Fists cannot teach affection.
Here, at The League, fists taught a lot. Violence kept them in line, and made sure they understood exactly what was expected of them. And yet, it had been made explicitly clear, even if the words hadn’t been told to him directly, that between Corrado and Alessio ... violence should never be the first default.
Ever.
He didn’t understand this thing happening between him and Alessio. Sometimes, it made him infuriated. Sometimes, he was drawn in again just because. It left him a mess, and that wasn’t something he was accustomed to.
It didn’t matter, though.
Something was happening.
He had to be mindful.
Corrado dropped his hand instantly. “Sorry.”
“Good. And don’t do it again.”
“Same for you, then.”
“Is that really a fucking problem for you?”
Corrado let out a hard breath, and it ached the whole way out. “Yeah, man, it is. It doesn’t help me here, and if you gave a shit, you’d realize that.”
It took a second.
Then, two.
Alessio’s stance softened. “I do ... know that, I mean. I didn’t think.”
“Try.”
In a blink, Alessio’s defensiveness was back. His gaze narrowed. “Is that what you want to do right now—fight because you’ve got a problem with your fucking pride? Didn’t you get enough of that with Oliver beating the hell out of you all day?”
Corrado’s fists flexed, but not because he wanted to hit Alessio. More because he was still quite aware of just how close the two were together, and no ... he didn’t want to fight at all.
“No, I don’t.”
“Don’t, what?”
“Want to fight.”
He didn’t mean for his voice to roughen like that—to come out husky, and thick, but it still did. There was no mistaking what that meant.
Alessio swallowed hard, his gaze darting to Corrado’s mouth before coming back up to meet his stare. “All you gotta do is say, Corrado. If you want something, then you say it.”
Yeah, okay.
“I don’t want to fi—”
He didn’t even get to finish. Alessio caught that hand of his, and curled it in his own before his other came up to grab Corrado by his jaw. Fingers dug into his skin in the best way a split second before Alessio’s mouth collided with his. The force of the kiss pushed him back against the wall, but not once did Alessio let him go.
Not once did he back off.
Corrado didn’t want him to, anyway. Not when Alessio’s hand let his go so that he could shove his under the waistband of his shorts to find his cock. Tight, fast strokes had his dick hardening quickly as Alessio’s teeth dragged across his lower lip. And then that hand was gone from his shorts, replaced instead by Alessio’s body pressing into his—the hard ridge of his erection grinding against Corrado’s while the wall kept him steady when he felt like he might fucking fall.
He couldn’t think to stand right then.
He didn’t trust himself.
“The door,” Corrado heard himself mutter when that kiss drifted down to the line of his jaw, and then lower still to where his pulse raced in his throat. “The fucking door.”
“Close it.”
The words were grunted against his skin—hard, and hot. The sound alone hit a spot inside that he didn’t fucking know existed until that moment. A place that felt raw, and primal. Sex had always been fulfilling a need for Corrado, something he did because it felt good, and he wanted to. This right here, with Alessio ...
Well, it felt like that first kiss had.
Like war.
With hands pulling roughly at clothes to get them off. Mouths that said very little, but couldn’t stop seeking the other’s out. Couldn’t stop tasting and biting and learning. Skin rough from two-day stubble.
And then, when clothes were gone, and Alessio was on his knees, reaching for Corrado’s cock, he tipped his head back and let out a hard groan. He felt the warm air hit the head of his dick a second before Alessio had him in his mouth, taking him down to the base, and coming up tight around his head with each suck.
He’d blow his load like that.
Just like that.
Seeing him on his knees like that?
Taking him like that?
Yeah.
And then Alessio had to go and fucking stun him—letting him go altogether, and standing fast to crash his mouth against Corrado’s. He had to know, then, how fucking hard was he for him? Did his cock feel like it was aching as badly as his was?
Corrado stared down between them, reaching for the man’s cock. Alessio’s lips drifted over the side of his cheek as he watched while he stroked him in his hand. Hard, tight strokes that had Alessio cursing against his cheek in heavy exhales.
Tight against the head.
Looser at the base.
“Gonna make me come if you—”
“Nah,” Corrado replied, letting Alessio go altogether, and pushing a hand against his chest to move him back a step. “Not like that—not yet.” One step turned into two, and then three. Alessio didn’t drop his stare, hands shaking at his sides. Corrado got that; he understood why when his own body vibrated too. With need—for whatever this was. “Is this what you—”
“Yeah, I want that,” Alessio murmured. “You.”
“I need—”
Alessio tipped his head to the side. “Nightstand.”
He didn’t even have to get the words out entirely, Alessio just knew, and for some reason ... the fact that the man wanted it that bad, that he wanted to be the one fucked, made the anticipation thrum deeper inside of Corrado. Until all he could feel was the bass of his heart thrumming right along with it.
Fuck.
Yet, Alessio didn’t move as Corrado crossed the space to open the small drawer attached to the nightstand. He stayed standing even as Corrado pulled the items—condom, lube—out before dropping them to the sheets.
He met Alessio’s stare as he stood straight again, inching in closer until their chests touched. It was in his eyes that he found the truth reflecting back to him—the truth that yes, what he wanted was to be the one beneath the other, he still had fight there. A battle that said he wanted to win, to control, to fuck. That same war Corrado found in their kiss, and their touches.
The roughness that spoke of a man, and who liked that, too.
Because that was the difference between men and women. In sex, women could be rough, and they could make it hurt, but those were far and few between. Sex, with women, he always found was soft, no matter how rough. Something that fulfilled an entirely different need for sex with him.
Men were not the same—that attraction, for Corrado, were two entirely different things. He wouldn’t be so arrogant to say every bi or gay man felt that way, or perceived it the same as he did, but that’s how he always found it to be. And right then, he was seeing the same thing in Alessio.
That fight.
This time, he’d give it.
Give in.
Next time was a whole other story, though.
So, Corrado gave him what he wanted. If he wanted roughness like he wanted the fight, then he could have that. He slammed a bruising kiss to Alessio’s mouth as his hand wrapped around the front of his throat. Lips dragged over his savagely, determined to take the very breath out of him as he took Alessio down to the bed.