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Chapter Sixteen
Scotland
Worst idea ever. He shuffled his hip against the ground, attempting to find some carpet that was softer than concrete. It was probably a bit better than hardwood or something similar, but the plush had obviously worn out a long time ago. He wasn’t going to let Clint sleep on the floor, though.
As soon as Clint had settled on the couch in a T-shirt, he’d promptly passed out. Sleep had obviously been escaping him for longer than he’d let on, because he’d barely even moved. And he snored, which was absolutely adorable.
Scotland sat up, shuffling until his back was against the couch. Turning his head, he watched Clint in the low light, memorizing the soft outline of his sleeping face. Every so often a car would pull into the lot outside, the beams flickering over the window and casting a temporary beacon.
He hadn’t heard anything from Maddy and Derreck’s bedroom since they’d retreated to it, but the door was open a crack. Sound would easily be able to slip both ways.
“You asleep?” he asked softly, running his thumb over Clint’s lips. Clint scrunched his forehead in his sleep, letting out a little whimper. He was almost painfully beautiful, his face relaxed and his worries nowhere to be found.
He trailed his fingers along Clint’s chin where his scruff had returned in full force since he’d shaved yesterday. It gave him a rugged appearance, that wasn’t nearly as desperate and unkept as it had been before. His neck was soft until the top of his chest, where his hair began. Scotland weaved his fingers into what he could reach through the neck hole of Clint’s T-shirt, tickling over Clint’s warm flesh beneath.
Scotland watched as Clint’s cock twitched in his sleep, his lips parting with a soft noise that wasn’t quite a moan. Awake, he was responsive, but in sleep, his guard was completely gone.
They had talked about this exact thing before—the memory burning through Scotland as he moved his hand so he could dip under Clint’s shirt. His abdomen was firm but relaxed, his pecs the perfect size to fit in Scotland’s palm. It didn’t take much to drag his boxers down past his hips.
Clint had told him about his time with Ross one of the evenings they’d sat around the empty firepit, and the days he would get fucked awake. He’d said those were some of his best mornings—already sore and open before he’d had his first coffee.
“What’re you doing?” asked Clint, his voice thick with sleep. Scotland let out a sigh filled with relief, teasing over Clint’s nipple. He wasn’t going to push any limits with Clint when he was asleep, especially if they hadn’t negotiated the kink.
“Thinking about fucking you,” said Scotland honestly. Clint’s cock twitched against his arm, a bit of moisture dragging over his skin. “How would you feel about taking your shirt off for me now?”
Clint rolled slightly, pressing his cock hard into Scotland’s arm and thrusting his hips. “You aren’t fucking me in here. Derreck would bury me alive if I got cum on his couch. I’m pretty sure he already dug the grave earlier.”
Scotland grinned, pulling away to tug his own track pants down. He was already throbbing from watching Clint—hell, he’d been hard since Clint had first sat in his lap that night. Clint hadn’t opened his eyes yet, his lashes dark against his cheeks. “Who said anything about you coming?”
“Fuck.” Clint let out a loud breath before shuffling to pull his shirt over his head. “Are you ever going to let me come?”
“Quiet,” said Scotland, lifting himself onto the couch and hovering over Clint. “You’re louder than you think. I wouldn’t want Maddy to wake up to see his boss getting fucked on the couch.”
“Who said I’d let you fuck me?” Clint poked him in the middle of the chest.
Scotland froze for a moment, going over every conversation they’d had. Even if he was just playing kinky friend at the moment, Clint hadn’t mentioned sex being a limit. A smile stretched over his lips as he realized what Clint was implying.
Oh, so that’s how you want to play it? If Clint wanted to push some boundaries, then Scotland was all for it. Consensual non-consent happened to be one of his biggest turn-ons—and Clint’s, it seemed.
“You can’t stop me,” said Scotland, gripping Clint’s hip and squeezing hard. “We both know that I’m the stronger one, and you’re the slut.” He gave Clint one final soft caress across his belly before he sank into the scene.
It wasn’t difficult to let the hardness settle over him, his muscles already tight and hot from thinking about Clint naked beneath him. He didn’t have to pretend when it came to the longing and lust, nor the desire to see Clint squirm and whimper.
I want it all.
When Clint tried to sit up, Scotland slapped a hand over his mouth as gently as he could, pressing him back into the couch. With his other hand, he grabbed Clint by the balls, squeezing them tight. Clint let out a muffled whine, trying to close his legs.
“Are you going to be good?” Scotland asked, bringing his lips close to Clint’s ear. He cast a glance at the open bedroom door, but there was no sound except soft snores.
Clint nodded, his eyes wide as he sucked heavy breaths through his nose. He seemed just as lost to the scene as Scotland was.
Releasing Clint with both hands, Scotland grabbed for his hips a second time, attempting to flip Clint again. He only got halfway before Clint seemed to come awake, kicking out and wiggling at the same time.
The blow was light, but it still stung where Clint managed to nail him with one knee. He touched the spot on his thigh, gritting his teeth through the muscle spasm.
Scotland hadn’t been lying. He was stronger than Clint, even if the margin wasn’t all that wide.
Before Clint could react, Scotland reefed him around, pressing his face into the armrest of the couch. As Clint scrambled to get his face out of the soft leather, Scotland grabbed his hips, tugging him to his knees and moving close until his cock slid between Clint’s cheeks.
