by Layla Reyne
Tasting.
His chocolatey sweet lips and delectable mouth that kept Miller coming back for more. Obsessing over the inviting warmth in each kiss.
The tang of sea spray and smoke that had gathered behind Clancy’s ears and at the base of his throat. The essence of coastal California on the LA boy who’d brought Miller here to experience it with him.
The fresh scent and tart taste of lemon verbena soap that tickled Miller’s nose and tongue as he sucked one then the other of Clancy’s nipples. Bright, so very bright, just like the man himself.
Clancy shuddered, and Miller released him with a parting nip. He buried his face in the wiry patch of hair at the center of Clancy’s chest, lapping up every smell, taste, and sensation.
“Oh, God, yes.” Clancy’s fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there. Denim scraped against Miller’s bare sides, Clancy hitching up his legs, and Clancy’s erection, straining behind his zipper, rutted against Miller’s abdomen. Miller groaned, open-mouthed, into Clancy’s chest, as he rocked back, the friction against his own trapped dick almost unbearable.
Clancy tugged on his hair and Miller levered up, bringing their lips back together, feasting on Clancy’s mouth. On the traces of nutty champagne, spicy pepper, and tart citrus, on the lingering sweetness of the chocolate and vanilla marshmallows, on the want and need infusing Clancy’s taste and stoking his own. Never had Miller wanted someone this badly. It was New Orleans, ratcheted up a thousand.
Clancy hiked his legs higher, like he was trying to climb a rope, and in doing so, dug his ankles into Miller’s back and dragged his cock along his torso. Miller soared higher. He coasted a hand over Clancy’s hip, over his ass, and down the seam of his jeans, rubbing and cupping him between his legs, teasing the heat and hardness.
“We’ll get there,” Miller promised.
Clancy shoved his head back into the pillow and groaned. The strangled, needy sound would haunt Miller’s wet dreams for eternity, but it wasn’t enough to deter him from his mission. He nipped and licked his way down Clancy’s arched neck. “I want to taste every inch of you first, while I still can.”
Clancy lifted his head and, hand in Miller’s hair, yanked his back, demanding his gaze. With his glasses off, Clancy probably couldn’t see him well, but Miller sure as fuck could see him. Pupils blown out, lips kiss swollen, cheeks a bright attractive red. His serious-as-a-heart-attack expression, though, dominated the lust. “We’ve been on this tour together. I want to taste you too.”
Voice a whip of demand, there was nothing Miller wouldn’t give him. And what Clancy said was true. He’d been with Miller every step of the tour, fully engaged in the food and destinations. He’d thrown himself into the experience one hundred percent, proving that nothing was on his no-no list. Miller couldn’t have asked for a better companion. If Clancy wanted to fully immerse himself in this experience too, then the more pleasure for the both of them.
“Okay, Doc.” He moved off Clancy so they could strip the rest of the way. It’d been years since he’d done a sixty-nine, but if this was his last time... He shook off the thought, putting away tomorrow and focusing on tonight, living in this moment, with the man he’d spend tonight with, if he couldn’t have all the tomorrows with him. He raced to catch up with Clancy, who already had his pants and boxers off. Miller added his to the pile of discarded clothing and shifted to roll onto his back.
Clancy caught him by the shoulder, hauling him front to front again. He nuzzled under Miller’s chin and dropped kisses along his jaw. “Want you on top.”
Despite most of his blood rushing south, Miller had a tiny amount still left in his head. “I’m too heavy.”
“You’re not.” Clancy inched up and stole a peck on the lips. Miller stole more, carding his fingers through Clancy’s thick, soft hair and crushing their mouths together, wanting more than a peck, more than just a second.
Clancy broke for air and rested his forehead against Miller’s. “Want you on me, around me.” He skated a hand down Miller’s spine, over his ass, and tipped him forward, demanding more of his weight and bringing their cocks into rutting contact. “Please,” he said with a roll of his hips.
The last bit of Miller’s blood raced south, to the other head presently in the driver’s seat. “Fuck, okay, but stop that if I’ve got any hope of lasting.”
Clancy laughed, and the warm, bright sound and rumble of his body did Miller no favors. Before it was too late, he pushed up onto his hands and knees, swiveled the other direction, and straddled Clancy, knees on either side of his head. He stretched forward, hands roaming down the length of Clancy’s body, over the ridges and dips off his abdomen, and along the line of dark hair bisecting his pelvis. Miller fanned out his hands, fingers splayed, and traced the model-worthy hipbones on the way down to lean, strong thighs, which Miller nudged farther apart.
Clancy dug his fingers into Miller’s ass cheeks, tilting his ass up, his cock down, and closed his lips over the head, sucking hard. Miller indulged in the hot, wet suction for a moment then pulled up and out, still wanting to savor more of Clancy before losing his mind. Clancy groaned and arched beneath him, cock straining and glistening. Miller wanted to taste it, taste him, but he couldn’t skip to the main course without savoring the starters. One quick flick of his tongue over the head, an amuse-bouche, before he skated his nose down Clancy’s length and buried his face in the patch of dark hair. Miller inhaled and licked. Freshness gave way to musk, man, and sweat.
Clancy’s hands ran up his legs and curled around the front of his thighs. “Fucking tease.”
“I’m savoring.”
“I’m starving,” Clancy replied, then swallowed Miller’s cock to the root.
Miller shook, hands slipping off Clancy’s thighs and planting in the bed. He curled his fingers in the sheets and struggled to hold himself up, to not thrust into the scorching heat. Clancy wasn’t helping, using his hands around his thighs to spread them farther, to bring Miller lower, down on top of him like he’d wanted. Clancy swallowed, throat clenching around his tip, and Miller wobbled, arms going weak. There was no way not to thrust, which only revved Clancy more. A groan danced up Miller’s spine and Clancy’s cock swelled, demanding attention. Miller welcomed the distraction from his own building pleasure. He took hold of Clancy’s erection, hand around the base, and lowered his mouth to the head, sucking it between his lips and teasing the slit with the tip of his tongue. Salty, sweet, smoky, with a touch of that brightness he’d forever associate with Clancy. More perfectly balanced than anything he’d ever tasted. He swirled his tongue around the head, like he had that hunk of bread around the soup bowl in Wyoming. Soaking up all the delicious flavor. Miller hummed with delight. He carefully took Clancy’s cock down farther, and Clancy sucked him harder in return. A feedback loop of the very best kind.
Balance restored and rhythm steady, Miller used his free hand to tease Clancy’s thigh, loving the ripple of tense muscles beneath his fingertips. He loved it even more when he got a full shudder for teasing Clancy’s taint and fondling his balls. Clancy bucked, causing a twinge of pain in Miller’s throat, but Clancy quickly corrected. Before Miller could even dwell on it, he was distracted again by Clancy’s spit-slick finger teasing his hole. Balance and rhythm faltered, Miller’s entire body quaking, as Clancy teased the sensitive nerves around his entrance. Clancy pushed in and Miller gasped, overwhelmed with the sensation of being stretched open.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he groaned. Giving up any semblance of strength, he stretched out his arms, fingers tangling in the wiry hairs on Clancy’s legs, and buried his face at the base of Clancy’s cock. He kissed and teased while thrusting into Clancy’s mouth in time with those long, talented fingers.
Fingers that found his prostate and nearly sent Miller over the edge. If he didn’t stop this now, it was all going to be over, and as stretched out as he was from the main course, he didn’
t want to miss dessert.
He pulled out and up, and Clancy’s mewl almost ruined Miller’s plan. Almost had him sinking back down, but his empty ass clenched, reminding him of what he needed. He rotated, and had to pause to admire the gorgeous man beneath him. If Clancy had looked delectable before, the effect was ten times more powerful now. Hair mussed, eyes half lidded, cheeks red, and lips glistening. Miller had to taste him again, taste them, and it was better than any kiss they’d shared before. His own flavor added to the addictive mix that was Clancy’s. Like the ounce of Campari that turned a martini, a drink Miller couldn’t stand, into his favorite Negroni. He drank until his head spun, until Clancy wrapped a hand around their cocks and reminded him of the last course. He tore himself from Clancy’s mouth and kissed a path to his ear. “Need you to fuck me,” he whispered.
Clancy jolted, stroke faltering, and Miller drew back to find his half-lidded eyes gone wide. Not the first time he’d gotten that reaction, the usual assumption being he was a top. He smiled and kissed his way back down Clancy’s neck. “You’ve already got me half open.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“I’m versatile, but prefer to bottom.”
Clancy’s smile met his as they kissed again. “Whatever you want, I’m game.” He resumed his torturous, wonderful strokes. “But I still want you on top.”
“I need to get—”
Clancy flung out an arm toward the side table.
Miller stretched over, yanked open the drawer, and found condoms and lube inside. He dropped the bottle onto the bed and began ripping into the condom packet. “Prepared.”
Clancy stilled his motions with a hand on Miller’s cheek. “Hopeful.”
Tears sprang out of nowhere, stinging the backs of Miller’s eyes. He angled his face into Clancy’s palm, hiding the wave of emotion that crashed over him. Clancy brushed his thumb over his lips. “Put the condom on me, Miller, and make love to me, please.”
Miller blinked back the tears and kissed Clancy’s palm. “I can do that.” He finished opening the condom and rolled it onto Clancy’s dick. Clancy whimpered, back bowing with restraint, and Miller bent over him, kissing his sternum, teasing his nipples, and licking into the hollow of his throat. “Almost there,” he said, before snagging the lube and righting himself.
He squirted a generous amount into his hand, tossed the bottle next to the pillow, and rose on his knees, reaching behind himself to finish the prep Clancy had started.
Clancy’s gaze burned. “Fuck that’s hot.” He grabbed the lube, squirting some into his own hand and stroking himself, until he couldn’t take it any longer. He shoved his head back into the pillow, keening, “Now, now, now.”
More than ready, Miller knee-walked forward, reached behind himself to take hold of Clancy’s slick cock, and positioned it at his entrance. He sank down, past the brief burst of pain until all that remained was sated fullness. Miller clenched his ass, feeling every inch of Clancy inside him.
Clancy wrapped a hand around Miller’s right arm, over the tattoo, and pulled Miller down on top of him. “Come here.” He planted his feet in the mattress, making it easier for Miller to push back on his cock, finding their rhythm as they kissed.
Fuck, it was perfect. Clancy was perfect. Everywhere around him, in him, warm and bright, as if he could push away all the darkness.
As if.
He couldn’t. It was too late. Miller found this, found Clancy, too late.
He felt the sting of tears again, the wetness he couldn’t hold back, and he sat upright before the tears splashed down on Clancy’s face. But his rhythm faltered, too tossed around inside to hide from the outside. Clancy’s scrunched-closed eyes popped open. He was up the next second, chest to chest, even as they stayed connected, rocking back into rhythm.
“Hey.” He cupped Miller’s face, brushing away the tears. “Talk to me.”
The love shining out of his eyes made the tears come faster. “Why can’t you be mine?” Miller choked out.
Clancy leaned forward, kissing the wetness away. “I am, Miller. You just have to stay with me. Please, stay.”
Could he? Would Clancy’s brightness be enough to see him through the darkness ahead? Or would Miller only bring him pain? Only set himself up for a harder crash into the water? Would it all turn to black?
Clancy’s answering kiss was anything but dark. It was full of fire, of conviction, of promise. As was the sure stroke of his hand around Miller’s cock and the firm hold of the other one around his neck. As if he could dissolve the lump there with the sheer force of his love.
As if.
Maybe...
When they came together, there were stars behind Miller’s eyes. Bright and stunning.
* * *
Clancy woke with a start, instantly alert like he’d been yesterday morning. Except this jolt to consciousness hadn’t been peaceful. Something had triggered the part of his brain that’d been conditioned and trained to respond to emergencies. Something that had him reaching for the stethoscope that wasn’t around his neck.
Also missing, the man he’d shared his bed with last night.
Retching—hard and painful, punctuated by heaving gasps and a muffled grunt of pain—split the silent night.
Fuck.
Clancy scrambled out of bed, shoved on his glasses, and grabbed his phone off the side table. He raced to the bathroom, skidding to a halt in the doorway. If he hadn’t been trained to stay calm in the face of all manner of medical horrors, he would have lost it right then, and every bit of his dinner from the night before too. It wasn’t the worst he’d seen, but this was Miller—his skin a sickly shade of pale, his top mop of curls a matted mess, and his lips dappled with bright red blood. His knuckles too, where they were white-knuckling the rim of the toilet bowl.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Kicking into action, Clancy snatched a hand towel off the vanity, dowsed it in cool water, and dropped to his knees beside Miller. Blue eyes flickered to him, an apology and a plea in them, before another round of vomiting forced Miller back over the bowl.
Clancy held the damp rag to his forehead and threw his other arm around Miller’s shoulders, struggling to get a grip on the hot, sweaty skin. Retching this hard would leave Miller sore for days, and Clancy aimed to minimize the violence to his body. But it was the blood that worried him most, more of it coming up with the remnants of Miller’s dinner.
Once the heaving subsided, Miller sank back on his haunches. He didn’t resist as Clancy pulled him into his arms, cradling him against his chest. Clancy lowered the damp rag from his forehead to his lips, wiping them clean, before tossing the towel into the sink.
Miller pressed his face into the crook of Clancy’s neck. Even after the cool cloth, the lingering heat was worrisome. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“We need to get you to the hospital.”
Miller shook his head. “It’ll pass.”
“Who’s the doctor here?” He grabbed his phone off the vanity.
“It was you.”
“Exactly.” He pulled up the dial pad and hit 9-1-1.
Miller closed a hand over his before he could press Send. “It was you.” His hazy eyes took too long to focus, whether from the tears or the fever, Clancy wasn’t sure, but it only escalated his concern. “When ‘Black’ was playing,” Miller said, “I was thinking about you.” Giving up the fight, he sagged against Clancy’s shoulder and closed his eyes. “You’re so fucking bright.” Tears spilled, hot and wet on Clancy’s skin. “But not my sky.”
Clancy cradled the back of his head and kissed his forehead. “I want it to be yours, Miller.”
“Why can’t you be mine?”
Those words, uttered during their lovemaking.
Clancy recalled standing on the bar at Eli O’s, wailing out the same, Miller’s gaze locked on him. It hadn’t been about
Sloan. It’d been about him.
Miller sank heavily against his body, his pulse racing and breath ragged.
“Miller! Miller!” Clancy forced his shaking hand holding the phone to still and pressed Send. “Stay with me!” he urged Miller, lips to his forehead, praying for a miracle, as the phone rang.
“Love you, Doc.”
He was gone before Clancy could say the words back.
Chapter Ten
Miller’s senses came back online one at a time, registering his surroundings.
The steady annoying beep that woke him.
A chemical smell that made his nose twitch, and a chemical taste on his tongue that made him want to take a pastry scraper to it. Antiseptic and medicinal, and not in the interesting Laphroaig sort of way.
He had a pretty good idea where he was.
The rough material against his legs and torso confirmed as much. He moved to lift the scratchy gown off his skin, but a sharp pinch to the back of his hand made him wince and drop his hand back to the bed.
Scotch, or better yet a Vieux Carré, would be good right about now. Something to blank his mind and turn his senses back off. Make him forget...
A hand closed over his. Its delicate weight, sure hold, and long nails were as familiar to Miller as his own hands. He knew whose arm that hand was attached to without even opening his eyes. But he did, to his best friend at his hospital bedside.
“Hey, babe,” Sloan said, sounding as tired as she looked. Her red hair was pulled into a sloppy topknot, her blue eyes were shadowed by dark circles, and her smile was fleeting at best.
Miller tried to speak and managed a pitiful croak. Everything—lips, tongue, mouth, throat—were dry, like he’d swallowed a whole bag of cotton balls. Fuck, this was worse than a hangover.