Following a silent dare, Peter peered down and discovered Christian had taken off his underwear as well.
And there knelt a breathtaking and gorgeous man, in all his glory. Peter followed the sinew of his chest along the length of his body – from toned back to ass and legs. When Christian situated himself on top of Peter again, his hard cock rested on the bare skin of Peter’s chest, making Peter ache to be as exposed to Christian as the other man was to him. “Touch me,” Christian whispered. “Please. Just a little. If you do, I will do things to you that will make your toes curl.”
Peter nodded slowly. Like learning the steps to a dance, he considered the request before wrapping his hand around the shaft, running his palm slowly from the base to the tip and back again. Christian’s eyes fluttered shut, his breathing slowing to a calm rhythm, as if he felt the same way about losing control too soon. Peter tested the waters by giving his cock a tug. Christian inhaled sharply in response.
“Not fair,” he said.
“Given your reaction, it was worth it,” Peter said. His hand resumed a slow, taunting series of strokes, matched by the undulation of Christian’s body to the same cadence, bringing Peter back to the idea of music. ‘That’s not your piano out there,’ he thought, ‘but you like hearing it played. I’ll bet you’re graceful on your feet.’ He stared at Christian, lost in how it felt to watch a man so unabashedly enjoy being pleasured. In fact, he would’ve continued stroking Christian to completion, if not for the breathy way Christian whispered the word stop.
Peter stilled his hand, but didn’t remove it.
The other man opened his eyes slowly, a grin lazing across his lips. “Don’t want to end this before it has a chance to begin,” he added.
“Believe it or not, I enjoyed watching you,” Peter said. His voice had become quiet, breaths shallow and body aching. Christian reached for the hand still touching his cock and as Peter moved it away, Christian slid further down, his gaze turning dark. “You knew I’d like that, didn’t you?” Peter asked.
“Maybe.” Christian nipped at Peter’s chest, chuckling when the other man tensed. “Maybe later, I can let you watch me touch myself. If you ask me nicely.”
“What does asking you nicely entail?”
“Begging. Lots and lots of begging.”
“Pretty please, can I watch you touch yourself later, Christian?”
Christian smirked, sin dripping from his gaze while his expression gave itself over to utter wickedness. Peter watched as Christian kissed downward until he couldn’t look any further, abandoned to mere sensations and staring at the ceiling so he could experience each one. Christian bit at the divots in Peter’s hips, breathing a soft, taunting chuckle when Peter bucked involuntarily. After loosening the other man’s jeans, Christian unzipped them and teasingly pushed them down from Peter’s waist.
Kicking off his shoes, Peter took a deep breath, tense from anticipation.
Every brush of air or rustle put him on alert for what Christian might do next. Once his clothing had been removed, Peter felt the press of Christian’s lips below his left knee and shut his eyes, awaiting his next move. Without warning, or anything else to precede it, Christian took hold of his shaft and Peter’s eyes flew open, a moan emanating from his throat before he could stop it.
Christian chuckled. The bed creaked as Christian repositioned himself and when his mouth touched the head of Peter’s cock, the other man groaned and tensed. “You’re wound tighter than a spring, love,” Christian said. “Relax for me. Relish this.”
Peter nodded. Taking measured breaths, he pictured the sight of Christian being pleasured, trying to grasp whatever discipline Christian must have summoned to savor his touch without succumbing to it. Christian started a long, leisurely stroke upward and this time, when his lips wrapped around the head, Peter melted into the mattress beneath him. With each inch Christian’s mouth engulfed, another voice of warning in Peter’s head died until nothing remained but how incredible he felt. For better or worse, he was already damned.
The warmth of Christian’s mouth transcended decadence. The glide of his tongue as he withdrew felt like something only a practiced virtuoso could have managed. When he descended again, Peter floated on a pocket of bliss, the enormity of the situation impacting and pushing him closer to spilling over. His fantasies had become a reality; the darkest corners of his soul summoned to awaken, taunting him with the fact that he wanted this to continue. Peter wondered how long he could hold back the orgasm building toward realization.
His hands gathered fistfuls of the comforter beneath him. As Christian worked his way down again, his back arched and this time, the rush to inevitability seemed impossible to stave off. The expert movements of Christian’s mouth and the culmination of so much expectation formed a heady cocktail which rushed upon him. His breathing turned ragged, the coil in his groin tightening more and more. If Christian hadn’t withdrawn when he did, climax would have become impossible to stop.
But he seemed to know the exact moment to retreat. His lips popped at the end and as he blew over the moist head of Peter’s cock, another violent shudder ran all the way through him. Peter worked to slow his breathing, the descent from nearing the edge painful. Christian stood, walking around the bed to one of the nightstands, and Peter watched, confused. “What…?” was all he could manage to say.
“I might be a reckless bastard otherwise, but I am attached to the thought of being able to sit later,” he quipped. He focused his attention back on the nightstand, opening the top drawer and pulling out the lubricant. Shooting Peter a wink, he padded to where his pants had fallen and after rummaging through his wallet, produced a condom from inside. “I’m going to hazard a guess with you, love. You don’t normally bottom.”
Peter struggled to think through his previous sexual exploits and fumbled for any memory to latch onto. “No,” he said too readily, wincing once he’d spoken his response. “I mean, not usually. It’s not like it’s never. The last time I let someone do that, he wasn’t exactly gentle.”
“Heathens. Marring such a spectacular ass as yours.” Christian brought both items back to the bed, setting aside the lubricant for the moment and tearing at the condom’s wrapper with his teeth. “You don’t mind being on your back, though. You were enjoying yourself.”
“No, I have to admit, you were doing some… amazing things with your mouth.”
“I learned from the best.” Christian sobered, though it seemed to Peter that the way his expression fell read more of concentration than anything else. Peter expected to watch Christian roll the rubber over his own cock and furrowed his brow, confused, when Christian brought the condom closer to Peter. Gradually, the latex covered Peter, the renewed touch teasing, making Peter’s mind turn muddy again.
“Why settle for being fucked when you can watch someone fuck themselves on you?” Christian asked, tossing aside the wrapper.
Peter had no chance to ask for clarification. Once he’d squirted lube over his palms, Christian worked the liquid over Peter’s shaft and licked his lips as he made eye contact with the other man. His gaze posed a dare, as if threatening Peter with something illicit. As though fucking Christian would become one of the most memorable nights
of his life. Christian thoroughly covered Peter’s hardened length before reaching back and inserting a finger inside of himself. The way he groaned, head tilting back, made Peter hungry.
“Your cock is going to feel so much better,” he whispered, like he was fully aware of how dirty that sounded and didn’t care. Christian pushed another finger inside of himself and for a moment, it looked to Peter like he might finger-fuck himself for a few moments before making good on lowering himself on top of Peter. The show was deliberate. Like Peter had been pegged a voyeur and Christian was intent on performing. Christian produced a long, luxurious sound that sounded deeper and more intimate than a moan and Peter couldn’t help himself. He reached for Christian, finally allowing his hands to explore.
Christian opened his eyes, his gaze settling on Peter while the other man struggled to match the eye contact. As Christian climbed on top of Peter, he reached between them for the other man’s length and lifting enough to line the head with his opening. Peter sharply sucked in a deep breath and released it in measured bursts while Christian took him in, pausing at moments to adjust and relax around the hard shaft. The more he disappeared within his new lover, the more Peter felt driven out of his mind, his hands settling on Christian’s hips. As Christian rocked, Peter rose to gradually match the rhythm being built. The thinner, lighter man placed a hand on Peter’s chest, the other one hovering at his side. At first, neither man broke their shared gaze.
The longer they moved – the tandem race toward pleasure being orchestrated by both men – the more incensed it seemed they became. Christian panted, losing himself rapidly to the experience and Peter could not help but to react. Taking hold of Christian, he rolled over until he found himself on top, his arms wrapping around the lithe frame of the other man, length shoving back inside of him after almost dislodging.
