by E M Lindsey
Fitz glared at her, but it was hard to stay angry when he had a soft, pliant, eager Antoine in his arms. It didn’t take him long to hustle the drunk man out of the bar. The night air was cool and there was a soft breeze in the air.
“My car,” Antoine said, and tried to make his way toward the parking lot, but Fitz caught him by the belt loops and hauled him back.
“I don’t think so. You could use the walk. Besides, your car isn’t here, remember? It’s with Max.”
“My car,” Antoine mourned, and he leaned hard into Fitz as they started down the road toward the Lodge. “I have a nice car.”
“I had a feeling you did,” Fitz said with a chuckle. He hitched his arm around Antoine’s waist a little tighter and was grateful for the sidewalk that stretched all the way to the resort. “Tell me about it.”
“My seats heat up,” Antoine said, waving his hand dismissively. “They cool down. They…go back.”
“Fancy.”
“Mm.” Antoine stumbled a little, then grabbed Fitz’s arm. “Your hand feels like a glove.”
Fitz’s brows raised. His scars had been described a lot of ways by a lot of people, but that was new and maybe he should have expected new from this man, but he was wholly unprepared. “Is that right?”
“When you grabbed my cock,” Antoine said, and he stumbled again, but righted himself. “I liked it. Well, I didn’t like it.”
Fitz felt worry bubble to life in his gut. “I’m sorry.”
“You should have kissed me. You should,” Antoine’s voice fell to a whisper and his steps slowed until Fitz urged him to hurry. “Do you want to kiss me?”
He was afraid to answer him. It felt wrong, unbalanced, but he also didn’t want to lie. “Yes. But I’m not going to do that right now. You’re wasted.”
“Mm. No,” Antoine said, but he didn’t push the issue. They were almost at the bend in the road which led right to the Lodge driveway, and Antoine grabbed his hand again. “The first time I got wasted, I was fourteen. We were fourteen.”
His brother, Fitz realized.
“My parents were gone again. They were always,” he waved his hand in a big circle, “gone. Marcel was so mad about it, so he picked the lock on my dad’s expensive whiskey. He was…” Antoine threw his head back and laughed so hard, Fitz had to catch him before he fell over. “He got hot, so he took off his jeans and shirt and then sat outside on the front lawn. But it was…it was late. It was so late. He threw up on me.”
Fitz pulled a face. “Not fun.”
They were on the path to Antoine’s room, and he spun suddenly, putting a hand to the center of Fitz’s chest. “I puked on you.”
Fitz couldn’t help his laugh. He curled his hand around Antoine’s and held it tight against his rapidly beating heart. “You didn’t. I stepped back in time.”
Antoine groaned. “I was so mad at you. Everything was so wrong, and you were…you were so mean, but I wanted you to put your mouth on my mouth. And then I threw up and it was so gross.”
With a sigh, Fitz retrieved the key from Antoine’s pocket, then laced their fingers together and led him to the door. When it opened, Antoine stumbled in, then caught himself on the handle and turned to look at Fitz who hadn’t crossed the threshold.
“Come in.”
Fitz shook his head. “That is a bad idea.”
“No,” Antoine argued. His eyes were heavy though, his limbs moving more sluggish. “No, good idea. Come to bed. Antoine is ready for the Fitzinator.”
Fitz blinked at him. “Did you just…refer to yourself in the third person? Did you just call me Fitzinator?”
“I want you.” Antoine laid his hand directly on Fitz’s half-hard cock which hadn’t gone down since he arrived at the bar, and he fought back a groan. “Please.”
Fitz was going to hate himself for this later, but he knew it was the right thing. He gently pried Antoine’s hand away, then backed him all the way into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. It was dark, but he managed to get them safely into the bedroom, and he eased Antoine down on the bed where he instantly went pliant
Fitz had been there enough times, and had taken care of drunk friends enough times, to know that Antoine was minutes from sleep. “I want you too,” he said.
Antoine’s eyes fought to stay open. “Don’t go. Please don’t…you left before and I woke up and I wanted you, but you didn’t want me. You didn’t want to remember…”
Fitz laid a finger to Antoine’s lips, then replaced it with his mouth. The kiss was soft, sweet, it was nothing like the way they had touched each other before—just a hint of tongue and warm breath. But the sharp tang of alcohol reminded Fitz why it had to stop there.
“I didn’t want to remember, because I couldn’t have you and I didn’t think my heart could take it,” he confessed, hoping only a little that Antoine didn’t remember this in the morning.
Antoine reached up and cupped his face. “Don’t go.”
Fitz’s resolve was crumbling to dust. He wasn’t going to have sex with him—not now, not yet. Not with the risk Antoine would regret it in the morning, or with the risk he wouldn’t remember. When he finally did cross the line, when he pinned Antoine down and took him apart—bit by bit—he wanted every second seared into their memories.
But he could do this.
He could stay.
Reaching down, Fitz carefully pulled Antoine’s shoes and socks off, then went for his trousers, getting him down to his t-shirt and boxers. When Antoine whined, Fitz shed his own clothes, then pulled the covers back and let the cool sheets pool around them as he slid up against Antoine’s side.
“You need sleep.”
“M’not tired,” Antoine said.
It wasn’t late. It was barely past nine, but even Fitz was feeling exhausted. He let Antoine take his hand, let his fingers roam over his thick, numb skin.
“I want you to feel me,” Antoine said.
Fitz leaned in and nosed up Antoine’s cheek, then laid a kiss there, to the skin flushed from alcohol. “I do feel you,” he promised. He stayed that way until he felt Antoine’s body go pliant, until his hand relaxed, and his breathing evened.
Fitz knew he wasn’t going to sleep for a long while, but with Antoine pulled tight against him, he realized he truly didn’t mind.
Chapter Fourteen
There was something to be said about hangovers when he was trapped in the warm circle of strong, impossibly warm arms that made them somewhat bearable, Antoine decided as he blinked against the morning sun. It was no surprise at all that he forgot to close the curtains, and even though his head was pounding and his bladder screaming, the idea of moving had zero appeal.
He wasn’t so drunk he didn’t remember how he got to the room, but it was a double edged sword because it also meant he didn’t forget what a colossal, ridiculous ass he’d made of himself on the way. He’d given up trying to deny how much he wanted Fitz—and not just in a hate-sex kind of way—but the alcohol had removed all filters and all barriers. It was a wonder the guy had stayed after all that.
Warm lips against the back of his neck drew him out of his self-deprecation, and the rumble of Fitz’s morning voice rippled down his spine. “You’re awake?”
Antoine breathed out, his mouth sour from the vodka, and he closed his eyes. “Did I…call you the Fitzinator last night?”
Fitz laughed, a lazy, sleepy sound that sent hot breath across his shoulders. “You did.”
“Why are you here?” Antoine demanded.
Fitz dragged his lips over the top of Antoine’s t-shirt, then caught the fabric in his teeth and pulled playfully. “I like to see you humble yourself a little, Hollywood.”
“You know what,” Antoine started, but then Fitz’s hand, which was settled nicely above his belly button, dragged lower. Antoine’s body instantly responded, a faint moan betraying him. “I really need a piss.”
Fitz laughed again, and Antoine wondered if he’d ever get tired of that sound. “Go
ahead.” He didn’t release his grip right away, though. He dug his nails in where Antoine had the most hair, at the very edge of his pelvis, and he twisted his fingers through it before finally drawing his arm away.
Antoine was so hard he wasn’t sure he could piss at that point, but he was using it as a reprieve. He slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him, then grabbed the mouthwash on the counter. Digging his nails into the plastic, he fiddled with it as he waited for his dick to soften, but it was difficult to back away from the edge of want knowing he had Fitz in his bed.
Everything in his body ached, and it was more noticeable now that he was out of Fitz’s arms and standing over a toilet. The alcohol-filled mouthwash burned as he swished it around, and the pain helped deflate him just enough that he could get some measure of relief. Closing his eyes, he pressed one hand to the wall, and wondered if he really had the courage to walk back out there.
Fitz wanted him—that much was obvious. He’d wanted Antoine back when he hated him, and he seemed to want him last night even after he was fully rejecting him for being drunk and embarrassing. And well, that last part was fair. He wasn’t sure he’d ever live down any of this mortification.
Part of him wished he had a humiliation kink just so he could get some vague pleasure out of the mess he’d made of this entire trip.
With a sigh through his nose, he leaned down and spat the mouthwash out, then flushed and moved to the sink. He opened the door, then turned on the water to wash it all down before splashing his face, trying his best to wake up. His skin felt like it was covered in layers of alcohol sweat—and he most likely smelled— but Fitz didn’t seem to notice or care as he slid up behind Antoine and kissed the back of his ear.
“Do you want some breakfast?”
Not the kind Fitz was talking about. Antoine was at least honest enough to admit that, if only to himself. He swallowed. “If you’re hungry.”
Fitz’s arm came around Antoine’s front and then slid down again. His fingers dipped just below the waistband of Antoine’s boxers, and he nipped at his earlobe. “Starving.”
“Shit,” Antoine gasped.
Fitz laughed. “The Fitzinator needs to take care of some business, then he’ll meet you in bed.”
“Oh, I fucking hate you. You’re such a,” but he didn’t get to finish his sentence. Fitz took him by the waist, spun him, and slammed him just shy of too hard against the sink. He pressed himself against Antoine’s front, his arousal evident.
“I’m such a what?” he growled.
Antoine licked his lips, and he tried to come up with something—anything—that didn’t make him sound desperate, but his well of words had dried up.
“Go get in the bed,” Fitz ordered.
Antoine shuddered all over, and he sagged forward when Fitz turned and stepped around into the bathroom. Part of him wanted to rebel against the order. He didn’t enjoy being dominated, but he realized it wasn’t what Fitz had said, it was how he said it. He was this furious juxtaposition between soft and mean, and it was making Antoine so hard, he was getting dizzy.
His knees shook as he crossed the room, and his hangover was nothing more than an echo as his body hit the cool sheets. He sat up against the pillows and wondered if he should undress. Then, he wondered if maybe Fitz would like to undress him. Then, he wondered how this was going to work when they didn’t know each other at all.
Fitz seemed to like him…but why?
The bathroom door opened with a soft click, and Antoine’s heart sped up in his chest. He tried to look like he had any semblance of chill, but when Fitz came around the corner without a scrap of clothing on, he lost it.
“So that’s just it? You’re just going to crawl into this bed naked and…”
Fitz laid his knee on the edge of the bed. He was mostly hard, his cock thick and hanging between his legs. Antoine drank him in—every inch. He roved his gaze over his left side—the skin deeply tanned and hairy. His right side had patches of rough, and patches of smooth. His pectoral was hairless and missing his nipple, the scars wrinkled as they rose toward his neck.
Antoine wanted to put his mouth everywhere.
“Like what you see?” Fitz asked with a smirk.
Antoine hadn’t realized he’d started rubbing his palm over his cock until Fitz spoke, and he pulled it away. “Is there any point in pretending I don’t?”
Fitz put both hands on the bed, on either side of Antoine’s thighs, and he shifted his whole body up. “Do you really want to?”
No. God, no, he didn’t. What he wanted was for Fitz to methodically strip him down and lick him from head to toe. “I want,” he breathed out.
Fitz hummed for him to go on, but Antoine lost his words as Fitz lowered his head and nosed along the hard outline of Antoine’s dick. “Can I take these off you?”
“Are you really asking for permission?”
Fitz looked up, his lips pulled back in a grimace. His hand rose from the bed, and then curled into the waistband of the boxers. “Are you going to be a dick about everything?”
“Maybe,” Antoine admitted honestly, because like he’d said before, Fitz just seemed to bring that out of him.
Fitz stared at him for a long moment, then gave a shrug and used the grip on the boxers to bodily lift Antoine a few inches off the bed and deposited him flat on his back. It hurt, the elastic digging into his hips, but Fitz soothed the sting by pulling them down toward his knees and dragging parted lips over his flushed skin.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured. His hands pushed upward, rucking up his shirt, higher and higher until Antoine was forced to lift his arms so Fitz could tear it off him. He flung it back, and it landed somewhere near the door, but Antoine didn’t give a single shit. Not when Fitz was staring at his cock, not when his tongue darted out and dragged a line from base to tip. “Tell me what you want.”
Antoine’s face burned. “You just want me to humiliate myself.”
At that, Fitz pushed up on his hands, surging forward until their faces were scant inches apart. “If you want to be humiliated, I can do that.”
“I’m not that complicated,” Antoine managed to whisper.
Fitz hummed, then looked down again. His right hand lifted off the sheets, but before Antoine could feel the sting of disappointment and rejection again, he set it down and lifted up his left. “I meant what I said yesterday.”
“Gnn,” was all Antoine could manage that time, because Fitz cupped his balls gently in his hand.
“If we do this again, I want to feel all of it.” His head lowered again, and he sucked the head of Antoine’s cock into his mouth, letting it rest on his tongue as he dragged fingers lower, pressing against his perineum.
The pressure on his prostate sent a surge of precome dripping from Antoine’s dick and into Fitz’s mouth. He suckled lightly, like it was a gift, and Antoine’s head fell back against the headboard with a loud thud.
He hoped to god he didn’t have neighbors.
Fitz took in a long breath through his nose, then sank down as far as he could manage, which was almost the full length of Antoine. Pulling his hand back, he grabbed Antoine by the knees and hitched them up toward his chest before settling himself more comfortably. He bracketed Antoine’s hips after that, and he began a slow, painstaking rhythm which got Antoine to the edge, but wouldn’t let him fall over it.
“God. God, I knew you’d be like this. I knew you’d make me work for it, knew you wanted me to suffer…” He didn’t really know what he was saying. The words were bubbling up, thoughtless and from a dark, terrified place that maybe this was all fake, and maybe Fitz was just fucking with him.
But it was hard to believe in those fears when Antoine looked down and saw Fitz meeting his gaze with such raw, open hunger. And something else. Something softer.
Fitz hummed as he sank down again, and pleasure shot up Antoine’s spine. “I’m so close.” It was more of a plea than a statement of fact, and Fitz must have heard it in the t
one because he pulled his mouth away.
“Do you have condoms?”
“No,” Antoine said with a groan. “Fuck, sorry, I…”
Fitz didn’t seem deterred though. He spread Antoine’s cheeks with his right hand and pressed his thumb lightly to his pucker, his left curled around his dick, stroking him in that same, easy rhythm that had gotten him off the last time.
“I want you to come on me,” Fitz breathed, leaning down.
It shouldn’t have been enough to get him off, but it was. His back arched and his balls emptied, and white streams of come splattered on Fitz’s face and neck as he leaned in with his tongue out like he wanted to catch it in his mouth. It was gorgeous and erotic, and Antoine would have spilled twice if he was able.
As Antoine slowly regained his senses, he stared up at Fitz who was smirking at him. “Don’t look so happy with yourself,” he grumbled.
Fitz laughed and leaned in to nuzzle at him, smearing his come-covered chin on Antoine’s jaw. “But I am happy with myself.”
“God, you,” Antoine said, then stopped and reached between them, taking Fitz’s cock in a tight fist. He started to jack him, hard and furious, but Fitz let out a heavy groan and put his hand over Antoine’s, slowing the pace.
“Softer,” he whispered against Antoine’s ear. “Slower.”
Antoine didn’t want to give in. He wanted to rebel, but he also wanted this to be so good, Fitz wouldn’t be able to touch himself and think of anyone else but him ever again. He loosened his grip, he let Fitz set the pace.
“That’s it. That’s it, god,” Fitz rumbled, and he let his head fall into the crook of Antoine’s neck. He smelled like sweat and come, and a little bit of old alcohol from where Antoine had rubbed against him in the middle of the night.
Fitz smelled like his.
“Come on,” Antoine murmured. He reached around Fitz, taking a handful of his bare ass in his palm and squeezed. His head turned to the side, and he mouthed at thick skin there. He wasn’t sure if Fitz could feel him, but he groaned like he could, so Antoine opened wider and sucked a little harder.