Grade tilted his head back and bit his lower lip. Color flushed high over his cheekbones and turned the tips of his ears pink.
“And yet you took the gloves off,” he said.
Clay put his thumb under Grade’s chin and tipped it back. “My hands got sweaty.”
He could feel Grade’s pulse flutter against his fingers as it sped up and the way his throat moved when he swallowed.
“You going to fuck me or not?” Grade asked.
Clay tightened his grip, just enough to make Grade gasp in reaction. He leaned in and kissed the soft skin under Grade’s jawline, the scrape of his teeth not quite enough to leave a mark.
“Maybe you should ask nice,” he rasped, the Southern accent he’d spent years rubbing the hick off thicker than he usually liked.
Grade wove his fingers through Clay’s curls. “And what if I don’t?”
Clay smiled against Grade’s throat and then moved up to brush a kiss over the curve of his ear. “You still get fucked,” he said. “It just won’t be nice.”
“Promises are cheap,” Grade said, his voice tight. “Prove it.”
There was probably, Clay mused as he lifted his head, an argument to be made that this was about his self-destructive streak. The music wasn’t enough to live up to? He had to run his mouth too? Now he had to live up to the hype.
At this rate he was going to hit forty and fucking die of over-promising what his cock could do.
But what the hell. Everyone had to die of something. And if he didn’t get killed on the job, with the amount of coke he did, his heart was the next most likely cause of death.
He pushed Grade back a couple of steps and let go of his throat.
“Take your clothes off,” he said.
Grade stared at him for a heartbeat and then grabbed the bottom of his sweatshirt to drag it over his head. His arms got tangled in the sleeves, and he was flushed when he finally wrenched it off and tossed it aside. The sweatpants went next, stripped off along with his boxer briefs and left knotted around his ankles. His cock was flushed and ready, the skin pulled tight around the shaft.
“Your turn,” he said.
Clay ran his finger around his collar to loosen it. “I think I’ll keep it on.”
“Good,” Grade said as he kicked the clothes out of the way and stepped forward.
“I’m still going to make you say please,” Clay said, then winked. “Sooner or later.”
***
Clay pushed Grade up against the wall.
He bit a kiss into the nape of Grade’s neck, as if he could taste the faint splatter of freckles, and slid his hand around to spread it across the taut flat of Grade’s stomach. With clothes on, Grade looked lanky, all height and narrow shoulders. It was only when he was naked that you could see all the lean, wiry muscle he carried.
The music throbbed on in the background as Clay slid his hand down to Grade’s hip. He felt Grade’s breath hitch when he moved his hand on down past Grade’s cock to stroke his lean, lightly-haired thigh.
Grade tilted his head back and grazed a kiss over the corner of Clay’s mouth, along his jaw.
“I don’t have all night,” he said.
“Flirt,” Clay said. He gripped the inside of Grade’s thigh and pulled his legs apart. Muscle tightened under his grip as Grade shifted his weight. “Don’t move.”
Clay stepped back to admire the view of long, narrow back and nice ass while he pulled the packet of lube he’d bought earlier out of his pocket. He ripped a corner of it off between his teeth, the bubblegum sugary smell of it strong enough that he could almosttasteit in his nose. It was clear and slippery as he squeezed it out over his fingers.
“You should get some ink.” He reached out and ran one finger down Grade’s spine, drawing a slippery line from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. Grade visibly shivered at the touch, and the muscles in his ass tightened. “I know a guy.”
Grade looked around.
