Stay the Night

by Scarlett Parrish

  It was unavoidable when he was standing close enough to feel through our jeans how hard my cock was, close enough for me to see every pore in his skin, every detail of those darkened by the promise of stubble.

  “I bet you’d really love it if I made a move on you right now, wouldn’t you?” Steven taunted. “That way you’d get what you want and you wouldn’t even have to commit to, ooh, making the first move, admitting that you’re not made of stone—”

  “Shut up.”

  “—and the hardest thing about you isn’t that prize boner you’re sporting right now.”

  “Steven, just—”

  “I’ll say something for you, Kit, your cock’s almost as big as your ego. You’ll make some lucky guy a great ex- boyfriend someday—”

  “For God’s sake, will you just—”

  “What? What? Shut up? You’re not doing anything to make me shut up, are you, and you won’t even let me past—”

  I didn’t know whether it was anger or lust that made me push him back and back until he hit the table or one of the chairs, but he laughed, and I wanted him to stop so the only thing I could do that made a blind bit of sense was grab his hair, sink my fingers into those thick black curls and kiss him like I hated him.

  Furniture protested as it slid an inch across the floor and Steven steadied himself by holding onto my waist and not letting go even when he’d regained his footing.

  I couldn’t breathe, I was so desperate to get inside him and leave my mark, but not by fucking him—he wouldn’t want it that way anyway and I didn’t much care. I was born to bottom. Steven was right. I was passive through and through. I just lay there and took whatever he saw fit to give. Take, take, take.

  Until now.

  I just wanted to leave my mark somehow, by tasting every part of his mouth, or clawing my way into his mind while pulling at his hair, or forcing him to just…fucking…God, I didn’t know what.

  “Fuck, are you trying to hurt me?” he panted against my face when we finally pulled apart to breathe. But no way was I letting him go now.

  “No, I was just trying to make you shut up.” I tried to kiss him again but he flinched, not to get away from me, but only to turn his head slightly.

  Fine. Your neck then. I shrugged. Every part of him tasted just as good anyway, and I especially loved that helpless whimper he couldn’t hold in whenever I flicked the tip of my tongue over the curve of his neck right below his ear.

  “Fucking hell, Kit.” Steven’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped back air. I loved that I’d made him breathless. “You really know how to mess with my head, don’t you?”

  “Likewise.” I dipped my head, again going for his neck, but he fought back, shoving with anger or passion, probably more than a little of both and I ended up backed against the worktop against which he’d earlier leaned, his hips pressing hard against mine. Either he was trying to hold me up or hurt me. He managed both and I loved it.

  “I really, really hate you sometimes.” He grabbed at my shirt, pushed it up and out of the way of my waistband and his warm hands on my skin made me shudder.

  God. I needed that. I tugged his hair again, pulled him into a kiss to stop myself saying it out loud. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, more.

  As soon as my belt jingled, the only sound in the room besides our heavy, desperate breathing, I went for his waistband too. Ordinarily I’d have just kept my hands where they were, let him touch me and loved every second of it, but not this time. I had to have my hands on him. Somewhere. His bare skin.

  “Don’t care. Just long ‘s you lemme—” I slurred, thankful the weight of him was there to hold me up. “Oh fuck, do that again.”

  “Let you what?” Steven murmured, right before he nipped my earlobe and I hissed in a breath, amazed I was still able to inhale. I’d never met a man who could make a hand-job feel that good. He’d been right, way back when. I remembered him telling me they were the stuff of legend. “Let you what?”

  “Touch.” I shuddered, a violent ripple of unbearable want curving my spine so my hips were pushed against him. “Touch you.”

  I thought I heard him laugh.

  “Wanna touch you.” I wasn’t even sure if my hands would work. My brain had short-circuited and I could barely speak, but fuck it, Steven felt as hard as I was. There was no way I wasn’t going to try.

  “That all?” He kissed and nipped his way along my jaw to my mouth and didn’t kiss me there, just watched me for a second and I flinched. There it was again, that look in his eyes. “Don’t you want to do anything else?”

  My shaking hands managed to get his zip down. I curved one palm around the outline of his cock through his shorts. I could have lived and died in the pause before he took in another breath, loved knowing I could do that to him. “Like what?” I knew he wasn’t thinking about me fucking him. Didn’t bother me if I never did—I’d let him fuck me any way he pleased just for the pleasure of having his cock inside me.

  “I bet you’d suck me off if I told you.”

  “Oh, fuck yeah.” My words could have been a response to the way his shoulder moved so slowly, the way his fingers tightened on me with every downstroke. Or maybe the way his cock fit perfectly against the curve of my hand.

  “You would?”

  “Too fucking right I would. But…can’t move.” The only room for manoeuvre I had was the barest sliver of breathing space; enough to touch him, enough to breathe, enough to push my hips against him, force my cock through his encircling hand.

  “So do it then.”

  “What?” Lead weights threatened to pull my eyelids shut. The way his tongue moved against the curve of my neck made me drowsy.

  “Get on your knees in front of me and suck my cock.”

  “But…”

  “You said you wanted to.”

  “God. Need…Steven, I’m gonna…I need…”

  “Do it.” He didn’t stand back, but began to pull away, loosened his grip by the tiniest margin. “Show me how sorry you are for being a selfish bastard and give me something back. Get on your knees and get that mouth of yours around my cock. Now.”

  “Oh God.” I trembled, and might have pushed my weight away from the worktop. Or it could have been that Steven pulled me, twisted around so our positions reversed. “Please, I gotta—”

  “I love it when you say that, but nuh-huh.” He shook his head and the light caught a strand of his hair just so, the sharp angle of his brows, the edge of his cheekbone. “You don’t get to come ‘til I do.”

  “But—”

  “Suck it. You wanted to touch me. Do it. Make it up to me. I’ll only believe you mean it once I’ve come down the back of your throat.”

  “Oh God.” My knees hit the floor before he’d even finished speaking. Thank God he’d told me to suck his cock—I wouldn’t have been able to hold myself upright for much longer anyway. Him speaking to me like that turned me on even more than having his hand on me.

  “I know you need to come, baby, but…” Both his hands cradled the back of my head and pulled me forward. “Me first. I’ll do…oh Jesus…anything…fuck…”

  Steven’s fingers flinched against my scalp, grasping at hair too short to tangle in when I took the head of his cock between my lips. I felt him push back, but laid my hands on his hipbones, silently telling him to wait. Sure, I had to make him come before I got mine, but desperate though I was, this wasn’t to be rushed. I loved the desperation in his voice too much, the rough edge to every hard-won breath, even the way his fingernails dug into my scalp and the back of my neck. He clawed at me the more of him I took and he couldn’t hurt me enough.

  “Oh God, do that…do that again.”

  I ran the tip of my tongue along the underside of his cock and sucked so hard my cheeks hollowed.

  I could have sworn the sounds coming from the back of Steven’s throat—groans and faint, inarticulate murmurs—made my dick even harder but no matter how much I needed to get off, I couldn’t take my hands off Steven
. One of my hands stayed against the protrusion of his hipbone, the other, I wrapped around the base of his cock, and stroked in time with my mouth.

  “Oh fuck, Kit, God, you… Jesus, don’t stop, that’s—”

  “Hey, if either of you guys are in the kitchen, stick the kettle on will ya?”

  I froze, mid-stroke, and both Steven’s hands tightened against my scalp.

  A heartbeat later, and he was the first to speak. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

  I pulled back, just enough to speak, to whisper. “But if he’s out of the shower—”

  “Fuck, Kit, I’m nearly there.”

  “But—”

  “Just fucking suck me off, for Christ’s sake, I need to—”

  “In fact, somebody be a pal and make the coffee for me, I’m gasping!” Gary’s voice came from the top of the stairs and I prayed he wouldn’t descend—but then why would he if he was asking one of us to make his drink? He’d finished in the shower and was more than likely wrapped in a towel, and returning to his room to dress.

  “Steven, he’s coming—”

  “At least somebody is,” he snapped, and I looked up at him for a split second before whipping my gaze away.

  “And I’ve still got my dick out.” I pulled away, scrambled to my feet and staggered back, tucking myself in and righting my clothes again.

  “Better get yourself decent again,” Steven snapped, turning his back and fiddling with his clothes. “Fuck. Fuck.” He groaned, as if in pain.

  “Steve—” I laid my hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off like it burned.

  “Don’t.”

  “But he could’ve…Jesus, what was I thinking?”

  “That’s not the first time you’ve done that to me.”

  “What? Jesus, man, we couldn’t… I mean Gary’s just out of the shower and he could come downstairs at any minute. Fuck, this is crazy.”

  “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

  I caught his eye, waited for him to continue.

  “Getting me wound up like that and stopping? Really, I thought things would be different this time—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I wish you were.”

  “I thought we were gonna be interrupted.”

  “Don’t you mean discovered?”

  I hated that Steven could switch from desperation to disgust so quickly. But maybe it was my fault for doing this to him.

  “Besides,” he went on, “I wasn’t talking about the fucking blowjob.”

  “Steven, I—what are you talking about?”

  “You’re not bothered about Gary walking in on you with some other guy’s dick in your mouth—”

  “Yes I am!” I looked back at the door, as if Gary would suddenly have manifested in the doorway, but nothing.

  “You’re not even worried about someone finding out you’re gay.”

  “I am out, after all.” Had been for years. To my family, at work; all my friends knew. I’d had some shit for it, but nothing unexpected.

  “You’re terrified someone’s gonna find out you’re actually human.”

  “I beg your—”

  “Don’t worry, Kit. I don’t think there’s much danger of that.” Steven smoothed down his shirt and took a step closer to the door.

  I grabbed his arm and he looked over his shoulder in disgust. “Wait. Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I’m turning the tables. I figured I’d be the one to back out this time. I’m sick of you running away from me so, please, do allow me the honour for at least once in my life, won’t you?” He jerked his arm away, unable to countenance further contact. This switch from minutes before, begging me to give him more to coldly requesting I let him go, was agonising.

  Agonising, and entirely my fault.

  Chapter Twelve

  A couple of days later and things were no better. Cold glances, the avoidance of my aura, terror of invading one another’s personal space, nothing more than essential, monosyllabic communication.

  I signed up for as much overtime as was possible. Bill’s eyebrows lifted at my willingness to make myself available, but he didn’t question it. He had a lackey on-hand to fix his fuck-ups, so wasn’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth.

  I just wished I was able to fix my own, but hadn’t a clue how. I had a feeling I could beg and plead, but Steven wouldn’t listen. Even if I got on my knees and begged…or sucked him off…he wouldn’t be able to let go. I knew he was right—I’d let him down, but surely he saw the necessity for discretion? Sucking him off in the kitchen, for fuck’s sake, with Gary in the house…

  I shook my head, tore off my glasses and rested my head in my hands, groaning at the mess I’d made of things in my usual way. Kit Blackman always managed to fuck up, and effortlessly so. My default setting.

  “You might as well go home,” Bill said.

  I hadn’t even heard his approach, so distracted was I. “Huh?”

  “It’s late. Later than you normally stay. You’ve done enough. We’ll sort the rest tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Oh, right.” I rubbed my eyes before glancing at the clock. “Shit. I didn’t realise the time.”

  “Anyone would think you were reluctant to go home.” He laughed, and retreated to his office, not even waiting for my muttered response.

  “You’d be surprised.”

  It didn’t take nearly long enough to back everything up, copy the work files over to my laptop, pack up and pull on my jacket, but eventually I was inevitably, unavoidably, ready to go home.

  I couldn’t walk slowly enough. Steven messed with my head, and so did my inability to control the space-time continuum. Home was too near, too soon.

  And too…quiet?

  “Hey, anyone home?” I dumped my laptop bag on the armchair instead of heading straight upstairs as I was wont to do, lately. I’d avoided both housemates to be honest, because the house was too full of them. This time, tonight, it was full of absence.

  “Yeah, me.” Gary appeared in the kitchen doorway, his body language subdued but tense. An odd combination, but evident in the way he tucked his hands in his jeans pockets, hunched his shoulders, set his jaw.

  “Is something wrong?” I looked all around, then cocked my head. It was too quiet.

  “Something’s happened.”

  “Yeah, well, it was coming for a while, so…”

  “What was?”

  Gary, too, inclined his head then, scrutinising me while he frowned. “You really are a piece of work.”

  “I’m sorry?” My entire body felt like it had jolted back in shock, but my feet remained firmly planted where they were so it must have just been the violence with which my heart skipped that made me feel as if my entire world had tilted.

  “Bit late for that.”

  “Look, Gary, you’re gonna have to enlighten me, ‘cause I’m more than a little confused.”

  “We’re gonna need another housemate.”

  “What? You’re not moving out?”

  “No, you fucking idiot.”

  “Then…” I gulped. “Steven?”

  Gary nodded and crossed the hall, joining me in the living room doorway. “Yeah. Steven.”

  “Where is he, anyway? I thought this place sounded awfully quiet when I got home.” I craned my neck, as if I’d be able to see all the way up the stairs from here.

  Gary muttered something as he pushed past me, before throwing himself down onto the settee.

  “Huh?”

  “No wonder he fucking left.”

  “I…” I choked on whatever else I was going to say. “You’re saying?”

  “Kit, he’s been moving out for days now and you’ve been too fucking blind to notice.”

  “I beg your pardon?” A wave of God, no, don’t tell me this rose from the pit of my stomach, like the nausea accompanying each migraine, only worse. Much worse, because there was no pill or potion to fix this.

  “Every time you passed him on the stairs?”

&n
bsp; “I tried not to look.”

  “Yeah, so he said.”

  “He’s been talking to you?”

  “Don’t worry, Kit—he didn’t give anything away. I knew something was going on between you. It was as plain as the nose on your face.”

  “I don’t see how. I never so much as looked—”

  “Yeah, that’s how I knew, fuckstick.”

  “My name,” I said, through gritted teeth, “is Kit.”

  “I’ll call you whatever the fuck I like, because it’s all down to you. You never looked at him, and the fact you were making so much of an effort not to interact with him in front of anyone told me you were whatever you did with each other.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “None of my business. Oh, and I was kinda hoping if I left you to it you’d somehow work out how not to fuck this one up.”

  “So it’s my fault we need to find someone else to pay the—”

  “Kit, get over yourself!” Gary sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I don’t give a toss about the rent, and neither should you. We’ll figure something out, but you should know this—Steven has been moving out for days. Every time he passed you with a bag slung over his shoulder? It was full of clothes. He was moving out because he couldn’t bear to be in the same house as you. While you were working overtime this evening, he came round with a couple of friends to get the rest of his gear out of the house and now…” He slumped back again, throwing his hands up in resignation. “Now he’s left.”

  “But he…” I threw a glance in the direction of the front door. Yeah. Like he was gonna walk through it again anytime soon. “He never said—”

  “Oh, he did, Blackman. My guess is he did say something, or at least tried to, but you were too no, no, leave me alone, I don’t do relationships to even listen.”

  “How the hell do you know all this? Did he—”

  “I told you, Kit. He said nothing. Only the bare minimum. Steven said he found it uncomfortable living in the same house as you, so he was moving out, extended his apologies for letting his dick do his thinking for him, and…that’s that.”