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“Oh,” Hayden said. “OK, then.” And shifted, infinitesimally, away.
“But,” Luke said, “I’ve got some self-discipline, control over my reactions and so forth. Maybe good to put them to the test.”
At first, it felt weird. And wrong. Hayden lying over him, kissing him—that was OK. Hayden’s tongue in his mouth, though, his hands in Luke’s hair. Hayden’s mouth traveling slowly over his cheek, to his ear, his hand stroking Luke’s face. Then he was kissing his ear as if he didn’t know how mangled and unappealing it was. Luke felt it, because the tissue was sensitive despite its appearance, and it felt good, but Hayden couldn’t want to …
He said, “I can get those fixed once I stop playing. I know they’re not—”
“Shh,” Hayden said into his ear, his voice nothing but a warm breath. “You’re meant to be disciplined. And I love that you’re strong and a bit … battered.”
You do? Luke wanted to say, but Hayden was kissing his neck now, there below the edge of beard, and that felt good. Hayden kissed like he had all day and all night, his mouth seeking out new spots, testing for a reaction, and Luke shifted under him and breathed harder. His hand was under Hayden’s T-shirt, running over his skin, and he wanted …
“Not your turn.” It was another of those breaths again, and Hayden had hold of Luke’s shirt now, was shoving it slowly up as he moved his body down. Kissing every centimeter he uncovered, even though Luke was too big and his skin was nothing like soft. Hayden’s hand stroking over his side, up his ribs, Hayden’s mouth on every one of those ribs, moving up to his chest. Pulling the T-shirt over Luke’s head, then going back to his neck. His chest. His ribs. His belly. All of it too slow, and Luke needed to get there. He needed to get there now.
Shifting again, his hand around Hayden’s head, and Hayden taking that as an invitation to touch him more. Hands on his forearms, his biceps, his triceps, as if he were memorizing him, as if he wanted to know. A mouth on that softer skin at the side of his bicep, a tongue licking along his upper arm.
Luke couldn’t be feeling this much, not with the way people normally touched his body—beating on it—but he was anyway. He was hauling in deep breaths, trying hard not to make a sound, nothing but the metallic, pulsing melody of crickets around them, but so many people asleep.
Or awake.
Hayden’s hands, finally, on the waistband of his sleep pants, pulling them down. Slowly again, until they were all the way off. Luke had his hands on Hayden’s waist, gripping hard, and Hayden asked him, his voice thrillingly low in the dark, “Want me to take my clothes off?”
“Yeh,” Luke said. It was just about all he could manage.
“Then I will,” Hayden said. “Because I want to please you tonight.”
It was that, and it was also torture. Luke couldn’t decide which. When Hayden was naked over him, though, his hands stroking down Luke’s huge, tree-trunk thighs like he loved them, which wasn’t possible—that was pleasure. And when he whispered, “Turn over,” that was a thrill that ran down his body like vinegar hitting your stomach, making the buzz run through every nerve pathway and straight to the cramp, releasing the knot, making you gasp.
He turned over.
More touching, then. More kissing. Hayden’s hands on his back, his mouth in the hollow of his spine, moving down. Luke wasn’t beautiful, last thing from it, but Hayden touched him like he was, lingering at the base of his spine, just under the tailbone, that exquisitely sensitive spot you never got used to. His hand between Luke’s legs, feather-light touches on his inner thighs, so close and nowhere close enough.
Oh, God. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.
Up on his elbows, then, because he had to feel that hand. The sensation that was somebody behind you, pressed up close, not knowing where their hand or their mouth was going next, and Luke was gasping.
He could control his voice. He couldn’t control his breath. And when Hayden whispered, “OK for me to do this?” and he felt the first slippery touch of lube …
It wasn’t that he’d never done it, but he’d never done it like this. Never with so much vulnerability, and knowing he’d agreed to it. He managed to say, “Yeh,” and that was all.
It wasn’t anything like the way he’d done it. It was so much better. Slow and easy, and with Hayden touching him, holding him. Hayden’s hand sliding down his side, and Luke’s own hands fisting in the fabric of the sleeping bag, pulling hard, holding on. Completely unable to control his breath anymore, lost in the sensation.
Hayden’s movements faster now, more urgent, and Luke’s hands were gripping harder, the tension winding up, then winding higher until it was too much, and it was too late. He was spinning, tumbling, burying his face in his fists to keep the groans inside.
Rising higher, then higher still. Going into the darkness, and seeing stars.
Lost. Shattered. Broken.
Gone.
Something woke Hayden, and at first, he couldn’t figure out what. He was lying with Luke, arms and legs tangled together, and had come slowly up from fathoms-deep sleep to … something.
Oh. Morning, he thought, because there was some light. It didn’t feel like morning, though. He disentangled himself carefully from Luke, trying not to wake him, fumbled for the zips at the bottom of the tent, slowly undid them, and stuck his head out into the chill on hands and knees.
At first, he couldn’t sort out what he was looking at. Dawn, but it didn’t look like dawn. It looked like …
Luke’s voice, then, coming out of the quiet dark. “What is it?”
“Come see,” Hayden said.
