Daniel’s mouth opened. He didn’t respond for a second, then he sat up, twisted round to face Curtis, took his jaw in both hands, pulled him over and kissed him.
His mouth was soft and tender, and open, tongue darting against Curtis’s lips, and Curtis, amazed and electrified, moved his own tongue tentatively, at first, then more strongly, delighting in the taste, the freedom to explore, in having this at last. It was gentle for a moment, until he felt rather than heard Daniel’s tiny murmur against his mouth and one or both of them started making the kiss harder. Curtis felt Daniel’s hands move over his shoulders and put his own hands on the slender back, and then, with sudden need, pulled him close. Daniel was in his arms now, curving against him, and he was kissing the man so fiercely that he could feel his teeth grinding against his own lips. His mouth was hot and desperate and his hands were clutching Curtis’s hair, and Curtis gave up thinking and concentrated on the sensation of stubble against his skin, the mouth devouring his own with painful hunger, and the slender body wrapping itself around his as though Daniel wanted to press himself inside Curtis’s skin.
Gradually the kiss grew less frantic again, but the need underneath it had built to a point of urgency. Curtis ran his hands over Daniel’s hair and face, careful not to scrape scar tissue against softer flesh, and down and under his jacket. Daniel’s hands were on his own shirt buttons, and Curtis felt the cold air as the linen was pushed back. Somehow they managed to get the layers of impeding clothing undone without entirely breaking the kiss, though Daniel cursed against Curtis’s lips as he struggled with a cuff, until they were clinging together, chest to chest, mouth to mouth.
Curtis pulled back to look at Daniel. His jaw was shaded dark with stubble, hair tousled, that irresistible nipple ring winking bright in the shadowy room, and he was watching Curtis with something like awe.
“Look at you.” Daniel traced a fingertip around the bulky pectorals, over the thick abdominal muscles, up Curtis’s uninjured arm, and back over his broad shoulders. “You are a Viking.”
“What does that make you?”
“The wrong side of Europe.”
Daniel’s fingertips brushed Curtis’s nipples. He stiffened, not quite sure if he liked that, and with his usual quick understanding, Daniel ran his fingers away. They headed down, instead, and Curtis felt the buttons at his waist give. He reached for Daniel’s waistband at the same time, and as he manipulated the fastenings one-handed, Daniel shifted forward and claimed his mouth again. Then they were kissing hard once more, rocking back and forth, Curtis’s big powerful hand wrapped round both cocks, holding them together. Daniel grunted and went backwards, pulling Curtis down on top of him so that they lay on the nest of blankets, entwined and still half-clothed, thrusting against each other with increasing urgency. Daniel was hard and hot in Curtis’s hand, moaning into his mouth, and now it was all about the bewildering pleasure of Daniel’s abandoned writhing, the smooth body under him, most of all the warm, mobile lips open against his own. He was kissing Daniel when he came.
He rocked back and forth with the last shudders of orgasm, holding himself tight against Daniel, hand wet and slippery. Daniel was taking longer, and as soon as he had his breath back, Curtis shifted position, still working him with his hand, and brought his mouth to Daniel’s nipple, eliciting what could only be called a squeal. That was good, but he wanted, needed more. He wanted to make Daniel come apart, wanted to do what he should have done days ago, so he gathered up his courage and headed south.
“Curtis,” gasped Daniel as he tentatively licked his cock. It was very smooth, and wet, and tasted musky and—well, that must be the taste of spunk, of course. It was slippery, and more astringent than he’d have thought, but not unpleasant. He moved his mouth over the head, unsure of what he was doing, but gaining confidence from Daniel’s quivering stiffness.
“God. Are you sure—don’t—”
“I want to,” Curtis mumbled, and tried moving his head up and down, as Daniel had done to him.
“Oh sweet heaven mother fuck.” Daniel’s hips were jerking. “Fuck. Curtis—”
Curtis pulled his mouth away. “Archie.”
“Archie.” It was almost reverent.
Curtis concentrated on Daniel then, his taste, the shape of him in his mouth, the glorious noises of pleasure he made. He could feel his own body stirring again as he sucked and licked. He’d always assumed the act would be unpleasant, at best a service or a chore. He hadn’t realised how much one might want to give someone that gift, how astonishing it was to feel the jerks and twitches, hear the whimpers, know one had caused them. He hadn’t understood that sucking off a man was not at all the same thing as making love to Daniel.