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Bacon responded with another low groan and a muttered curse before leaning in to kiss Spencer breathless. He started a slow, deep rhythm, far more controlled than Spencer had expected. He had unerring aim too, hitting Spencer’s already over-sensitive prostate on each stroke, making him gasp and moan. He was usually pretty vocal in bed, but this was different, a level of incoherence he’d seldom reached, where all he could do was pant through the overwhelming sensations.
“Fuck.” A bead of sweat rolled down Bacon’s strained face. “You feel so damn good. God, I want to go hard. Pound you.”
“Do it.” Spencer welcomed every last shattering of Bacon’s restraint. “Fuck me.”
“Oh...” Bacon’s head tipped back and he bit his still-puffy lower lip. His strokes sped up and when he leaned in for another kiss, his finesse was gone. “Fuck, Spencer. Not gonna last.”
He was slamming in hard now, and Spencer hoped his answering moans sounded like encouragement because it was as close to speech as he could manage. Bacon fucked with the same near-violence he kissed and sucked cock with, an almost animalistic intensity. He cursed softly with every thrust, and his muscles stood in stark relief as his whole body shuddered with tension. Shifting his weight, he wrapped a hand around Spencer’s dick, stroking in tandem with his strokes.
“Just. Go,” Spencer managed to urge. Watching Bacon come apart was almost better than climaxing himself.
“Okay. Okay.” Bacon was near-whimpering now, thrusts faster and shallower. His mouth found Spencer’s for a sloppy kiss right before his body stiffened. He let out a series of shaky breaths that were close to sobs before he collapsed on Spencer. They lay like that for long moments, Spencer stroking his sweaty back, whispering reassuring nonsense until Bacon finally groaned and gently rolled away.
“Fuck. You didn’t come.” He reached for Spencer’s cock, but Spencer batted him away.
“Gotta give me more than a few minutes to recover from you sucking my brains out. Felt incredible, though. Like one long aftershock.”
“Good.” Stretching out, Bacon kissed him slowly and leisurely. He sure did seem to love to kiss, and Spencer wasn’t going to discourage it. Not now, when every second was a precious reminder of how little time they had. And it didn’t matter how long they lingered—it wasn’t ever going to be enough. Spencer’s chest felt raw and open. His body would recover from the hard fuck, but he had a sinking feeling his heart might not survive this confounding man.
* * *
Bacon soaked up the post-fuck energy like dry dirt sucked down an August rain. Man, he’d needed that. And for some reason, he couldn’t seem to stop touching and kissing Spencer. He was always an affectionate lover, but never quite this cuddly. Even so, he wanted more, and he dropped drowsy kisses down Spencer’s spine. He’d rolled over at some point, and he raised his head, opening an eye.
“So... Delbert. Seriously?” Spencer’s smirk was rather sleepy.
“Yeah.” Bacon flopped back next to him. “Unfortunately, yeah that’s my legal name.”
“Who does that to a baby?” His laugh was warm, a tickle for Bacon’s ears.
“Like I said, my mom’s a lot younger than my dad. She was a waitress in a truck stop café, and somehow he charmed her. I never understood it. Sure as hell was never charming after I arrived. Anyway, neither of my half-brothers are juniors. But Mom, she went all out. Guess she thought it might help him stick around, pay his fair share.”
“What does he go by? I mean that’s quite the name.”
“Guess he was named after some great-grandfather. Everyone calls him Bert. And growing up, even as a tiny baby, I was just Junior. Brothers said it all sarcastic-like, Mom said it nicer, Dad said it like he couldn’t give a fuck, and teachers said it with a laugh, but I was just Junior.”
“And you hated it?”
“Yeah. I’m not even sure when I started hating it, just remember that the sound of that name made my stomach hurt. By the time Jamie came around, I was so over it. We spent hours trying to brainstorm better names.”
“Did you come up with any?” Spencer stroked his biceps. “I’d sure like something better to call you.”
Bacon made a scoffing noise before giving in to the urge to laugh. “What? Can’t call me Bacon when I’m fucking your brains out?”
“Nope.” Spencer poked him in the ribs.
“Well, we were young, so there were a lot of stupid suggestions—Scorpion was seriously the frontrunner for a while. For a couple of years Jamie called me Scorp. But we talked about trying to find a nickname. Laurie. Larry. Rennie. D.L. Del. Always kinda liked that last one.”
“I like Del.” Spencer brushed a hand through Bacon’s hair. “That suits you. Could I call you that? Just privately.”
Bacon thought about all the armor he’d strapped to his soul to be Bacon, to be the last-name-only tough guy who didn’t need a first name. He couldn’t explain that to Spencer in a way that wouldn’t sound deranged, nor could he explain how granting Spencer this permission felt like a big freaking deal.
