“It’s like five years.” Damien pulled down Sionn’s pants and caught them on his folded knees. “Tell me you’ve fucked somebody at least once since then. I’m fine if I have to break you back into things. Might take us a few tries, but, dude, I’m totally willing to put in the time.”
“Not here. You’re the first guy I’ve had in my place,” he growled, pushing Damien’s hand away from his cock. “Hold on there, Damie boy. Let me see what I’ve got.”
The nightstand held little, and it should have been simple enough to grab the paper bag printed with a local drugstore’s logo, but he had to move his gun case to get to it. The shuffle of metal perked Damien’s attention, and the man leaned over Sionn’s shoulder to peer into the open drawer.
“You got any naughty toys….” He trailed off when he spotted the black box. “Is that a gun?”
“Yeah. I was a bodyguard, remember? It was a part of my job.” Sionn closed the drawer quickly, tossing the bag onto the bed. With his dick hanging out, its foreskin peeled back around its head, Sionn didn’t think it was a good time to talk about what he’d done, but Damien’s frown boded ill. Cocking his head at the man, he gave Damie a measuring look. “You okay with it?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Damien kissed him, sliding his skillful tongue over Sionn’s lips. “I just want to make sure you’re good. I know it was rough.”
Damien’s hand was on his thigh, rubbing at the healed-over scar there. The man’s gaze searched his face, raw with need but tempered with a compassion that hurt when Sionn realized it was for him.
“I’ll be okay,” Sionn heard himself promise. The darkness lurking at the edges of his mind sank its fangs into his thoughts, and he shoved it away, wanting only to focus on the man in his bed and not the blood he’d gotten on his hands. He did a quick check of the bag’s contents and tossed a bottle of raspberry-flavored lube and a couple of foils on the bed. “Wrappers are good. We’ve got three years left on them, so I’ll be fine.”
“Good.” If he’d thought Damien’s smile was sinful before, Sionn was introduced to an entirely different level of lust when the man’s skillful fingers began to stroke at his dick. Playing with the edges of Sionn’s foreskin, Damien tugged light enough to send a shockwave of sensations through him. “I really want to see how this tastes.”
“You should—” Sionn held out a wrapper, crinkling its edge beneath Damien’s nose. “You can’t trust—”
“You’re a fucking Boy Scout, Irish,” Damien sighed but took the condom. “Next time, we’ll stop someplace and bleed on a stick so I can get my mouth around that for real. I have never wanted to taste someone like I want to taste you.”
Next time.
The thought of Damien’s pout wrapped around his bare cock thrilled him. Even as the stretch of latex numbed the skin on his dick, he ached to feel the roughness of Damie’s tongue on him with nothing to separate them but spit and occasionally air. A next time was too much to hope for. As much of a soap-bubble promise as anything could be.
But it was good to dream.
He let Damien move him until he was against the headboard, his knees up and spread apart. The air was a cool touch on the inside of his thighs, and it licked at his crease, tickling lightly at the warmth of his body. The bed dipped when the black-haired guitarist knelt between his legs. When Damien slipped his hand down to grip his length, Sionn leaned back and inhaled sharply at the first touch of hot tongue lapping at his captured dick.
He was thick enough to strain Damien’s lower lip, and he hissed when Damie pulled away and he suddenly felt a sharp rub at the root of his sac. Damien wrestled a bit of skin from the soft, pillowy heaviness between his teeth, the gentle tugging a tingle of starbursts along Sionn’s sensitive balls. With his thumb and middle finger firmly clamped on Sionn’s base, Damien let go, then lowered his mouth and took Sionn to places he didn’t know existed.
Damien’s lips pulled at him, closing on his length. The man took all of him in, slowly working down Sionn’s cock until he thought he’d go mad. Sionn carded his fingers through the man’s mane, pulling Damie’s soft hair between his fingers, and he threaded through the black, reaching down with his other hand to caress the splashes of ink on Damie’s spine. The tug and pull grew faster, a hot sleeve of wet suction he could feel even through the latex, and then a whisper of a finger along his opening nearly undid him.
“Fucking hell,” Sionn growled, yanking the man up. “Turn over. I’ve got to be in you, love. I can’t take this anymore.”