Jack, still fully clothed and now sitting on the side of the bed, set aside the last garment. He let his gaze travel from Alan’s face to his feet and back again without changing his expression. A squirming feeling filled Alan’s legs. He couldn’t find a position that didn’t feel awkward.
“You’re welcome to dash out the door now,” said Jack. “Show everyone what you are.”
Before Alan could muster a response, Jack bent down and put his mouth to Alan’s nipple and sucked ruthlessly hard.
The sensation, coming out of nowhere, punched through Alan. He nearly shouted, his torso jerking, his cock beginning to stiffen against his stomach. Jack’s fingers scraped down his side, armpit to hip. Then Jack’s mouth again, this time over his collarbone.
Whatever Alan had expected, it wasn’t this: this series of devastating, deliberate touches, everywhere on his body but the length of his cock, where blood was tightening with every passing moment. His skin was alive, prickling with need, and he let his whimpers of complaint get steadily louder. Jack watched him as if he were an experiment, and left marks all over Alan where he’d sucked blood to the skin, whispering filth in between. Only a born tart would writhe like that. Jack would make it so that the next time he released Alan there would be no begrudging agreement. Alan would beg to stay in his bed.
“I won’t beg you for a thing,” Alan managed. “Not a fucking—oh, Christ,” his voice rising, as Jack took sudden hold of his balls. Alan’s cock was completely hard. He glared at Jack, unsure how to remain in character and still demand that Jack take his clothes off now and do what he’d promised.
Jack seemed to hear it. He left Alan and undressed himself—taking his time about it, casting the occasional satisfied glance at the bed as if pleased with his handiwork. Alan wouldn’t beg, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to move. Especially because Jack, too, was fully aroused, and returned to the bed with a promising pot of lotion.
“How do I want you?” Jack mused. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. I’ll have you every possible way, eventually.”
Jack could guarantee nothing past tomorrow, and they both knew it. Alan still went hot all over at the thought. He barely managed to catch the pot when Jack tossed it at him.
“Open that,” Jack said.
While Alan did so, Jack took commanding hold of Alan’s legs and bent them up, planting Alan’s feet wide on the bed. He gave each globe of Alan’s arse another of those possessive squeezes along the way, and then set a hand flat over Alan’s stomach.
“There. This way I’ll see that pretty face as you’re coming around my prick.”
Alan’s pulse was thudding through his body and against Jack’s splayed palm. It was an odd sensation. He was going to lose his mind looking at Jack’s fingers. His arse was already clenching around nothing. He didn’t want this to be slow and luxurious, or even painless.
“Jack.” He held out the opened pot. “Don’t take too long with it.”
A tiny nod of acknowledgement. Jack was businesslike and fast, one slick finger getting Alan used to the stretch. It had been quite some time since anyone else was involved in Alan’s physical pleasure. Even longer since he’d been fucked by a real cock.
Jack slicked his own length, too, and a bolt of selfish pleasure went through Alan at the way Jack hissed. At the ravenous, overwhelming look in Jack’s eyes as he knelt between Alan’s legs.
“My lord,” Alan gasped. Christ, he wanted to touch himself. Better if he didn’t. He slid a demanding leg over Jack’s thigh, getting their bodies closer, and Jack helpfully hauled the other one around, too, so Alan could have hooked his ankles together behind Jack’s back if he wanted. Jack was a block of solid heat and Alan could feel the thick muscle of those thighs clenching, the push of Jack against Alan’s opening. “I can’t—you can’t make me—”
“You’re mine, little thief,” said Jack hoarsely, “and you’ll do precisely what I want.”
And he took hold of Alan’s thighs and dragged him, steady and inexorable, onto the length of his prick.
Alan shoved one of his own wrists between his teeth, because he could feel an unwisely loud cry trying to wrench its way out. All his attention was on the flare of almost-too-much between his legs, and the tight ripples of pleasure that dived straight for his spine. He had no leverage to struggle upright, with his hips lifted into Jack’s lap like this, and Jack was setting up a rhythm that Alan could feel in the joints of his shoulders, his elbows, fuck, the top of his bloody skull.
You have to stop.
Alan’s muscles relaxed and he let go of the world. Jack’s pace was hard, his prick substantial, but it did feel luxurious after all—Alan only had to lie there and let Jack hold him where he wanted him, and enjoy being fucked.
He’d almost lost track of his own cock’s existence, blissfully and blearily halfway to coming without it being touched, when Jack paused. Colour had suffused Jack’s cheeks and throat, down across his shoulders and the very top of his chest. Alan stared at the muscles standing out in Jack’s neck and wanted to climb him, claim him, bite him.
He clenched down deliberately, and Jack made a sound like an animal in pain. It was wonderful.
Jack’s eyes glittered darkly and he took hold of Alan’s cock in clear retaliation. It was Alan’s turn for pained noises. He shuddered. All his nerves raced to wind themselves up.
“You’re going to come for me, Cesare,” said Jack. “Exactly when I say.”
“No—”
“Yes.” Inexorable.
It would have taken barely any pressure at all. Jack gripped his prick in the circle of thumb and forefinger and moved them rapidly back and forth, and—wisely leaning into the inevitable—said, “Now,” just as Alan’s body hurled itself over the edge.
It was like being wiped clean. Impossible to worry about anything, to feel tense about anything, when every molecule of the body was awash with pleasure like that. Alan sank deliciously back down from it and into awareness that he’d spattered his chest with his own release—Jack had taken aim, the bastard—and that the still-erect Jack had pulled out of him, leaving a sharp ache.
“What’s the matter?” Alan asked. It sounded more like wazzmadah? He coughed and tried again. “All that talk, and you can’t see it through?”
Giddy daring filled him. He would say anything. He would do anything. He looked at Jack’s hard, reddened length and then right into Jack’s pleasure-blown eyes, and licked his lips. “So much for my pretty face. You won’t even get your precious prick near it.”
It took a second to register. Jack went almost blank with surprise, and then bright with a danger that Alan wanted to burn up in like a moth. Jack leaned down and grabbed hold of Alan’s hair, lifting his head with one hand—that did hurt, the new angle of his neck, but Alan wouldn’t have tapped out for a fortune—and moved up his body, kneeling over him, using the other hand to work his prick hard and fast until his shoulders bowed and the white lines of his own release hit Alan’s neck, and chin, and mouth.