"Want me to stop?" His voice was wrecked, barely more than a growl against my skin.
"Don't you fucking dare."
He dragged his tongue down my sternum like he had all the time in the world. The water lapped between us as he shifted lower, his hands gripping my thighs and spreading them wide.
I was achingly hard, my cock straining under the water. I could feel my pulse everywhere. In my throat. In my chest. In the throb of my erection. Every place Lorenzo touched felt like it was on fire.
"I've never—" The words stuck. "No one's ever done this forme."
"I know." He kissed the inside of my thigh, high enough that his cheek brushed against my balls. The contact was electric. "You've given everything. Let me give this to you."
"I don't—" My voice cracked. "I don't know what to do."
"You don't have to do anything." His hand slid up my thigh, fingers pressing into flesh. "Just lie back and let me worship you."
God, the way he said it made me want to believe I was something holy instead of broken and scarred and half-blind.
"Please." I was begging now, past pride, past shame. "Lorenzo, please."
His mouth closed around me, and I stopped thinking entirely.
The wet heat was overwhelming, but it wasn't just the sensation of his tongue or the pressure of his lips. It was the fact that he was doing this at all. That he wanted to, wanted me.
I threaded my fingers through his hair and held onto him. The dark curls were wet and soft between my fingers. He bobbed up and down, working me with his mouth, the obscene sounds of it mixing with my own ragged breathing.
I'd have killed for him. Nearly died for him. And he was still here, still choosing me even though half my face was wrapped in bloody bandages and I'd never be whole again.
The pleasure built, relentless and inevitable, coiling tighter and tighter in my balls. I couldn't stop the sounds coming out of me. Didn't want to stop them. For the first time in my life, I wasn't performing holiness or righteousness, and Lorenzo was giving me this gift anyway.
"Don't swallow," I gasped out, too close. "When I come, don't swallow it."
He hummed around me, and that was it.
I came with Lorenzo's name on my lips, my hand tightening in his hair, my entire body shaking with the force of it. Wave after wave of release, physical and emotional, years of denial shattering in the spanof seconds. Lorenzo stayed with me through all of it, his mouth still on me until I was completely spent.
When I finally came back to myself enough to move, I pulled him up roughly and kissed him before he could do anything else. I pushed my tongue inside, tasting myself on his tongue, and nearly bit him with the violence of it.
His tongue moved hungrily against mine, desperate, but letting me take the lead. His hand bracketed my uninjured cheek, thumb stroking along the line of my jaw. My ruined left side throbbed, nerves still screaming from earlier, but right now all I cared about was filling him with what I'd denied both of us for too long.
I deepened the kiss, feeding him what he'd held for me. I gave it back to him, tongue-to-tongue, mouth-to-mouth, until it dribbled from the corners of our lips and smeared down his chin.
He moaned. It echoed off the tile, animal and wounded and beautiful.
I had him on top of me in the water, my cock softening but his still iron-hard between us, leaking against my stomach. I palmed his ass, and he whimpered, sticking his ass out like he was begging for me to be inside him again.
And God, I wanted that, but my dick was too soft. My fingers would have to do.
I slicked my fingers with soap and pushed inside him while he rutted against me.
Lorenzo broke the kiss with a gasp, his head falling to my shoulder as I worked him open. He was tight and hot around my fingers.
"Rafael." My name came out like a confession. "Please."
I curled my fingers, and he keened high and desperately. The sound ricocheted off the tile and went straight through my chest. Three days ago, I'd been bleeding out under the aurora, my vision going dark. Now I had Lorenzo coming apart on top of me, and the contrast was so sharp it nearly broke me.
This was resurrection. Not metaphor, not theology. This.
I added another finger, stretching him wider, and his thighs trembled against mine.
