I pulled out slowly, watching him shudder at the loss, then thrust back in hard enough to punch a cry from his throat. His teeth found my forearm where it braced beside his head, biting down until I felt skin break. The sharp pain shot straight to my cock, making me groan.
"That's it," I encouraged, fucking him even harder. "Mark me back."
He released my arm only to bite into my shoulder, my chest, anywhere he could reach even folded as he was. Each bite sent sparks through me, pleasure and pain blurring together until I couldn't tell them apart. Blood smeared between us, his or mine, I didn't know or care.
My rhythm faltered as I got close, my thrusts becoming erratic. Lorenzo's cock was leaking steadily now, a puddle of precum pooling on his stomach. I couldn't resist anymore and released one of his legs to wrap my hand around him, but didn't stroke. Just held him, enjoying the way he pulsed in my grip.
"Rafael," he whined, trying to fuck up into my fist, but I kept my hand still.
"Not yet," I said, though my own control was hanging by a thread. "Want to see you come just from this."
I angled my hips, aiming for his prostate with each thrust. His back bowed, mouth falling open in a silent scream. His cock twitched violently in my hand, and then he was coming.
The first rope of white painted stripes across his stomach, his chest, catching on the ridges of muscle as his body convulsed. I watched, mesmerized, as more spurted from his untouched cock, pooling in the hollow of his throat, dripping down his sides. The sight was obscene, beautiful, perfect.
I released him to gather the warm fluid on my fingers, bringing them to my mouth. The taste of him—salt and musk and something uniquely Lorenzo—made me groan around my fingers. His eye tracked the movement, pupils blown so wide there was barely any gold left.
"Fuck," he breathed, watching me lick my fingers clean. "Rafael—"
I pulled out slowly, watching him clench around nothing, then thrust back in hard. My hand returned to his spent cock, using his own release as lubricant to stroke him through the oversensitivity. He writhed beneath me, caught between pushing into my hand and pulling away, little broken sounds escaping his throat.
"Too much," he gasped, but his body told a different story, already beginning to harden again in my grip.
I leaned down, changing the angle, and dragged my tongue through the mess on his chest. The taste flooded my senses as I lapped at his skin, cleaning him with my tongue while still fucking into him. His hands tangled in my hair, holding me there as I sucked a bruise directly over his heart, mixing blood and cum on my tongue.
The taste of him pushed me to the edge. My hips stuttered, rhythm lost as heat coiled tight at the base of my spine. I bit down hard on histhroat, right over his pulse, and he keened beneath me, his cock fully hard again in my slick fist.
He let out a loud cry as I drove deep one last time, my orgasm hitting hard and sudden. I groaned against his neck as I spilled inside him, my vision whiting out at the edges. Each pulse seemed to last forever, my body shaking with the force of it.
I pulled out slowly, watching my release leak from him, white against golden skin. The sight made something primal and possessive surge in my chest. Without thinking, I dropped down, spreading him open with my thumbs to watch more drip out.
"Rafael, what—" His words cut off in a strangled moan as I dragged my tongue over him, tasting myself mixed with him.
His thighs trembled on either side of my head as I licked him clean, savoring the obscene intimacy of it. It was filthy and perfect and everything I'd imagined in those dark moments alone.
"Fuck, fuck—" Lorenzo's hands fisted in my hair.
His thighs clamped around my head, ankles crossing against his back, holding me in place as he came for the second time. The warmth splattered across his chest, mixing with the mess already there, and I groaned against him.
When I finally pulled back, my mouth and chin were slick. But Lorenzo… He looked wrecked and perfect.
"Come here," Lorenzo rasped.
I crawled up his body, and kissed him, letting him taste himself on my tongue. We kissed slowly and deeply, all the desperation finally bleeding out into something softer but no less intense.
I lay on top of him, just enjoying the warmth, the feel of skin on skin while Lorenzo gently rubbed my back. Tomorrow those hands might kill again. Tomorrow, we both would bleed. But right now we were just skin and breath and heartbeats gradually slowing to match.
"We should clean up," I murmured against his neck, but made no move to pull away.
"In a minute." Lorenzo's fingers found the bite mark on my forearm and traced it gently. "Just... stay like this for a minute."
We stayed like that until our breathing evened out and the sweat cooled on our skin. Eventually, I forced myself to move, grabbing a washcloth from the bathroom to clean us both up. When I climbed back into bed, he reached for me immediately, and I pulled him against my chest. His face tucked into the space between my shoulder and neck, breath warm against my throat. My hand traced lazy patterns down his spine while his leg hooked over my hip, keeping us tangled together.
That's when I felt the tremor in his hands where they rested against my ribs. I tightened my arms around him and pressed my lips to his temple. I didn't say anything. What was there to say? All I could do was hold him until it passed.
Lorenzo's breathing hitched. Once. Then again. His fingers curled against my chest, gripping tighter, and when his shoulders started shaking, I realized he was crying.
"I don't want to die." His voice came out broken, muffled against my neck. "I should be okay with it. I've been ready to die since I was seven years old. But I'm not. I'm so fucking scared, Rafael."
