Miki stretched over the distance, marveling at the low-rumbling growl emanating from Kane’s throat and the sudden pricks of Kane’s nipples when Miki explored the man’s broad chest with his hands. He touched his mouth to Kane’s, a delicate inquiry to catch the man’s interest. Then the world went sideways as Kane caught Miki’s face up in his broad hands, and Kane kissed the living shit out of him.
He gasped when Kane’s fingers grabbed at his wrists, and his gasp was lost in the depths of Kane’s ravaging mouth. The larger man pushed forward, pinning Miki to the upper cabinet, and he guided his tongue past Miki’s parted teeth, sliding in deep. Miki teased back, lapping at the edges of Kane’s lip, then returned Kane’s probing. Angling his head, Kane growled and let go of one of Miki’s wrists.
Only to slide his now free hand to the small of Miki’s back to pull him forward—where Kane’s thick, hard cock made itself known through their clothes.
His fingers dipped down past Miki’s waistband, working past the rise of Miki’s ass, but his jeans were too tight for Kane’s large hard to go any farther, and Kane hissed, frustrated at being denied.
“Unbutton your jeans, Sinjun.” Kane broke free of their kiss and nipped at Miki’s mouth. “I want to fuck you. Give me some space so I can get my hand in.”
Miki fumbled. His dominant left hand was pinned against his leg, and his right was doing a piss-poor job of getting his fly undone. Impatient, Kane pressed down at the small of his back, the inside of his wrist rubbing at the crease in Miki’s spine.
“Fuck the jeans.” Miki tugged hard at his fly, and the rivet popped off the metal button, sending it careening someplace into the depths of the kitchen. “They’re old. I’ll get new ones.”
“Or sew a button on.” Kane muttered. “I like these. There’s a tear right under your asscheek. Drives me nuts.”
Beyond that, Miki heard nothing. Kane’s mouth was back on his, tearing apart any thoughts he might have been able to dredge up about him sewing a button onto anything, much less a pair of ancient jeans. His legs were spread, his knees on either side of Kane’s hips, and his lover’s wide hand spread over his asscheeks and lifted him even closer, grinding Miki’s aching, denim-trapped cock into Kane’s crotch.
“So fucking glad someone in your family screwed a Viking.” Kane’s teeth nipped and tugged at the corners of Miki’s mouth as he spoke.
“I’m Irish, love. Through and through. Best you be not talking of Vikings around my family.” Emerald and whiskey poured into Kane’s mutter, deepening the hint of Gaelic in his voice. “Lean forward a bit, Sinjun love. I’ve got plans for that sweet ass of yours.”
He was about to complain about not being able to get any closer. Then Kane’s fingers dipped even lower into the cleft of his cheeks, and he felt the ridge of a nail against the edge of his rim. The pressure was intense, pushing up into him, and the delectable burn of Kane’s heat on his skin made Miki wonder why he hadn’t just stripped his jeans off entirely.
“Shit, no fucking on the counter.” It was a stupid rule. One Kane himself made up, and damned if Sionn hadn’t agreed. Damie argued for the merits of bleach and scrubbing until Miki pointed out they’d either forget about doing it or start some kind of Pavlovian trigger where they’d get hard every time someone busted out a jar of Comet. “Fucking stupid goddamn….”
“I’m not going to fuck you. And you’ve got your jeans on. Shut up for a moment and just… feel this, baby.” Kane’s mouth was now on his neck, then chewing down the curve of his shoulder, small rounds of moisture leeching into his shirt where Kane’d nibbled. “Hold on to me.”
He had nowhere else to hold on to. Truth was, he couldn’t think of any place else he’d want to hold on but Kane’s massive shoulders and strong arms.
Then Kane’s shoulder pressed up into his chest, and Miki felt the blunt end of his lover’s finger enter him, forcing him up off the counter with a crook of his joint.
Then he really lost his shit.
His world closed in on him, becoming only the aching sear of his cock begging for release and the slow, steady push of Kane’s dry finger into the depths of his body. Kane retreated for a second, then slid in again, deeper with each short, agonizing stroke, until Miki writhed against his lover’s body.
“God, fucking hell.” Miki laid his head on Kane’s shoulder, biting at the man’s T-shirt to give his mouth something to do other than scream. Kane’s own mouth was busy, gnawing at what he could reach of Miki’s shoulder and neck.
The strokes grew longer, picking up in pace, and Miki reached for Kane’s dick, cupping the man’s length as it grew under Kane’s jeans. He tried to work his own hand into the gap between the denim and Kane’s flat belly, but the fit was too tight, leaving Kane’s fat cock out of reach.
“I want to touch you,” Miki pleaded with his lover. “Damn….”