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His cock was leaking between his legs, but he couldn’t let go of the headboard if he didn’t want his face to slam against it, so he spread his knees as wide as he could—wide enough until his dick was dragging against the blanket.
“Holy fuck, are you—” Renzo asked, trailing off on a groan. He pushed against the small of Emil’s back, mounting him and fucking hard downward so Emil found himself humping the bed with every one of his lover’s thrusts. “Can you come this way, baby? You gonna ruin my sheets?”
“Mm—mhm,” Emil stuttered, out of his mind with lust and unable to form words. His hips were moving in time with Renzo’s, and all he could hear was the slapping of skin as Renzo fucked him harder and more thoroughly than anyone ever had before.
“Fuck. Fuck,” Renzo gasped. “Christ, I’m going to come. Please tell me you’re close, sunshine. I can’t hold on much longer.”
Emil still couldn’t speak, so he hoped his battered, broken moan was answer enough because his entire body was hot now, and he could feel himself reaching the edge. He tilted his hips a little more, and on the next thrust, Renzo hit his prostate dead on.
That was all it took for Emil. He let out a high-pitched whine into the pillow as he fucked downward, his cock shooting spurts of hot come into the fabric beneath him. Renzo’s moan matched his own, and he could feel him thicken, then the heat of his spill as he filled the condom buried deep in Emil’s ass.
There was a moment after that, long, long heartbeats of time where neither of them could move. Then, like a marionette with cut strings, Emil lost strength and collapsed onto his stomach. His legs burned with the effort to straighten, and all the air left his lungs as Renzo collapsed on top of him.
He felt warm, lazy kisses pressed against his neck and shoulders, then the uncomfortable sensation as Renzo carefully pulled out. He wanted to move his head, to look over and watch as Renzo managed to stand and discard the used rubber, but he couldn’t.
He listened as his lover moved around the room, and then a door opened, and Emil heard water running. Renzo returned just as Emil found the strength to turn over and move out of the wet spot. His foggy eyes attempted to focus on Renzo’s face.
He was still flushed with exertion—his hair clumped with sweat, his little ringlets falling over his forehead. He looked more beautiful than ever, and Emil found enough muscle power to lift his hand and brush a few stray curls away from his eyes as Renzo took a warm cloth to wipe his stomach clean.
Renzo grinned. “It always gets like that when I sweat. Or when it rains.”
“You’re so beautiful,” Emil whispered.
Renzo smirked. “And you’re come-drunk.”
Emil wanted to argue with him, but maybe it was easier to let him believe Emil was just babbling after getting his brains fucked out. Emil had been that kind of man, once. He turned tail and ran at the first sign of affection or attachment. It was easier that way.
Renzo was the first person who ever made him want with a singular focus he couldn’t shake. And as terrified as he was, it wasn’t as much as it should have been.
He closed his eyes when a warm hand touched his cheek, and he let himself be kissed. “We don’t have to get up and do Santa stuff, do we?” he asked when Renzo pulled back.
“No,” Renzo said with a laugh. “You filled your Santa quota for the year. I think sleep sounds good.”
“And I can…stay?” He felt tender and unsure. He would go without question of Renzo asked him to, but it would crush him, and that was something he couldn’t bury.
But Renzo just huffed a quiet sigh and slipped under the covers, nestling closer. “If you left after that, we’d need to have words.” Renzo tucked his head into the crook of Emil’s neck, then turned his face up so his lips were resting against the cut of Emil’s jaw. “Get some sleep, sweetness. Tomorrow’s going to be here way too soon.”
CHAPTERTWENTY
Renzo fully expectedto be pounced in the morning, but he’d forgotten he was too tired to unlock the door after he and Emil had fucked, so it was Matty’s wail of distress that dragged him from his far-too-comfortable sleep. Emil didn’t budge, so Renzo quickly threw his legs over the bed and hurried to the door.
Matty was standing there, wringing his hands, his eyes wide and a little watery.
“I’m sorry, bud,” Renzo said. He tugged Matty close and kissed his cheek. “I wasn’t trying to lock you out.”
“No locked doors,” Matty scolded.
It had been a long-standing rule in the house after a six-year-old Matty had almost burned to death when he hid with a candle and a box of matches. His parents had gone a bit too far in explaining why it was dangerous, and now Matty believed anytime a door was locked, someone could die.
Renzo nodded. “Yep. No locked doors.”
A breath passed, then a second, and then Matty shook himself out of his distress because it was Christmas. He bounced on the balls of his feet, but as his mouth opened to shout, Renzo grabbed his wrist.
“Emil’s still sleeping.”
Matty looked mortally offended. “But…it’sChristmas.”
“I don’t think he’s had very good Christmases in the past,” Renzo told him quietly. Emil was a little more forthcoming with details about his childhood, but not enough. It didn’t take a genius to know that no one had ever prioritized him though. So he felt safe in assuming Emil didn’t put a lot of stock into any holiday.
