Fall Apart

by SE Culpepper

  Damon kept glancing between the picture and the real thing, a smile forming. “Are you kidding? I’m thirty-three.”

  “Ouch!” Alarik winced. “It’s worse than I thought.”

  “Come on. You’re my age, right?”

  Alarik groaned and took his time finding the corkscrew. “I’m afraid not, young man. I’ll be thirty-eight in December.”

  A genuinely surprised gasp left Damon’s mouth, but he didn’t seem displeased by their age difference. “You look younger than I do.” He shook his head thoughtfully, waving the picture again. “The thirteen-year-old Damon would’ve wanted you, too. I would’ve been jacking off every half-hour over you.”

  “Every half hour?” he flushed. “Impressive stamina!”

  Damon lifted a shoulder playfully and set the picture back on the desk. “Well… Any job worth doing…”

  Alarik was wrestling with the wine bottle in a decidedly unimpressive way, so his laughter didn’t cover much distance. The cork finally came out and he cursed under his breath.

  “Tell me I’m dapper and give my ego a little stroke, Mr. Wright. You know you want to.”

  “I might’ve wanted to a minute ago, but then I saw the way you open a bottle of wine. You’re not actually supposed to prop it between your knees, you know.”

  Alarik lifted the bottle high and with a flourish, poured each of them a glass. “It was either I do that, or smash it open on the counter. Besides, a man does what he must when the goal is to ply you with drink and have his way with you.”

  Damon approached, his lips tilted up on one side in a crooked half-smile. The sweater hung so perfectly on his body that it was becoming difficult for Alarik to think of anything but removing it and running his mouth over the skin beneath. If he let his eyes wander south to those denim-clad legs, he’d very likely embarrass himself.

  He remembered the sensation of Damon’s hands on his waist earlier, moving upward over his ribs to his back, and a shiver of pleasure swept down his spine. His body heated like he was lying naked beneath the Arizona sun.

  Holding out a glass between unsteady fingers, Alarik knew it’d be a miracle if he could make it through half his drink before he begged to be touched.

  With a teasing look, Damon inspected his wine for floating pieces of cork and took a sip. “It’s good,” he murmured, “but you don’t need the wine to have your way with me.”

  He set his glass down, then took Alarik’s and did the same. “Are you going to show me the rest of the place? I’m a guest, after all.” His tone was heavy with meaning and Alarik couldn’t stop watching those lips and the way they moved. If he wasn’t focused on Damon’s mouth, his eyes were darting from one inappropriate place to the next. He needed to gather himself. Normally in these situations, he was completely in control, but this time, he was second-guessing.

  There was a part of him yelling, “It’s just sex, man. Pull it together.”

  But it wasn’t just sex. He wanted this to be so much more.

  Alarik took a fortifying breath and focused. “You’re pretty cheeky for a man who’s supposed to be my sex slave.”

  A smile of seductive intent touched Damon’s lips and he strode slowly to the modern staircase. At the foot, he paused and leaned against the railing. “Put me to work, then,” he challenged. “I’ll earn my keep.”

  Alarik liked a little push and pull. His own nerves vanishing, he slipped his hands in his pockets and crossed the room slowly enough to make his heart pound with each step. He flicked a sideways glance at Damon as he passed, but he didn’t stop, making it halfway up the stairs before he was sure of pursuit.

  At the top of the stairs he pointed casually at the first two rooms, “The loo’s just there, and my office and studio space is the next room.”

  “And over here?” Damon pointed toward the closed door of the master bedroom and squeezed by to run a hand over the wood. “Is this where you’ll keep me?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Damon waited for Alarik to answer with his usual languid humor, but he was silent as he moved closer, blocking Damon in. His gray eyes, framed by dark lashes, were all Damon could see. Alarik had a faint scar at the edge of his left eye that was only noticeable up close with the light just so. What happened there, he wondered.

  As the music changed downstairs, a new beat pounded up through the floorboards and Damon’s body responded to it as it had with the first song Alarik played. It was slow, heavy, with wistful violin accents. When the singer got to the chorus, his voice was supported with some sort of electronic percussion that made Damon picture his body locked with Alarik’s as they moved together. God, it was too fucking much for him.

  Walking his hands down over Alarik’s hips, he dug his fingers in and slowly thrust forward. A grunt escaped just as the music picked up and a sweet, small gasp followed on its heels.

  “Mmm, Damon,” Alarik murmured, and very slowly, like he was feeling the music in the same way, he ran his hands beneath Damon’s sweater, lifting it and dragging the undershirt with it. The movement forced Damon’s arms over his head and in seconds he was naked from the waist up. The cool air started goose bumps over his exposed skin, and he watched as Alarik reached out and ran a hand over his chest, his fingertips gliding lightly over the patch of auburn chest hair down to his belly button where he stopped and went back the other way.

  “I’ve been waiting to touch you like this.” Alarik lowered his head and brushed his lips from one pectoral to the other, his thumb brushing over a nipple before capturing it with his mouth.

  Damon bit down on his lip, trying to control his body’s response as his fingers spread through Alarik’s silken hair. There was some fiddling with the doorknob behind him and suddenly, the wood holding him in place disappeared. Alarik’s arm shot around him and held him firmly while they moved to the bed, paying little attention to their surroundings.

  His legs bumped against the mattress, but Alarik was still holding him too tightly for them to lose their balance and fall backward. The attention the other man had been lavishing on Damon’s skin hadn’t let up. His lips, his lush mouth, were moving everywhere, robbing Damon of breath.

  With zero finesse, Damon yanked the button-up shirt from Alarik’s trousers and whipped it away before starting on the zipper. His fingers fumbled but he finally managed it, his hands dipping beneath the fabric until he was cupping Alarik’s ass and groaning with pleasure over the smooth muscles in his hands.

  Their embrace tightened impossibly, their hardening cocks clashing with the clothing left between them. Shoes were kicked off, socks disappeared, and Damon’s jeans were shucked away.

  He let his eyes travel down over Alarik’s body and his heart nearly stopped at the sight of the man’s underwear. They were black and tiny, giving meaning to the word “brief.” It seemed like the words Emporio Armani on the waistband used up more fabric than the rest of the underwear altogether. Damon had been plucked from his ho-hum world, dropped down into some kind of sexual heaven, and he was definitely underdressed.

  The head of Alarik’s cock was flirting with Damon from the waistband of those shorts and it took a moment of concentrated focus to take in the very lean, willowy body on display in front of him. This—all of it—was exactly what Damon liked.

  “Oh my God,” he said huskily, trailing a hand over the bare, milky-white skin before grabbing him roughly around the waist and twisting them toward the mattress. Alarik laughed, the sexy rumble vibrating in both of their chests.

  Damon stretched his body over Alarik’s and grinned as he was bucked upward by a quick hip thrust. His dick was throbbing now, pressed between them and tucked perfectly next to Alarik’s. The skin on his body went taut like he’d stepped from the sun into the shade, and he wanted to curse with the pleasure.

  Alarik’s body was smaller than his own, lean like a middleweight boxer, but Damon realized this was misleading when he was unceremoniously flipped onto his back and straddled like it was nothing. That creamy sk
in was mesmerizing as he lay there panting, looking up over Alarik’s muscled torso to his face.

  He gripped the other man’s hips and at the same time he jacked his own hips upward, he pressed Alarik downward. The friction as their bodies moved together made his brain ping an alarm.

  His fingers wrapped around that Emporio Armani waistband and jerked it down as far as their position would allow so he could see everything: the short, dark blond hair, the rigid, rosy cock…

  “Fuck, Alarik,” he breathed in utter gratification.

  The laughter he heard in response was masculine and powerful with a direct connection to Damon’s groin.

  “Mr. Wright,” Alarik licked into his mouth, his bare chest sliding over Damon’s. “Such a charmer.” He rocked left and right, removing his microscopic underwear so he was entirely naked, and pressed himself down on Damon.

  His supple lips left burning tracks across Damon’s collarbones, over his chest to his stomach, and made him arch off the bed. Alarik pulled on Damon’s underwear, dropping kisses and swiping newly exposed skin with his tongue as it appeared. Beneath that masterful mouth, Damon couldn’t keep his body from writhing. His skin was so sensitive, his heart was pounding and he let out a muted plea for more.

  Alarik stroked him once from base to tip before surrounding his arousal with a warm, wet mouth.

  “Uhhhnn—Damn!”

  Damon’s fingers clenched in Alarik’s hair as he pumped his hips slowly in and out of that hot, seeking mouth. Fucking velvet tongue and hands like silk, he thought, arching again. They had to stop or he was going to come too soon. Mother of God…I can’t—!

  Damon growled harshly and tugged Alarik up with a hasty grip beneath his arms. At the same time, he rolled them over so he could look down into Alarik’s intoxicating gray gaze. His chest was pumping, his heart thrumming against the other man’s chest.

  Alarik lifted his head, asking for a kiss, his lips always on the verge of smiling. Damon wrapped both arms around him, pulling him up off the mattress as he kissed him with all the energy within him. This was like settling down into a perfect, safe place. He was enthralled, joyful.

  Damon broke the kiss and whispered against Alarik’s pillowed lips, “I’ve never felt like this… I can’t describe it. I don't even know what it is.”

  Alarik slid his hand between them and Damon gasped when fingers surrounded him. “Show me if you can’t say it,” Alarik breathed his response. “Show me.”

  Damon crushed their mouths together, thrusting into his lover’s hand for a beat before rolling him onto his stomach. Alarik let him, his ass lifting invitingly as he moaned in pleasure. He pointed restlessly at the bedside table where a condom he’d dropped waited, and with the other hand, he reached back over his shoulder, grabbed Damon by the nape and brought his mouth down once more.

  They kissed only a moment before Damon had to taste Alarik’s skin. He nipped along his spine and lower back, over the curve of his glutes and into the valley between. His tongue gently attended to Alarik and Damon held him tenderly in place against the exquisite torture. He’d never done this before… He almost didn’t want to stop.

  They were equally hard, aching with the need to be one. Damon thrust two fingers into Alarik’s mouth, wetting them before reaching between them and trading tongue for fingers. Alarik’s growl was deep and so erotic that Damon had to hold his breath and flex each muscle in his body to hold back an orgasm. His breaths were coming too fast, his heart beating at an impossible pace.

  Shhh, calm. Calm. Calm…

  When Alarik was ready and when Damon was in control of himself, he carefully pressed inside, allowing his lover to govern the pace. His hands ran over Alarik’s skin as he was consumed by sensation. Tight, hot…so good, he thought distractedly.

  Rocking his hips slowly at first, then faster as he was encouraged by his man’s sensual growls, he leaned over until he could stroke Alarik at the same time. His shoulders and arms began to quiver with the exertion and sweat dripped between them as the minutes passed.

  Alarik’s breath was ragged and it wasn’t long before he was entwining his own fingers with Damon’s and they were stroking his shaft together in long, smooth pulls. Damon thrust forward again and again, the compact heat creating an avalanche of feeling that was falling over both of them. His ears were ringing and his eyes squeezed shut as his balls tightened. I’m coming… I’m coming— A strobe of white light flashed behind his closed lids.

  “Damon!” Alarik cried his name, his body jerking as his cock jumped in their hands. They caught his orgasm together and the warm, sticky sweetness pushed Damon past the limit.

  He dug both hands into Alarik’s sides, the semen on his hand trailing over his body. Each thrust brought a grunt of sheer satisfaction until his orgasm shot him forward.

  “Mmmm…” he moaned, still twitching with sensation. “Ungh…!”

  As Alarik’s body milked him to the last, his thrusts grew weaker until his muscles gave out entirely.

  “My God, Alarik,” Damon murmured as he turned onto his side, keeping Alarik connected and tucked in close to his chest.

  “Damon,” Alarik answered, completely breathless.

  The music was still playing downstairs and filtering upward. Every now and then Damon thought he heard a familiar word or two. Something about kissing or falling in love. He breathed in deeply and wrapped Alarik even tighter in his arms.

  This does feel like falling in love. His eyes fluttered closed and he breathed in Alarik’s scent, tasting the skin at his nape.

  “Damon,” Alarik whispered.

  10301300010

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The clock read just after four a.m. when Alarik woke. He blinked a few times, for some reason expecting to see the hotel room in Santa Barbara instead of his own bedroom in L.A. His entire right side was toasty warm and he turned his head to find Damon asleep, curled on his side and tucked in close. Alarik’s heart swelled a bit at the sight; it was so boyish and innocent.

  The stereo was still on downstairs, slowly working its way through his iPod library. As quietly as he could, he slipped from bed and out into the hallway, shutting the door gently behind him. The air was cold on his naked ass and he tiptoed to the thermostat to get some heat moving. He didn’t know why, but he always had trouble sleeping with company in his bed. There weren’t a lot of long-term relationships in his history, but the few that lasted longer than six months, meant he’d spent about three months getting used to sharing a bed. At least Damon was a very quiet sleeper.

  He shut off the music and the lights, poured the glasses of wine into the sink, and dragged the blanket from the back of the couch to cover himself. It was only once he was wrapped up on one end of the couch, looking out on his very small backyard, that he allowed himself to think about last night.

  So passionate. It surpassed his fantasies.

  Alarik adjusted his position, a little sore from the festivities. He rarely bottomed. Very rarely. And he hadn’t expected to bottom with Damon at first, but there was something so possessive about what they experienced together that he’d actually wanted to make himself vulnerable to Damon. He needed the other man to take control with that subtle power of his, and he was rewarded for that trust.

  That first day at the wedding brunch, Alarik never would’ve pegged Damon as such a thoughtful, giving man. He began to see it when Mandy told him about the Wright family’s situation and the way Damon had stepped up. When Alarik made the trip to Ventura and got to witness the other man chatting with his mother, the picture continued to develop. And last night…

  When it came down to the two of them in the moment, Alarik felt for the first time that he might actually be valuable to someone else. Not a “nice lay,” or a “good time,” or an “on the side” thing. If they kept on the way they were, Damon would become essential to him. He wanted to be essential to Damon in return.

  How many days since he saw his Mr. Wright at that brunch? Four. Just four.


  It wasn’t love…yet.

  Smiling a little, he thought about that. “I’m intoxicated,” he whispered to himself, “and I don’t want it to end. I want more all the time.”

  Alarik wanted to see those shy, brilliant smiles Damon doled out so frugally, and he wanted to be the cause of them. They could be great together; he knew it.

  This could be the real thing.

  Quickly doing the math, Alarik retrieved his phone from his bag by the door and scrolled through his contacts. On the second ring his aunt answered, the sound of her sweet voice making his eyes itch with pinpricks.

  “Hello, you!” she exclaimed into his ear. “It’s awfully early your time. Are you alright, darling?”

  “I’m wonderful,” he spoke in Finnish. “I met someone.”

  Aunt Shannon paused for a long moment before giving a fun little laugh. “Tell me everything, gorgeous boy! Does he deserve you?”

  ***

  Sleeping in was a rarity for Damon; he always had somewhere to be and he usually had to be there fast. The sound of the bedroom door opening managed to bring him around and one of the first things he saw was the clock on the bedside table. Damn…10:00.

  He stretched, grunting a little and looked up to see Alarik leaning in the doorway, showered, dressed, and very Mr. Bond. It was so hot.

  “Hi,” he said sleepily, a happy smile stretching over his features.

  “Mr. Wright.” Half of Alarik’s mouth tilted upward alluringly. “You’re my very own sleeping beauty, locked away in the tower.”

  Damon rolled over onto his back and another full-body stretch came on unexpectedly. “Your bed’s so nice. I haven’t slept that well in… Well, maybe not ever.”

  Alarik’s gray eyes traveled the length of him, pausing for a moment at his groin before continuing the journey upward. “I’m glad. I want you to be comfortable here.”