Gideon, in impeccable evening dress down to the polished shoes, stepped back and looked him up and down.
“You look disgraceful,” he said softly. “I missed you so much. And I missed—”
He closed the distance again and his fingers wrapped possessively around Zeb’s prick. Zeb whimpered. He couldn’t help it.
Gideon’s fingers tightened, not stroking but squeezing Zeb’s shaft, the touch pulsing through him. It was something he’d always liked doing, toe-curlingly good, and Zeb was liable to come in his hand if this went on.
Gideon gazed at him a moment longer. Then he tugged with his lower hand.
Zeb had frequently been led by his prick, but it had always been a metaphor before now. He followed Gideon because he had no choice, away from the wall, constricted and dreamlike. Gideon moved around behind him and wrapped his free hand round Zeb’s waist, pulling him in, holding him tight. Zeb’s arms were constrained by Gideon’s and by the entangling shirt.
Pliant in Gideon’s arms, held in his grip, just for tonight. It was very nearly unbearable. He wondered if Gideon’s harsh breath was only arousal, or if he felt the same desperate longing for everything they’d lost.
Gideon kissed his neck. “Talk to me, Zeb.”
“You talk. I talk too much.”
“You do not,” Gideon said. “I missed you talking. Although…”His free hand came up, stroking Zeb’s neck, his jaw. He thumbed Zeb’s lower lip, pushing it down, slid the thumb inside. “If you did want to use your mouth…?”
“Mph,” Zeb said in urgent if incoherent agreement.
Gideon released his grip. He pulled Zeb round to face him, and leaned back against the bedpost.
Zeb went to his knees by reflex, only then remembering his hands were still tangled behind his back. That was fine, except that Gideon was still dressed. “Unbutton yourself for me?”
Gideon reached for the buttons at his waist, moving with dreamlike slowness, with Zeb mostly naked on his knees in front of him. He was so hard it hurt.
Gideon released his prick, which was standing proud. Zeb ran his tongue over his lips, very deliberately, and heard Gideon’s sharp intake of breath. Zeb leaned in and licked the smooth head of Gideon’s prick, relishing the feel of it, taut and full. He circled it with tongue and then lips, setting them round the shaft, just holding Gideon there.
“Your mouth, your fuckable mouth. Christ.” Gideon ran his fingers through Zeb’s hair. “You blasted beautiful alley cat.”
Zeb purred round his mouthful, with a lot of vibration. Gideon gave a sobbing sort of gasp and his fingers tightened on Zeb’s scalp. His thighs were flexing with tension. Zeb made a fruitless effort to move his hands, reminding them both he was pinioned by the shirt, and Gideon almost sobbed.
Who needed hands? Zeb leaned in, taking Gideon deep, using tongue and cheeks and the roof of his mouth, everything andanything for Gideon’s pleasure. He could feel the fingers flexing and tensing in his hair, the motions of his hips, and then Gideon’s hands clamped on his skull, and he was moving. Gideon fucking his mouth as much as Zeb sucking him, just the way they had always both liked it, and whispering as he moved. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. You wanted this. You’re hard for this. You utter—Christ!”
His hips jerked hard. Zeb held on for the ride, letting him thrust deep into his throat, feeling him come. He stayed there as Gideon’s breath sobbed out, and his chest heaved.
“Jesus,” Gideon said after a moment. “Zeb.”
Zeb pulled his mouth off and swallowed, then sat back on his heels, extremely aware of his own arousal. Gideon looked dizzily down at him. “Do you need me to untangle your arms?”
“No,” Zeb said. “Don’t.”
Gideon contemplated him a second longer, then stepped around him, and Zeb heard and felt the movement as he came to his knees, once again wrapping his arms round Zeb’s waist, a hand round his cock.
“Oh,” Zeb said, leaning back.
There was a sudden wetness on his ear—tongue, the scrape of teeth. Zeb arched his neck, and Gideon kissed that. “God, you’re hard. You always did love that.” His voice shuddering through Zeb, resonating deep in his bones; his thumb at work, stroking, caressing; his arm tight round Zeb’s waist, holding him close. “You’re so damned good at it and you feel so good—so hard—and, God, Zeb, the way you looked.” His hand tightened, his strokes speeding up, and Zeb could hear his breath, shallower,urgent. His own heart was thumping faster, his toes curling. “Can I make you come like this?”
“You can make me do anything you please,” Zeb said, and heard Gideon’s breath catch.
“I fucked your mouth and you loved it and I’m going to make you—oh God, I can feel you—Zeb!”
Zeb cried out, and arched his back into Gideon’s grip, gasping his pleasure as it crested and spent.
He slumped back. Gideon bent forward, so they were wrapped around each other. Zeb felt warm, and cradled, and as if the aching hole in his heart was liable to rip the whole thing apart.
“God,” Gideon said at last. He sounded much like Zeb felt: spent, sated, wretched.
