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FOURTEEN
Harry hadn’t actually plannedto kiss Asher. Sure, he’d thought about it. A lot. But he never set out to actually kiss him. Asher wasn’t the kissing kind. He liked sex rough and hard...
But Harry needed... something. He needed human touch, gentle and reassuring, safe and all man.
As soon as they were inside their motel room, Harry was flooded with relief. As if stepping inside the small room and locking the door, they’d closed off the outside world, the stress, the fear.
Harry was exhausted from carrying the weight of it all, and now he felt bare without it.
He needed something.
He needed Asher.
Harry could count on one hand the times he truly thought he was about to die, and today had been one of them. In all the other situations, Harry had had some level of control, be it a gun in his hand, room to overpower his opponent, even just the fact he was bigger, better.
But in that valley with those rebels, he was outgunned, unarmed, and vulnerable. He was completely at their mercy and utterly disposable. No one would even look for him, let alone miss him.
Is that what his victims felt in their final moments?
Harry didn’t want to think about it.
He needed to feel alive. He needed to feel wanted. He wanted to feel good, he wanted pleasure, both given and taken.
He really just needed a moment of something nice.
So he pulled Asher close, surprising him. He cupped Asher’s jaw. The feel of stubble sent a shiver through him. Asher was stunned, his eyes widening, his lips parting. “What are you doing?”
If Harry spoke, he’d lose his nerve.
He waited for Asher to pull away, to rebuke him, push him off and scoff at him for being weird. But he didn’t. Instead, he whispered Harry’s name.
So Harry kissed him. Lips soft and warm, with a gentleness that made Harry’s heart feel two sizes too big. Stubble against his palm that made Harry’s spine tingle.
Until Asher shot back, anger and confusion on his face, breathing hard. Harry expected Asher to shove him then, or mock him, or even punch him for attempting such an intimate thing as kissing.
Asher shook his head and tried to say something, but there were no words. The look on his face said enough.
This is not what we are.
This is not what this is.
Harry wanted to apologise, the excitement in his belly souring with the sting of rejection. But then Asher’s eyes went to Harry’s mouth and he sucked back a breath, his hands went to Harry’s face, pulling him in and crushing his mouth to his.
Not exactly gentle. Desperate. Wanting and needing this as much as Harry wanted, needed. But Harry didn’t want this to be another rough and rushed fuck. He wanted to revel in the feel of it.
So Harry slowed the kiss, tilted Asher’s face up a little more, pulled him flush against him, and kissed him again. Slower this time with open lips, wanting and inviting. He tilted his head, kissing him a little deeper, and after a second, as if he were dazed, Asher responded.
His eyelids slowly closed as if he felt what Harry felt. Open mouths, warm tongues, and hands exploring, pulling each other closer, holding on tight. Harry deepened the kiss and Asher let him, gave in, surrendered.
Harry walked him backwards to the bed, holding the back of his head as he laid him down, never breaking eye contact. He kissed him again, teasing him with his tongue, sucking on his bottom lip, staring into his beautiful hazel eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you slow,” Harry murmured.
Asher’s breath caught, his eyes wide, imploring. Honest and vulnerable.
Harry slid his hand along Asher’s jaw. “Yes?”
He nodded quickly. “Yes, yes. Please.”
Harry kissed him, grunting as he pressed his bodyweight onto Asher’s, feeling his arousal, hot and hard. It ignited the desire already smouldering in Harry’s belly.
