“Nah.” Damon’s grin was lopsided and boyishly sweet, almost shy; he bent and brushed his lips to Rian’s brow. “Not unless you tell me to. Just needed a little something to make it easier, if you wanna go that far.”
That was when Rian realized what Damon was asking.
What he was saying.
That he didn’t want to be alone right now, either.
And he—this stubborn, kind, compassionate man who seemed to carry reserves of strength that he gave to others without restraint, without compunction—was afraid of being pushed away, too.
So Rian pushed himself up, capturing Damon’s lips...even as he skated his fingertips down his body, following the graceful, iron-hard taper of his chest down to his waist, then slipping between them until he caught the heavy weight of Damon’s cock in his palm, molding his fingers over Damon’s shape through the thin cotton. God, that flesh felt so hot, burning against Rian’s skin and seeming to swell into his hold, as Damon’s back arched violently and he let out a ragged, hoarse cry, his lips going slack against Rian’s and his eyes closing tightly. Rian couldn’t help the thrill of it, being able to make Damon react that way, hips moving in short, sharp jerks to press into Rian’s palm as Rian worked over him slowly, discovering his shape through the cloth, echoing every stroke and squeeze with a soft-flicking thrust of his tongue against Damon’s lax, gasping lips.
“I,” Rian whispered against Damon’s mouth, “want to go as far as you’ll take me.”
Damon made a hoarse sound in the back of his throat, his head dropping to rest his brow to Rian’s shoulder, hips thrusting hard into Rian’s palm—and he felt dampness soaking the fabric, warm and slick, the musky, thick scent of pre-come filling the air between them.
“Maybe,” Damon gasped out, “saying ‘take me’ ain’t the best goddamned idea when you’re...mnnh...when you’re doing that to me.”
Rian turned his head, nipping the curve of Damon’s ear, working his fingers in kneading circles against his cock. “What about ‘kiss me?’” he asked softly. “Can I say that?”
Damon groaned, tortured and deep, his mouth moving against Rian’s collarbone. “Fuck, say it again.”
“Kiss me,” Rian breathed.
And God, did Damon oblige.
Searing, claiming, Rian didn’t dare think possessive but God did he feel owned as the pressure of Damon’s lips teased him open and left him vulnerable to the plunder of plying strokes and a tongue that dipped inside him as if to torment him with the suggestion of what his straining body ached for. There was no denying that Damon wanted, too, when his cock surged so hard against Rian’s palm—only for that warm contact to be denied as strong fingers caught him by the wrists. Gently, so gently Damon eased Rian’s arms up over his head, crossing them against the mattress to pin him with a single hand spanning the breadth of his wrists; panting harshly, Damon lifted himself up on his free hand, his kiss-reddened mouth quirking dryly.
“Gonna need you to behave yourself for a minute,” he rumbled. “Or you’re gonna make me lose it, Rian.”
Rian let out a sulky little sound, twisting under Damon—only to gasp as that movement seemed to slip Damon between his legs as if he belonged there, until they were no longer tangled but instead nested together with Damon’s hips cradled between Rian’s thighs...and Rian’s thighs spread to the point of pain, when the thickness of Damon’s body gave him no choice but to open himself wide so Damon could fit.
“Cruel,” he whispered, and that half smile turned downright wicked.
“Nah,” Damon practically purred. “I’m about to be real nice to you.”
That cockiness, that arrogance felt like a façade laid over the stripped-bare, painful emotions twisting between both of them—but Rian hardly had time to even think about it when Damon caught his briefs and dragged them down his legs, twisting his own body out of the way to pull them free and leaving Rian completely naked. Like this, there was nothing to shield how aroused he was; how much Damon affected him, when Rian’s cock stood so hard and needy it almost teased against his navel, his own pre-come leaking against his skin in bright, hot little droplets that felt like lava dripped on his flesh, when everything was so heightened the smallest sensation felt too real; too much.
Yet more so still was the intensity of being looked at the way Damon did, gaze raking hotly over Rian as if he’d strip him not just of his clothing, but the last layer of defenses he had left; the last attempt he could ever make to deny how much he wanted Damon; how much the man got under his skin, slipped inside him, made himself at home in all those secret places Rian couldn’t stand to look at because they made him feel so weak.
And he was weak for Damon now as—still pinning Rian’s wrists to the bed—Damon grazed a hand along Rian’s inner thigh, coaxing him further open, sliding upward with that rough, scorching touch to curl a hand under Rian’s ass and squeeze, making Rian gasp and lift his hips. More; he wanted more of what that touch promised, a wild throbbing building inside and begging for it...and Damon gave him more, pulling away only long enough to flick the cap off the bottle of lube and tilt it to slick over his fingers before he thumbed it closed. Dropped it on the pillow.
And slid those gleaming fingers between Rian’s thighs, tormenting him with the slightest brush over the base of his overheated, achingly hard cock before slipping lower, stroking silk-oil wetness along the cleft of his ass, making Rian’s entire body clench in anticipation. One finger delved deeper, parting him, spreading him open, finding the sensitive tight point of his entrance; he sucked in rapid breaths, tugging at his captured arms, arching underneath Damon as that single rough fingertip circled and massaged, teased and stroked, working against tight muscle and coaxing Rian’s body looser and looser.
The entire time Damon’s gaze never left him, pinning him as thoroughly as those hands on his wrists, as if Damon wouldn’t let a single of Rian’s reactions escape his scrutiny; as if he would drink Rian into himself. Rian tossed his head from side to side, eyes closing, but he could escape the pressure of those dark, heated brown eyes no more than he could escape the pressure of that thick, blunt finger as it began to press inside.
Even with the slickness of the lube, Damon’s fingers were so rough, so hard, all softness chiseled out of even the finger-pads by hard work and callusing until everything inside Rian was stretching and friction and just enough pain to make him need more. He let out a hard, broken cry, kicking his feet against the quilts and lifting himself up as that finger slipped deeper and deeper, rousing every nerve ending inside him to awareness until he could feel the tiniest intimate detail of curling knuckles and a stroking fingertip and the raspy-wet glide of weathered skin. God, just one finger felt so good...and then a second joined it and Rian nearly screamed, the fullness of it so unbearable, so wonderful.