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Ian readjusted his dick where it was stuffed against his zipper, then stepped back so they were no longer touching. “Get yourself ready for me while I watch.”
Alek kept his cheek pressed to the door, still and silent long enough that Ian thought he was going to back out. Then Alek gave a petulant huff and rose on the tip of his toes, reaching around blindly on the sill of the rectangular transom window above the door.
Following his gaze, Ian spotted a travel-sized bottle of lube and moved closer, crowding Alek against the door. Ian’s hips gave an involuntary thrust, like his body was on board with the idea of breaking Alek open on his cock without lube, without condoms, without delay. Ian reached up and grabbed the lube, then rested his chin on Alek’s shoulder as he said, “You have sex in your doorway often enough that you stash lube there?”
Alek shrugged. “Help me out of my pants.”
Ian hooked his fingers on the back edge of Alek’s boxers and tugged, squatting to ease them down and off, enjoying the way Alek’s balls tightened when he dragged his hand up the inside of his leg on the way back up.
“Go on then,” Ian said, passing Alek the lube.
Alek squirted lube into his hand and tossed the bottle to Ian, then leaned into the door and brought one of his hands back to fuck himself with his fingers while he jerked off with the other.
At the sound of Ian’s zipper, Alek snuck an obvious peek over his shoulder, his eyes widening at the sight of Ian’s dick for only a fraction of a second before snapping back into apathy.
“Turn around and put this on me,” Ian said. He’d reached into his back pocket, pulled a condom out of his wallet, and ripped open the foil.
With graceful, adept fingers, Alek pushed the condom down. The sight of Alek’s long fingers encircling Ian’s cock would preside in a place of prominence in his spank bank for years to come.
Instead of releasing Ian, Alek jerked him with more violence than was necessary. Each pump lifted Ian onto the balls of his feet, like Alek wanted to lead him to the edge of his restraint and push him over, like he wanted Ian to fuck him recklessly, using him with a single-minded focus to come.
Ian grabbed Alek by the scruff of his hair and swiveled him back against the door. Alek made the sexiest grunt, like Ian had surprised him, maybe even knocked the wind out of him. Good. Ian lubed his dick and dragged it slowly up and down Alek’s ass, thrusting in the gap between Alek’s legs, teasing them both. It would be irresponsible not to check if Alek had opened himself up enough, so Ian slipped one finger inside. They both gasped.
“Tick tock, Ian,” Alek goaded, pushing back to work Ian’s finger deeper into his ass. “I’m ready… unless you aren’t.”
The tenuous thread of Ian’s control snapped. He swapped his finger for his dick and thrust forward faster than was polite. Alek met him inch for inch, silently asking, silently taking, until there was nothing else left.
God damn, Alek was tight.
Alek’s eyes had closed, his thick black lashes pressed tightly together, his cheek as red as if Ian had slapped him.
“Is this okay? Am I hurting you?” Ian asked.
“Shut up and fuck me.”
That answered that. Ian bit his lip as he pushed even deeper, lifting Alek up the door and off his feet, just the one time, to prove a point. Alek could try to tell him what to do, but Ian was stronger. He would only do what he wanted to.
Ian fucked Alek gently at first, but his strokes came faster and rougher as his mind was replaced by something primitive and scary. When Ian checked on Alek again, his eyes were still closed, but his face was lax, all tension eased out of him, his fingers splayed against the door.
Seeing Alek vulnerable like that was Ian’s trophy. He had won—not the game, maybe, but definitely that round. With the hand still tangled in Alek’s hair, Ian turned Alek’s head back toward him and leaned forward, his tongue leading the way to an open-mouthed kiss he didn’t even realize was their first until their lips joined and their tongues warred to claim each other. Alek tasted like cinnamon, so spicy it tingled and stung, like he’d chewed a fat wad of Big Red gum.
Ian gripped Alek’s cock in his fist, relishing the way precome spilled into his hand with one touch. A few pumps later, Alek came against the door so hard Ian heard it splatter. Ian wedged his way deeper into the tight ecstasy gripping him. He tried to be patient. He tried to savor it. He knew he’d never feel this good again—he’d never let himself see Alek again—but he couldn’t stop.
Ian shot his hand out, covering Alek’s with his own, holding on tight, leaning all of his weight into him because he was seriously afraid his knees were going to give out. Every nerve in his body lit up as the orgasm exploded and white flashes rained like fireworks in his vision to the point that he distantly worried his retinas were in the process of detaching.
Alek pushed back hard and said, “If you don’t mind, I don’t have a suffocation kink, and you’re as heavy as you look.”
Ian’s eyes opened slowly. “Sorry,” he murmured and passed Alek his boxers before pulling out.
Alek slipped out from under Ian’s arm, a single eyebrow raised and a condescending smirk on his face as he cleaned himself up with all the dignity of royalty, like Ian had been the only one who had the best sex of his life and only because Alek had deigned to let him.
Ian removed the condom and held it out to Alek, who rolled his eyes, but turned, walking slowly, gracefully, unfuckingaffectedly, across the room. Ian watched him the entire way. Alek’s skin was blemishless, scarless, like he’d never climbed a tree or been fucked against one.
Dragging his eyes away, Ian looked around, taking in all the details of the apartment he’d been too distracted earlier to notice. Alek’s apartment was one big studio with high ceilings and tall windows dressed with blue-green velvet curtains. A half-dozen squat glass tumblers sat forgotten under a cognac leather couch. On the couch, a blanket lay bunched on one end, like Alek had kicked it off while he slept.
What looked like a giant slab of polished sequoia tree trunk served as the coffee table and on it, Alek’s laptop sat perilously close to a mug of coffee teetering on the edge of a coaster. There was a stack of paperback books—mostly supernatural horror and historical nonfiction, from what he could see, because half of the spines were upside down or facing the other way. Anantique, black cast iron ashtray had a half-spent, still smoldering hand-rolled cigarette stashed in the tobacco well.
There wasn’t a bed. The only door he spotted was ajar, leading to a bathroom with black and white tile floors and a clawfoot tub with an oval shower rod suspended from the ceiling. The kitchen consisted of a row of cabinets against one wall, a heavy black vintage range, and a milk-white retro fridge with a stainless steel lever that reminded Ian of a drawer pull at a morgue.
