“Enormous,” the man whispered, squeezing again. “But mostly, it’s the chicharrónes.”
“Fecking bastard.” Damien fought him a little, but Sionn eventually won out, stripped off the man’s T-shirt, and tossed it aside. His jeans were more difficult, the job made harder by Damien’s laughter and squirming. “Stop moving. I’m trying to sex you, here.”
“Yeah, you’re fucking romantic.” Grousing, Damien stilled and let Sionn slowly pop the buttons loose on his fly. Bending over the man’s waist, Sionn laved his lover’s exposed skin as he worked his jeans open.
“Ah, I like it when you don’t wear underwear. It makes doing this so much better,” Sionn whispered, then bit into the tender triangle of skin he’d revealed. Mewling, Damien jerked up, his knees coming up slightly under Sionn’s weight. “Ah no, a rún, you stay there and let me drink you down. The taste of you is better than any pint I’ve ever had on my lips.”
A thatch of silken ebony hair peeked up from Damien’s crotch at the next undone button, and Sionn parted the denim, exposing the base of his lover’s slender cock. Its root was flushed pink, straining and slick under its prison, and Sionn kissed its curve before working his fingers under the shaft to free it.
“Irish….” Damien’s mewl turned rough when Sionn’s mouth found the end of his cock, a harsh hitch fluttering his breath. Swallowed down to his base and trapped beneath his lover’s weight, Damien could only dig his fingers into Sionn’s shoulders, his nails creasing Sionn’s pale skin. “Fuck, you look so damned good doing that.”
Sionn didn’t know how much longer he could take having the taste of Damien’s skin and sex in his mouth without having the man’s heat around his own cock. Leaving Damie splayed out on the mattress, he fumbled to reach a bottle of lube, nearly dropping it on the floor. He lobbed the lubricant into the sheets, grabbed Damien’s waistband, and tugged his jeans off the rest of the way, snagging them for a moment on the man’s slender feet.
“God you’re trouble even when you’re just lying here,” Sionn muttered, but he kissed Damien’s anklebone to apologize. The near giggle he got thrilled him, and he grabbed the man’s other foot, nibbling at the taut tendon above his heel until Damien began to beg.
“Dude, stop. Come on, no fucking tickling. Shit, I’m going to pee the damned bed.” Kicking, he nearly took out Sionn’s nose, and he dodged out of the way, stroking at the spot he’d left nearly soaking wet. The fingers Damie used to coax music out of steel and wood now tangled into Sionn’s hair, yanking him up in an almost painfully tight grip. “Get the hell up here so we can get busy.”
“Aye, and here I thought you were a songwriter. The poetry that comes from that beautiful mouth of yours could make an angel weep.”
Damie growled and tugged again, insistent and needy. “Sinjun’s the fucking poet. I just carve the music out from his words.”
Chuckling, Sionn made his way up Damien’s long legs, stopping to kiss a small scar on Damie’s knee before nibbling up a pale stretch of skin on his thigh. Damien’s cock was already weeping its want, and Sionn cupped its silky mushroom curve into the hollow of his tongue and lapped around the slit, catching the pearly trickle in his mouth.
Cradled between Damien’s thighs, Sionn let his hands roam up his lover’s hips and over his stomach. He reached for Damien’s nipples and played with the deep-plum nubs, coaxing them into tight peaks before grabbing at the lube bottle nestled into the curve of Damien’s side.
“You ready for me, a rún?” He didn’t wait to hear Damien’s answer. It would have been difficult to make it out amid the whimpering cries coming from his lover’s nibbled-on lips. A quick dab of lube on his fingers and Sionn was in, pressing into the crinkled ring tucked between Damien’s quivering ass cheeks.
They wouldn’t last long. Something taut was in the air between them. The secrets they’d shared under the sheets of the room whispered around them, tying the men together. Sionn found part of himself he’d never scraped off his mind, opening up tiny enigmatic pockets inside of himself that Damien took in, handling every soft word and choked-on cry as if it were a delicate treasure.