I woke hard andaching, my cock pressed against Lorenzo's ass. For a moment, I was disoriented by the unfamiliar weight of another body against mine, even if his steady breathing was comforting.
His body heat soaked through the thin fabric into my skin. Nothing had been this real since my mother's arms, since Gabriel's small hand in mine. God, when was the last time I'd touched another person like this? Not violently, not accidentally, but with warmth, with want, with the desperate hunger of someone who'd been starving for human contact and hadn't even realized it until now?
Late evening light spilled through the warehouse windows and turned the dust motes into something almost holy. My cock throbbed where it pressed against him, but I didn't move away. My body had found something it needed and was refusing to let go. Maybe for once in my miserable life I could just let myself have this without interrogating every reason why I shouldn't.
My hips rocked forward, and the friction made my breath catch. It was wrong. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not when Lorenzo's warmth was chasing away the cold that had lived in my bones since I was eleven years old, since I'd knelt at my mother'sgrave and decided that feeling anything at all was a weakness I couldn't afford.
I ground against him again, and pleasure sparked up my spine. My arm tightened across Lorenzo's chest, and I let my lips rest against the nape of his neck, breathing him in, tasting the salt of his skin. I wanted to bite down, wanted to mark him the way he'd marked me at the warehouse, wanted proof that this was real and not another fever dream conjured by grief and exhaustion.
Lorenzo stirred slightly, and his voice came rough with sleep. "Rafael?"
My name on his lips sent heat straight to my cock, made something desperate claw its way up my throat, and I made a sound I didn't recognize as I ground harder against him. My hand splayed across his chest, counting his heartbeats, memorizing the rhythm of him alive and warm and here under my touch.
“Fuck, you’re so hard.” Lorenzo tilted his hips and gave me a better angle, and pleasure crashed through me so hard my vision whited out.
He's letting me, I realized through the haze of want. The relief made me dizzy. I'd been so sure I was broken beyond repair, that whatever capacity I'd had for this kind of connection had died with my mother and been buried deeper with every prayer I'd mouthed in empty chapels.
My hand left his chest and went low, fumbling with the waistband of his sweatpants because I needed more, needed to touch him properly, needed to know if he wanted this as desperately as I did. I shoved my hand clumsily into his pants and found him hard and hot. The reality of another man's cock in my hand was nothing like I'd imagined in the dark privacy of my room, where shame always waited on the other side of release. It was so muchbetter.
I wrapped my hand around him, and Lorenzo hissed, and the sound went through me like electricity.
"Let me show you—" His hand movedtoward mine.
"No," I snarled and grabbed his wrist, pinning it against his stomach. I didn't want instruction, didn't want guidance, didn't want him to teach me how to do this like it was a skill to be learned rather than a hunger that had been eating me alive for years.
"Shut up." I bit the back of his neck, and he groaned.I need this, the bite said.Please let me have this.
My hand wrapped around him again, too tight at first, so I loosened my grip and tried again. My palm was sweaty, and the angle was all wrong. I was sure I was doing it terribly, but Lorenzo was hard in my hand and making sounds that suggested I wasn't completely failing at this.
I squeezed and pulled his cock in an awkward rhythm, my wrist already starting to ache from the unfamiliar motion. He moaned my name and and was breathing hard, so it must not have been so bad for him.
I rocked my hips forward, thrusting against him until nothing mattered. Not Rome, not Rio, not the noose nine levels beneath the Vatican, not my dead mentor, not my name on all those checks. There was only heat and pressure and need all tangled up until I couldn't tell where I ended and he began.
"That's it," he whispered breathlessly. "Take what you need."
His permission shattered something in me, some last wall I'd been holding up against the flood of want, and I thrust harder, my hand working his cock with no rhythm or skill, just desperate need laid bare.
The concrete bit into my hip, but I didn't care because twenty-nine years of nothing had led to this moment, and I couldn't get enough, would never get enough. Some distant part of me knew I was crossing a line I could never uncross, but the rest of me was too busy drowning in sensation to care about damnation.
My rhythm turned frantic, and I was rutting against him like an animal, like something feral and desperate. Maybe that's exactly whatI was, what I'd always been underneath the cassock and the prayers and the carefully constructed righteousness.
Pressure mounted at the base of my spine, and my whole body went taut with it.
"Christ," I gasped against his neck.
My whole body locked up, and I came hard inside my sweatpants, hips jerking forward as heat spread between us and soaked through fabric. I kept thrusting through it, making the mess worse, chasing every last second of pleasure like a man who'd been starving for it.
When the aftershocks stopped, I collapsed against his back, panting hard. My hand was still wrapped around his cock.
The warmth spreading through my chest terrified me more than the physical release had, because this wasn't just lust. This was want in a way that felt dangerous, that felt like it could unmake everything I'd built myself into, and I wanted more anyway.
I shoved my sweats down my thighs, coated my palm in the mess, and wrapped my hand around Lorenzo's cock again, this time slick with my release. The slide was obscene and wet and filthy, and heat rushed straight back to my cock as I worked him with something closer to desperation than technique.
Lorenzo made a sound low in his throat that went through me like lightning.
I trailed my other hand down his side, and my palm came back smeared with pre-cum. I slid my fingers over the leaking head of his cock and gathered up pre-cum, then dragged my filthy hand up over Lorenzo's chest, leaving wet streaks across his skin, marking him with proof that he wanted this too.
"Oh, fuck," he moaned. "That's fucking hot."
