Sergei let him go, and Dom got up long enough to retrieve the condoms and lube from the table. Dom tore open the box of condoms, but their eyes met, and his hands stopped.
Sergei reached for him, grabbed his neck, pulled him in, kissed him. God, he wanted to fuck Dom, but he had to kiss him again, and Dom didn’t protest at all. The gentleness was gone now. They kissed hard, taking sharp breaths through their noses and gripping each other’s shoulders, arms, necks—whatever they could get their hands on.
Sergei couldn’t take anymore. “Turn around,” he breathed.
He fully expected Dom to put up a fight, insisting he’d be on top, but instead, he damn near tore himself out of Sergei’s grasp and turned around. Sergei’s heart sped up as Dom leaned forward onto his hands.
“You want to be fucked, don’t you?”
Dom nodded. “Yes.”
Sergei grabbed the partially open box of condoms. He tore one of the strip and tossed the rest on the nightstand. “You’ve done this before? Bottomed?”
“Not… recently.”
“I’ll go slow.” Slow sounded both torturous and amazing. As much as he wanted to pound Dom into oblivion, the thought of fucking him slowly was enough to make Sergei’s hands tremble as he rolled on the condom while Dom got on his hands and knees.
Sergei put some lube on his index and middle fingers. Steadying them both with a hand on Dom’s hip, he pressed a slick finger against Dom’s tight hole. Carefully, patiently, he worked his fingertip in.
“Fuck,” Dom breathed as Sergei teased him open.
“Doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“N-no.” Dom shook his head. “Just… intense.”
“As it should be.” Sergei fucked him with a finger for a moment, and then added a second. Jesus—he could have listened to Dom moan like that all damned night. Helplessly, hungrily, as if this—just being fucked by a couple of fingers—was the most amazing thing he’d ever felt.
Sergei’s mouth watered. If Dom was this responsive…
He shivered. Gently, he stretched him, pushing his fingers apart as he slid them in and out.
“Just fuck me,” Dom slurred. “C’mon. Please.”
Sergei chuckled. “Eager?”
“Very.”
“Good.” Sergei withdrew his fingers. He put some lube on his cock, and some more on Dom. Then he guided himself to Dom and pushed against him. After just a second of resistance, Dom yielded to him. Sergei eased himself inside—sliding in, withdrawing, sliding in a little deeper.
They were both panting already. Cursing in their native tongues and English and maybe some other languages that they couldn’t even identify. Sergei knew as many ways to tease a man as he did to kill him. Tonight, he didn’t care about impressing him with any hip-centric sex voodoo. The only thing that mattered was getting as deep inside him as he could, fast and hard. Sex wasn’t an art form tonight—Dom had tapped into some primal, animalistic side of Sergei, and there was no reining it back in. Not until he came. And Dom came. And they both came again.
Gritting his teeth, Sergei slammed into him. “This hurt?”
Dom’s head fell forward, and his shoulders rippled. “N-no.”
Sergei held his hips tighter and fucked him even harder. “How about now?”
Dom cried out, and God knew if it was pain or pleasure, but he didn’t try to stop him. He dug the heels of his hands into the bed and rocked against him, and it was even getting painful for Sergei now. Fuck, but he felt good.
Little by little, Dom fell apart, swearing and shaking, hopefully unaware of how difficult it was for Sergei to concentrate on keeping a steady rhythm. Sergei’s muscles burned. After a full shift at the club, he should’ve been completely exhausted, but he kept fucking Dom, kept slamming into him, silently begging him to—
Dom cursed aloud in Italian, and clenched around Sergei. “My God…”
And for the second time tonight, Sergei lost it, this time deep inside Dom. He thrust as hard as he could, squeezing his eyes shut and cursing in his own mother tongue.
Dom relaxed. Then Sergei did. Together, they sank down to the bed, and Sergei panted against Dom’s shoulder.
“Holy fuck,” Dom murmured. “That was…” He trailed off, slurring something in Italian.
“That’s good, right?”
“Very. Very good.”
Sergei kissed the side of his neck. His arms were wet noodles, but when he could trust them to hold him up, he carefully pulled out, and then got up to get rid of the condom.
When he returned to the bed, they shifted around and collapsed on the pillows, side by side. Not cuddling, but not on opposite sides of the mattress either.
For the longest time, neither of them spoke. Sergei couldn’t quite believe he was lying beside a Mafioso. A Maisano, of all people. And it had occurred to him that it would be a hell of a “fuck you” to the family, knowing he’d been inside one of their own, but he didn’t feel that way now. Dom was one of them, but he was different. He hadn’t been selfish like the last man Sergei had been with, or rushed like the one before him.
Dom cleared his throat. “I, um… I noticed your accent earlier. Russian?”