by Kelly Jensen
Bram wasn’t an overly tall man even though Gael had to look up to meet his gaze—Gael had to look up to meet just about everyone’s gaze. The breadth of Bram’s shoulders gave him a definite presence, though, one that often seemed larger. Naked, he was much the same, only more so. His shoulders bulged as he ran his hands over his skin. Biceps flexed. Musculature rippled across his torso, wrapping his ribs in lean patterns. His back was a work of art, his buttocks and thighs power and sex combined.
Bram turned, head tipped back, eyes closed, and ran his hands up over his face and through his hair. Water cascaded across his skin, cloaking him in light. Gael waited until Bram turned again before slipping into the roomy shower recess behind him.
Awareness seemed to move across Bram’s shoulders, pulling them up for a long, water-dappled pause, then down. A soft sigh bounced through the mineral-scented steam, and Gael took that as his cue. He touched his fingertips to Bram’s back, the temperature differential between water and skin tickling his palms until he pressed his hands flat. Bram leaned into his touch, his left shoulder angling back a little farther until Gael applied enough pressure to say Stay.
Bram stayed.
Gael reached for the foam dispenser and pumped out a generous handful. The sharp scent of cleanser cut through the mineral tang of the water, both smells plucking at the small echo inside Gael that whispered Home. Rock, soap, the lingering drift of honest sweat.
Bram.
He smoothed the foam over Bram’s back, up to his neck, and down over the angled bones of his shoulder blades. Pressed his thumbs into the dense musculature and worked the foam into Bram’s skin, cleaning, stroking, massaging. Bram’s groan reverberated through the stone of the shower stall. He braced his hands against the wall and dropped his head forward, exposing more of his neck. Accepting the invitation, Gael lifted his hands up there, finding few spots of tension. Bram wasn’t a worrier—either that, or his worries were too large to manifest as knots of tightened muscle.
Gael skimmed his hands down, tracing the slight taper that defined Bram’s thick torso until he reached Bram’s hips. There, he kneaded Bram’s lower back. A deeper groan pushed through the steam.
Gael shifted his hands lower, smoothing a palm over the strong curve of Bram’s ass. A gasp this time, then a softer sound. Not a moan. Something needier. He massaged the warm, wet curve, fingertips trailing through the shadow beneath. Bram’s buttock tensed and flexed beneath his hand and a new scent drifted up through the steam. Arousal.
When Bram tried to turn again, Gael let him. Bram seemed bigger face to face, the sculpture of his back replaced with the square cut of his pecs, hard nipples, rippled abs, skin sheeted with water and glistening with golden hair. A glance down was rewarded with the impressive jut of Bram’s erect cock, hood half withdrawn over a ruddy head, the exposed slit already beading with pre-come.
Gael reached for it, but Bram caught his hand, shook his head.
Only then did the lack of voice in their encounter filter through the rain of water. Would speaking break the spell?
Bram pressed Gael’s hand up, over his head until his knuckles touched the shower wall. He did the same to Gael’s other hand, pinning him in place. There was no menace in the gesture. Gael should have been scared to be caught like this, trapped against the wall, his only escape blocked by a large man. But his body responded differently, canting forward in an effort to connect skin with skin. Bram moved in, the head of his erect penis catching against Gael’s hip. Gael’s cock jerked upward, his half-aroused state switching to full in an instant. He almost felt the loss of blood as it roared southward. His head swam and Bram’s face seemed to blur . . .
Because he was leaning in closer, pressing his nose to Gael’s cheek, then down, lips coasting along Gael’s collarbone, catching skin, sucking until a dull ache throbbed through Gael’s shoulder.
Bram let go of his mouthful and caught another, and another, making his way up over Gael’s neck. He kissed Gael’s cheek, the corner of his eye, the press of Bram’s lips generous and moist. Gael arched his back, rocking his hips forward. The hot mark of Bram’s cock against his hip maddening because he couldn’t touch it. His own erection bounced painfully between his legs, needy and neglected.
Then, finally, Bram kissed him, mouth to mouth—except his kisses were too light. A tiny tug at Gael’s lower lip. The sharp edge of his teeth as he nipped Gael’s chin. Gael tugged against the restraint of Bram’s hands. He wanted to touch Bram. Grab his cock, smooth his palm over one of those pointed nipples. Lean down and take it between his teeth.
He pulled again, keening softly as Bram’s cock traced a path across his belly and pushed against the hollow of his opposite hip. He whimpered as Bram teased his lips, kissing, sucking, licking, but never staying long enough for a thrust of tongue, for the deeper connection Gael now craved with every iota of self.
“Please,” he whispered.
Bram’s lips covered his, kissing away the single word. Gael leaned into the contact, deepening the kiss and offering his tongue. Bram played with him, his kisses alternating between hard and soft. Purple and red. Red and purple. When he broke contact, Gael offered up another plea. “Please, Bram.”
“What do you want?” Bram’s words drifted across Gael’s chin as Bram nosed his way back toward Gael’s ear.
“You.”
Bram eyed him solemnly through the misting steam. Even before he asked, Gael knew what he was going to say.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I was waiting for you.”
“I know.”
He had known and he hadn’t. He had wondered why Bram hadn’t pushed for more than a kiss to the back of his hand, his cheek. His mouth. Soft touches, sweet kisses that always ended before becoming too heated. A part of Gael had been waiting for Bram to take them beyond that point. For Bram to lead him. But now, in this moment, and maybe before, when he had been lying in bed half dreaming about the bottom of the crevasse, he’d known he had to be the one to make the first move.
That Bram had been waiting for him.
Patiently. Quietly optimistic.
“I’m ready,” Gael said.
“Thank all those useless gods.”
Bram let go of his hands, but not of him. He swept his arms down, catching Gael around the waist, and lifted him away from the shower wall. The sudden movement almost jolted a yelp from Gael’s throat. Almost. Then he folded forward, wrapping himself around Bram—legs around Bram’s legs, his ankles crossing on the other side. His arms around Bram’s neck, elbows hooked over his shoulders.
Gael leaned in and, for a crazy moment, wanted to do nothing but this. To lay his head across one of his elbows and nestle. To tuck himself in against Bram’s chest and let this man carry him anywhere. Everywhere. It was because of the warm scent filling his nose—the rocky clean smell of Bram. His skin, the strength of his arms. It was because of the trust now pressed intimately close between them. And because this was everything, and everything was here. He was home.
Not on this oddly beautiful planet, not in this warren of cozy spaces. Here, cuddled in against Bram, so close he could feel their hearts beating in that red and purple pattern.
Gael was a solid and definite weight in his arms. Not heavy, but suddenly there with such presence that Bram nearly dropped him. It happened halfway into the bedroom, and that moment of give was more definitive than the small words Gael had offered in the bathroom. Heart hitching in his chest, Bram paused for the second he needed to make sure his feet were still under him, that he wasn’t going to trip and end this dreamlike moment. That he wasn’t going to drop the weight of all that trust Gael had just given him.
Turning his head slightly, he kissed the wet cheek nestled against his own. Gael made a sweet sound. His mouth curved into a lovely smile. Bram found his feet and crossed the remaining distance to his bed, kneeling against the edge before loosening his hold on the most precious thing he’d ever carried.
&n
bsp; He laid Gael out on the quilt, heedless of the water still dripping from their skin. Gael’s hair was damp, his curls in defined loops across his forehead. Crawling forward, Bram reached up to smooth them away and bent to kiss the damp skin beneath. Gael’s unique scent rose to meet him—the familiar mix of soap, the essence of Alkirak, and Gael. Something otherworldly and determined. Bram nosed his way over Gael’s cheek, the sharp and lovely curve of cheekbone, to the small straight line of Gael’s nose. He pressed a kiss to Gael’s lips, tucked his nose beneath Gael’s chin and sucked at the moist skin of his neck.
Two patches of reddened skin glowed just to his left. Marks he’d left in the shower. Bram left another mark on Gael’s neck and moved down to leave one at the top of his chest, where his slim pectoral muscles met and departed.
Gael pulled at his shoulders, encouraging him upward. Bram complied, dropping a quick, open-mouthed kiss to his lips, before ducking back to feast on the skin below his neck.
“Bram,” Gael whispered.
“Let me love you,” Bram huffed over an erect nipple. “I’ve waited nearly three months to taste every centimeter of your skin.”
Gael’s cheeks blushed a deep rose, and the color crept down his neck and across his chest. Bram kissed the other nipple and Gael moaned. In his peripheral vision, Bram could see Gael’s cock bobbing and swaying as he moved. It was undoubtedly torture for them both for him not to touch it right then. To take the slender length in his hand and tug. To bend for a taste. Bram’s erection objected strenuously to being pressed into the ever-dampening patch of quilt beneath him.
It could wait. This would be all the sweeter for the wait.
Bram sucked one of Gael’s tiny nipples again, then nipped. Moved to the other side and did the same. Gael writhed beneath him and clutched at his shoulders, but didn’t pull up. Bram shifted down, tracing his tongue over the faint prickle of hair covering Gael’s deep-gold skin. He drew a line between his ribs and stopped at his navel. Dipped his tongue into the shadowed divot and smiled as Gael twitched.
Continuing his journey, Bram used his teeth on the knobs of hip bone, a bite to each. Though Gael was still far too lean, his ribs and hip bones too prominent, his delicacy called to Bram—to his protective instincts and the need to cover, hold, cherish. He nosed downward, and the scent of Gael’s arousal nearly undid him. That secret smell of sweat and sex. Gael’s balls, the warm skin beneath. Uttering a moan of his own, Bram ground his cock into the quilt, the slight friction and pressure almost working at cross purposes until he found a moment of stillness. He breathed out and moved on, lapping at Gael’s thighs—the hair slightly thicker there. Gael shuddered beneath him, and it was beautiful. Just as he’d imagined some two or nine hundred times since first seeing Gael’s picture. Hearing his voice.
Gael was talking now, his words all small and broken as he stuttered beneath Bram’s touch. “Bram, oh . . . Sun. You’re . . . Oh.”
Even better were the whimpered moans. The pluck and grasp of his fingers as he lost touch with Bram’s shoulders. The almost pained gasp when Bram kissed the inside of each knee and licked down to the arches of his feet.
By the time he kissed his way back up to Gael’s straining erection, Bram’s cock hurt. He didn’t dare touch himself, though. One stroke and he’d be off and away, without the taste of Gael on his lips. He licked the glistening slit bobbing in front of his face, eager for the intimate flavor of his lover. Gael didn’t disappoint. More pre-come met Bram’s tongue, and Bram swallowed him down, pressing his lips to the base of Gael’s shaft in one quick movement.
Gael arched and cried out. He batted a hand at Bram’s hair. “Oh, oh, oh.”
Bram released Gael’s cock and nosed beneath, tonguing Gael’s sac. He pulled each ball into his mouth, then both together. Gael shuddered and moaned. Bram took Gael’s cock in his mouth again, sucking up and down this time, reveling in the slide of hot flesh against his tongue. Gael’s hips moved up to meet him. He reached between Gael’s legs and squeezed his balls. But before he could slide a finger backward along the humid darkness of his crease, Bram paused. Pulled back.
He wanted more. He wanted to taste all Gael had to offer. To push a finger inside him, to be joined with him in the most intimate way.
But what did Gael want?
Bram moved back up until his face was level with Gael’s and kissed his cheek. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered.
“You,” Gael replied, a plea in his voice.
Was that an invitation or permission? Bram pressed a kiss to Gael’s ear.
“What is it?” Gael asked.
“Mmm?” Bram nosed Gael’s temple. Kissed his eyebrow.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I . . .” He was trying not to think, actually. Trying not to imagine this going south because of how Gael had been treated in the past and wondering if now was the time to ask for what he really wanted, to express his truest desire. “Would you—” His throat tightened, cutting off the question. Bram eased down onto his side next to Gael and drew in a careful breath. “I want you inside me.”
It had been so long since he’d invited someone inside, doing so now left him feeling exposed. But this was too important to mess up, because while Gael’s delicate stature might mean what everyone else probably assumed it meant, he didn’t want his larger frame to be taken in the same way. For their first encounter to be restrained by assumption.
Bram turned to Gael and met a curious gray gaze.
“Are you sure?” Gael’s eyebrows twitched together and apart. His eyes took on a considering glint. Then the shy smile happened, and Bram let the sudden tension inside him unravel and fall loose. He opened. Offered his heart for plucking and, less poetically, his ass for, well, the taking.
“I’m sure.”
“I, um, haven’t done that before.”
Oh, his sweet, sweet Gael. “Do you want to?”
Smile strengthening, Gael nodded. “I want to.”
“Not just to—”
Gael kissed him, quick and hard. “Because I want to.”
Bram didn’t have to look far for his bottle of lube. Fighting the urge to blush—which was about as useless as standing against an Alkirak storm—he pressed it into Gael’s hands and lay back down, knees up and spread. “This okay?”
He wanted Gael over him, to watch him. To adore Gael from below.
Gael answered with an expression that might have been slightly predatory. He then proceeded to demonstrate that while he might not have topped before, he knew exactly what to do. He took Bram’s cock in a firm hold and began stroking while encouraging Bram to shift his knees farther apart. Just this would be enough to make him come. Having Gael between his legs, tugging at his cock, the slight tickle of his fingers as he smoothed them down the back of Bram’s thighs and into his crease . . . Even before Gael touched his hole, Bram gave himself over.
The lubed finger was a shock of the pleasant variety—the touch that set everything aquiver. Bram felt himself leaning into it, shifting his hips forward, and the depth of his need was another surprise. That he’d wanted this for so long.
Gael’s fingers were delicate. His anxious expression as he worked Bram open, the sweetest yet. Bram reached for Gael’s other hand and pulled him forward into a kiss. When Gael wrapped his tongue around Bram’s and began thrusting with his fingers, Bram arched upward. Gael took obvious delight in teasing him, finding that spot inside and working it gently. He made Bram plead.
Bram’s pleas turned to wordless babble when Gael breached him. His eyes wanted to close at the ecstasy of it, but again Gael’s expression kept him in the moment. The absolute wonder. The roundness of his mouth as he let out a soft “Oh.” He gazed down at Bram. “Is it okay? You feel amazing. Oh sun, Bram. So good.”
“So do you, sunshine. So do you.”
Gael eased forward, seeming to have an instinctive grasp on when to pause and when to press for the next centimeter. And then he was seated, fully, and g
azing down at Bram, eyes half lidded. “I want to live here.”
Bram laughed.
Gael rocked his hips forward in a tiny thrust. “Don’t laugh. Oh sun.”
Closing his eyes, Gael began to move in earnest, slowly at first. Bram watched as confidence flowed into his posture. Then he had to close his own eyes. Arch his neck, his back, whatever he could do to meet those firmer thrusts.
“More, Gael,” he heard himself ask.
Gael gave him more.
Blindly, Bram grasped his cock, squeezing the base before stroking upward with the lift of Gael’s hips and downward with their return. Gael had his hands on Bram’s knees, where he exerted a light pressure, opening him, changing the angle so he could drive forward just a little deeper. Bram wasn’t going to last long, but that was okay. They could do this again. And again. This was a beginning, not an end.
The shortening of Gael’s breathing heralded his impending climax, but before he got there, Bram hit his peak. It roared through him, pulling from his tailbone forward, jerking his body up into Gael’s. His ass clenched and his dick jerked in his hand, shooting mightily. His yell echoed back from the stone walls as disembodied sound. A part of him, but not. Almost a separate exhalation of joy, a witness to his pleasure. Gael convulsed over him, breath seesawing in and out of tight lips, his expression almost pained. Sometimes it hurt to ride that inevitable moment before orgasm. Sometimes fear rode up and over with you. Bram had felt just that: the reluctance to let it happen in case this was it, the only time you’d feel this good.
Gael’s rhythm broke and became jerky. He managed three more thrusts before he came, shuddering over Bram, hips slamming forward, and the rush inside Bram’s ass nearly set him off again. To have that part of his lover too. And to know Gael would be leaving something behind. Bram caressed the side of Gael’s face until his grimace relaxed, until he stopped pumping, slowed, and finally fell into Bram’s arms.