Zain let go of his wrists. Grabbed the front of Seth's shirt with both hands and walked him backward until his spine hit the steel weapons rack. Rifles shifted in their mounts. A handgun rattled on its shelf. Neither of them cared.
"On your knees," Seth said.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Seth's voice was rough, his eyes bright with challenge and want. "You just spent twenty minutes telling me I can't go on the op. You owe me."
"That's not how that works."
"It's exactly how that works. On your knees, Zain. Or I walk out of here and tell Jack you lost the argumentandthe makeup sex."
Zain stared at him. This impossible, infuriating, magnetic man who had been half-dead on a warehouse floor a few weeks agoand was now ordering a trained killer to his knees in an armory full of loaded weapons.
He dropped.
The concrete was cold through his jeans. He didn't care. Seth's hands were in his hair immediately, fingers threading through, gripping, and the sound Seth made when Zain pressed his mouth to the front of his jeans, hot breath through denim, was worth every bruise his knees would carry tomorrow.
"Don't tease," Seth said. His voice had lost the bratty edge. What replaced it was raw. "Not right now. I need… after everything we just said… I need you to -"
Zain unbuttoned his jeans. Pulled the zipper down. Seth was hard and straining against his boxers, a wet spot already darkening the fabric, and the sight of it, the evidence that the argument had turned Seth on as much as it had turned Zain on, sent a wave of heat through him that settled low and heavy in his gut.
He mouthed Seth through the cotton. Slow. Deliberate. Tasting him through the fabric.
"Zain." Seth's hips bucked. His fingers tightened in Zain's hair. "Stop fucking around."
"Say please."
"Absolutely not."
Zain pulled the waistband down. Seth's cock sprang free, flushed and hard and leaking, and Zain looked up at him, held his gaze, and licked a slow stripe from base to tip.
Seth's head fell back against the weapons rack. A rifle shifted. Something metallic clinked.
"If a gun falls on your head," Seth managed, "I'm not explaining it to Nate."
"Shut up, Seth."
"Make m -"
Zain took him in.
The word dissolved into a sound that was half moan, half prayer, and Seth's hands in his hair went from gripping to cradling to gripping again as Zain worked him with the focused, relentless attention that he brought to everything. He knew Seth's body now. Knew the rhythm that made his thighs shake. Knew the spot under the head that made his breath stutter. Knew that when Seth went quiet, truly quiet, it meant he was close.
He wasn't quiet yet. He was narrating his own destruction in fragments.
"Yourmouth- God, the way you -fuck, right there, don't stop - Zain, I can't - your fuckingtongue-"
Zain hummed around him. Seth keened.
"That's cheating. That is absolutely -oh- that's cheating and you know it -"
Zain pulled off. Licked his lips. Looked up at Seth, whose face was flushed and wrecked and the most beautiful thing Zain had ever seen in a room full of weapons.
"You were saying?"
"I hate you."
"You don't."
