Frank smiled and held on tighter. “I’ve been known to be wrong.”
“Mm-hmm.” Brandon kissed him again, harder this time. “Definitely wrong . . . wrong this time.” He slid one hand out from under Frank’s shoulder. Then the other. He pushed himself up and threw his head back as he fucked Frank faster. “Holy fuck . . .”
Frank would have laughed if he’d had the breath. The tenderness, the humour, the banter, that caring, all of that swirled in his head and soul and body with the lust, the need, the relief, and the sheer joy of it. Love. Love could be all those things, and it was as real as truth, as real as breath.
He closed his eyes for a few moments, feeling Brandon move inside him, on top of him. Sex was a totally different beast when he could let himself fall and know that Brandon wouldn’t just catch him, but do it with a smile and a kiss and quite possibly a smart-arsed quip.
God, I love him. So badly.
He hissed at a harsh thrust, but it was only pleasure now, need and surrender. Spoils of war, Brandon had called it, and Frank would do his damned best to make it very much worth his captor’s while. He grinned up at Brandon, groaning with every thrust and movement, doing what he could to fall into the same fierce rhythm, and then, when the pressure was getting unbearable, began to jerk himself off, tightening against the invasion and the skilful, oh-so-good thrusts.
“Fuck . . .” One of them whispered it. Frank couldn’t even be sure who.
Brandon shuddered, throwing his rhythm off for half a stroke, but he recovered, lips pulling across clenched teeth and sweat beading on his forehead as he fucked Frank hard. His brow was furrowed—Exertion? Concentration?—and every muscle stood out beneath his flushed skin. He mirrored exactly how Frank felt—on the edge, so close it was painful, ready to let go at any second—and God, he was the very picture of sexy.
Then Brandon closed his eyes. His lips formed what looked like words, but they were soundless, and then he whimpered, and Frank couldn’t take any more. His whole body tensed to the point of unbearable, and then released, hot semen coating his hand and some even hitting Brandon’s abs, and he thought he heard himself cursing as Brandon fucked him right through the peak of his orgasm.
Brandon’s rhythm fell apart. He thrust deep, pulled out a little, tried to get even deeper, and then shuddered violently. “Holy. Fuck.”
Neither of them moved for a moment. Frank couldn’t even say they were catching their breath, because neither of them seemed to be able to pull in more than the occasional gulp of air. It didn’t get any better when Brandon’s eyes fluttered open. Then he came down to kiss him, and to hell with breathing.
“I think now,” Brandon murmured, really slurring, “I’ll be able to sleep.”
Frank had no idea if he meant because they’d fucked, or because they’d settled things. Could’ve been both. But either way, he too stood a chance at sleeping tonight. After an orgasm like that, sleep was inevitable. With Brandon lying beside him? Inevitable and welcome, even if he was tempted to force himself to stay awake as long as he could just to savour Brandon’s presence.
Brandon lifted himself up again, and pulled out. He met Frank’s eyes. “Think we should grab a shower before we call it a night?”
“Think we can get through a shower without winding up like this again?”
Brandon laughed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I don’t think I have anything left.” He smiled down at Frank. “I think I’m just happy with a shower together and sleep.”
“One thing I like about Americans—you’re all clean freaks after sex.” Frank managed to roll to his feet and then stretched a hand out to Brandon, helping him stand. On wobbly legs they managed to reach the bathroom, where Brandon dealt with the condom while Frank stepped under the shower and got it just right—hot—before Brandon joined him.
They kissed lazily, drew apart long enough to wash, and then kissed some more. Brandon relaxed in the heat and steam to the point that he slumped against the tiles. Poor bastard. Young and fit as he was, he’d also had the far more physically demanding job today, so Frank mustered enough focus to finish washing him, then switched off the water and wrapped Brandon in a large towel.
The man looked like he might have protested, but Frank put up a hand. “Humour me for a moment.”
He rubbed him dry, then quickly dried himself. It felt good to be able to show this tenderness, take care of a partner, even if it was something so small as drying him off after the shower, running a towel over Brandon’s short hair.
“I’m not going to share you anymore . . .” Frank whispered. “Not for money. You want to fuck anybody else, let me know, but don’t charge for it.”
Brandon glared at him playfully. “Are you giving orders now?”