Benito’s eyes shone brightly in the darkness. Sometimes they didn’t get round to these moments, life seemed to move too fast, but as Benito stared and Mickey gazed back, the world was as perfect as it had ever been.
They kissed, then Benito moved behind him, aligning himself with Mickey’s body again, slick with lube and sheathed in a condom. He trailed fingers over Mickey’s hole.
Mickey pushed them away. “I want you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” Mickey exhaled a trembling breath and unscrewed the lid of the poppers bottle.
Benito replaced his fingers with his cock and pressed, slow and steady, against the resistance Mickey’s body threw up in his path.
Tense pain spread through Mickey. He grimaced and brought the poppers to his nose, inhaling deeply, chasing the tingling rush that would help him relax and let Benito in.
It hit him in a slow wave. Warmth and fear fought for dominance, and warmth won. Discomfort ebbed away, beaten back by Mickey’s pounding heart.
He let go, and Benito rode the wave, sliding into him until he was buried deep.
Long seconds passed.
Mickey trembled, grounding himself in the twin sensation of Benito splitting him open with his massive cock and tenderly stroking his face.
He was still clutching the metal bottle. Benito pried it from his hand and screwed the cap back on. “All right?”
Mickey nodded. “I’m good.”
“You’re better than good. You’re fucking everything.” Benito rubbed Mickey’s hip in warning, then slowly thrust his own, hitting every spot that made Mickey’s nerves sing.
“Fuck.” Mickey raised his leg, taking Benito deeper, and the shifted angle sent white lights pinging through his vision. Sweet madness descended. He flailed a hand back and found purchase at the nape of Benito’s neck, anchoring himself to the solid warmth of him, then gave himself up to the ride.
Benito fucked him steadily, whispering dirty things in Mickey’s ear, but as the heat rose, his words fell away, replaced by harsh gasps and growled curses.
His ruined sounds sent Mickey soaring. He jacked himself, almost afraid of the pleasure building inside him, but unable to turn away from it. “Benito.”
“Do it.” Benito tightened his death grip on Mickey’s shoulder. “Fuck, I need to feel you come.”
Mickey groaned and clenched Benito tighter with one hand, the other a blur as it flew over his cock. He shook. Fresh sweat coated his skin, and his body clamped down on Benito of its own accord, lost to the beat of his surging cock.
Rhythmic.
Hypnotic.
Orgasm flared inside Mickey, unfurling from a part of him perhaps no one else had ever reached. It hit hard and deep. He yelled out, digging his fingers into Benito’s neck, and his dick erupted, coating his fist with wet warmth.
Behind him, Benito’s breath grew ragged. He stilled, burying his face in Mickey’s neck. Then he jerked, and a rough moan rumbled out of him. “Fuck.”
Mickey fought for breath, reeling from every swelling pulse of Benito’s dick inside him. Beautiful tension seized every part of him, every nerve, muscle, and bone, and he couldn’t see how he’d ever move again.
For long moments, Benito didn’t move either. Then he sighed and unhooked Mickey’s arm from around his neck. “I’ll be right back.”
He slipped out of Mickey and left the bed. True to his word, he was back a few seconds later with a flannel.
They cleaned up, then sprawled out, staring at the ceiling, still flushed and breathing hard.
“I don’t usually fuck people,” Benito said into the darkness.
“Coulda fooled me,” Mickey retorted with a smirk. “You didn’t seem out of practice.”
Benito snorted softly. “Six years.”
Mickey rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow. “For real?”
“Yeah. I had a girlfriend too. I haven’t fucked anyone like that since her.”
Mickey took a second to process. Had they talked about this before? Nonsensically, he couldn’t remember—he remembered every moment he’d spent with Benito, right?
Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe obsession was a state of mind, not a reality. “Did you love her?”
Benito nodded. “I think so.”
“What happened?”
“She was clever, with prospects and dreams, and I was a road boy. I left her so she’d go to uni and be someone instead of drowning in my bullshit.”
“How long were you together?”
“Years. Can’t remember how many.”
“Did she know you were bi?”
“Yeah.” Benito shifted to face Mickey. “I know it was different for you and your missus, but I couldn’t be with someone that long and them not know who I was. Road life is . . . fuck, you know what it’s like, but the crew I ran with was different to most.”
“How so?”
Benito shrugged. “There were some top boys who used to roll together. Everyone knew it and no one cared. They were too fucking fierce, you know? Like, if you’d tried to queer bash Luis Pope, you’d have fucking died before anyone else did.”
Luis Pope. Mickey didn’t know the name and he didn’t want to. And despite a deep-rooted itch to learn every inch of Benito, inside and out, he didn’t want to think about the past, not tonight. “I’m glad you had someone you could be yourself with. She taught you well, in case you’re wondering. You blew my fucking mind so bad I’m going to need ten cigarettes to calm myself down.”
Benito laughed. “I left mine in the car because I thought you were trying to quit.”
“That’s cute. I didn’t buy any because I thought you were trying to quit.”
“You want me to get them?”
Benito had his face pillowed on his bicep, eyes lidded and heavy, the perfect picture of sated relaxation. Mickey considered him leaving the bed, even for a moment, and shook his head. “Nah. I’ll go. You want a drink?”
“Water?”
“Where are your car keys?”
Benito pointed at the floor. “Wherever you tossed my clothes, fam. You sure you don’t want me to go?”
“I want you to stay right there.”
Benito nodded and pulled Mickey down for a goodbye kiss.
Mickey slipped out of bed and padded downstairs, naked. On the way, he scooped up items of clothing and deposited them on the kitchen counter. Most were Benito’s—Mickey hadn’t been wearing much when he’d arrived. Track pants, T-shirt, socks. Underwear he’d found on the stairs.
Benito’s keys were in his jacket pocket. Mickey searched out his own clothes and threw them on. Then he tramped out in the looming dawn to Benito’s SUV.
He clicked the locks and opened the driver door, scanning the spotless car interior for any sign of the Mayfair Lights Benito usually smoked but came up blank. He stretched over the seats and opened the glove box. Empty. Damn it. Why didn’t you, I don’t know, ask him where they were?
No sensible answer was forthcoming. Mickey checked both doors, then peered under the passenger seat.
White dust greeted him.
Glittery, chalky white dust. Mangled gaffer tape.
An elastic band.
Mickey froze. Bile rose in his throat, and he jerked upright so fast he smacked his head on the console behind him.