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“Let’s go.” Ian held out his hand.
Alek took it, grateful for the boost because he was pretty sure all the blood from his legs was in his dick at the moment.
Historical houses had their drawbacks. Inside the walls, fraying wires were held together by chewing gum and a prayer—at least until Ian had wrangled them into order. The insulation was chock full of old corn cobs, newspapers, and forgotten toys. But in addition to the history and character and the money pit list of repairs the Victorian had to offer, there was at least one thing it had that modern houses did not: oversized clawfoot tubs. Tubs big enough for two. Alek and Ian could just fit inside, facing each other with their legs tangled together, dicks within easy reach.
Ian turned the tap on and plugged the drain, then spotted Alek as he lowered into the tub.
When Ian made no move to ditch his own clothes, Alek used his good hand to splash him. “Oops. Sorry about that.”
“Dick,” Ian muttered, though a smile teased at the corner of his mouth.
Ian brushed water droplets off the front of his pants and stood on one foot to remove his sock. It was like a bear trying to do ballet. When he switched sides and removed the other sock, he nearly fell over.
Alek’s laugh was cut short by the stab of pain in his ribs.
Ian scowled. “You know you have one good arm, right? I don’t actually have to help you.”
“I think my good arm’s not working so well, either.” Alek lifted his middle finger in salute. “It seems to be stuck in this position.”
A rumbling laugh exploded from Ian’s chest. Making Ian laugh was almost as rewarding as earning his praise.
Ian shook his head, his eyes wrinkled at the corners with amusement. Then, he took his shirt off. Alek gulped. Ian was stacked with muscle, and not the kind manufactured by hours spent lifting weights. No, Ian’s muscles were earned by haulingpallets of tile and demoing walls and turning a house destroyed by neglect into something beautiful.
Ian tossed his shirt by the door and brought his hands to the top button of his pants, undressing blindly, his eyes locked on Alek. When Ian’s dick finally sprung free, Alek’s heart leaped to his throat like he’d jumped off a cliff. There’d been plenty of involuntary angry boxer-clad boners, but Alek hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing all of Ian since they broke up.
Alek braced his good arm on the lip of the tub and rose to his knees. Before Ian could protest the irresponsibility of allowing Alek to blow him in his “condition”, Alek pulled Ian tight and wrapped his lips around his cock, plunging all the way down until he bottomed out at the back of his throat.
Ian sucked in a breath, rising up onto the balls of his feet. “Holy fucking fuck, Alek.”
Alek smiled. He had Ian right where he wanted him.
Before Ian, Alek had almost always been on the receiving end of oral sex. It wasn’t because hardly any man was worthy of a top-tier Alek Katin blow job, although that was true. It was that most of the people he’d been with had wanted to be dominated. What they didn’t realize was how easy it was for Alek to control someone on his knees with a mouth full of cock. All it took was a flick of the tongue, a finger against the prostate, and Ian would beg and plead and promise anything and everything if Alek wanted him to.
But Alek wouldn’t do that tonight. He wanted to make love to Ian’s dick for as long as Ian would let him. There were so many things he wanted to say that he couldn’t. So he used his mouth the only way he knew how.
“That’s enough.” Ian moved his hands to Alek’s shoulders.
Alek whined, letting the tips of his teeth drag lightly as Ian pulled out of his mouth. Ian helped Alek turn around, then lifted a glass tumbler from the vanity, and climbed in opposite.Water sloshed against the sides of the tub, threatening to spill out onto the floor as Ian’s sizable body displaced it.
Enormous erection aside, Ian’s intent appeared to be strictly business. He grabbed the shampoo and popped the cap, then climbed on top of Alek, straddling him.
Alek groaned in frustration. “If you didn’t get in this bath to get me off, then you’d better drown me instead.”
Ian’s laugh splashed waves against Alek’s chest. Alek frowned. There was nothing funny about torture via sexual frustration. Ian, of all people, should know.
Next, Ian flipped the shampoo bottle over and squirted a long thick dollop onto his hand. He was definitely messing with him. With light, careful fingers, Ian scrubbed Alek’s scalp, avoiding the sutures knitting together the edges of the incision. A charged silence stretched between them like TV static turned on full blast.
“Tilt your head back and close your eyes,” Ian commanded.
When Alek opened his eyes next, Ian was leaning over him, stretching to return the glass tumbler to the vanity. Ian’s dick brushed against Alek’s like velvet on velvet. Alek hissed. Ian froze. Their eyes met.
“You have to tell me if I hurt you,” Ian said. “And remember, no lies.”
Alek could practically feel his pupils dilate. He forgot all the words in all of his languages, dumbly nodding his assent. He didn’t care what he was agreeing to. Whatever Ian was offering, he wanted it.
They collided. Lips and teeth clashed clumsily. Alek’s thoughts came in shapes and sunbursts, flashes of color, flickers of mixed-together senses like a faulty ignition trying to start. He clenched his eyes tight and chased the images around a corner inside his mind, but his synesthesia slipped through his fingers.
Ian broke the kiss, breathing hard, his eyes scanning Alek’s face.
