Hexbreaker - Jordan L. Hawk

by Jordan L. Hawk

  Tom’s breath caught, and his skin heated. “Aye. That would be good, too.”

  Cicero slid out of his chair and onto Tom’s lap. Their hardening pricks rubbed together through their trousers as he wriggled into position. The chair creaked warningly beneath them, but Tom found it impossible to care. Cicero’s mouth tasted of wine and the fading remnants of the peppers, and he kissed Tom as though his very life depended on it.

  “Christ,” Tom gasped when they broke apart. His blood pounded in his ears, and a little rush of pleasure shot through him with every shift of Cicero’s hips. He grabbed Cicero’s arse, meaning to still him, but found himself kneading the firm flesh instead.

  “What do you want, darling?” Cicero murmured in his ear. “Do you want me to suck you again?”

  Oh God, he did. But he wanted other things, too, and mainly not for this to be over too soon. “Can I try it on you?”

  Cicero leaned back with a delighted grin. “Of course. Where do you want me? Right here?”

  “Bed,” Tom blurted, then felt his face heat. “If that’s all right with you.”

  “More than.” Cicero traced a finger along the line of Tom’s jaw, down over his throat, to the top of his collar. “What do you think about getting naked and fucking me?”

  “I think you’re going to make me come right here if you keep talking like that.” Tom tightened his grip on Cicero’s arse. “Aye, I want to. But…I ain’t…I’ve tossed a fellow or two off before, sure. But never…you know.”

  “Never given a man a proper ride?” Cicero’s smile grew lecherous. “We’ll certainly have to correct that, now won’t we?” He leaned back and snagged something from the basket. “I came prepared,” he said, dangling a bottle of oil in front of Tom.

  Tom couldn’t help but laugh. “You came over here to wine and dine me, in hopes of getting me in bed?”

  Cicero snorted. “In hopes of? Please, Thomas, don’t insult my abilities of seduction. The wine and dinner were because I enjoy your company as well as your cock.”

  “I’m flattered,” Tom said, but in truth he was. He caught the back of Cicero’s neck and pulled him down for another kiss. When they parted, he murmured, “Bed, then?”

  Cicero slithered off his lap. Tom took his hand and led him to the apartment’s only other room. He’d bought the largest bed he could afford, since most didn’t give his frame enough space to sleep comfortably, and now found himself grateful for it.

  “I’m extraordinarily glad you don’t have to share your apartment,” Cicero remarked.

  Tom shrugged. “Without a wife and children to support, a policeman’s salary goes a bit further.”

  Cicero stopped beside the bed and slowly stripped his coat off, before draping it over the back of a chair. “Would you care to watch me undress?”

  Tom swallowed against the thickness in his throat. “Aye.”

  Cicero made it into a teasing game, removing one cufflink at a time. The vest came off, followed by socks. His fingers lingered on each button as he opened his shirt, the white cloth luminous against his dusky skin. Tom watched the progress hungrily, his balls tightening at the flash of the gold rings in Cicero’s nipples.

  “You’re beautiful,” he grated out when Cicero let the shirt fall to the floor. “Every damn inch of you.”

  Cicero smiled slyly, twined his hands over his head, and did one of the little rippling movements that undulated his hips and drew Tom’s attention to his flat belly. God, he’d been wanting to kiss that spot ever since the first moment he’d seen Cicero dance.

  So why was he waiting like a fool?

  He went down on his knees and pressed his lips to the space just below Cicero’s belly button. Cicero’s skin tasted of salt and smelled faintly of cedar. The trousers rode much higher than the pants he danced in, blocking Tom’s access. So he popped the first button and licked at the exposed skin. Then did the same with the next.

  Cicero’s breath thickened, and he ran his fingers through Tom’s hair. “Keep going. Please.”

  Tom undid the last button, hooked his fingers in the waistband, and pulled down trousers and drawers all in one motion. Cicero’s prick sprang free, tapping Tom on the cheek, as though asking for attention.

  Attention he had every intention of giving it.

  He caught it by the base, then looked up at Cicero. Cicero was watching him in turn, lips red and parted, his eyes dark with desire. “What should I do?”

  “Start with a lick.” Cicero’s voice trembled. His thighs trembled too, beneath Tom’s hands, and Tom found himself absurdly pleased that he’d managed to shake Cicero’s composure. “See what you think. It’s all right if you don’t—”

  The words cut off in a strangled gasp as Tom ran his tongue in one long sweep from base to head. Cicero’s prick tasted musky and salty. Liquid beaded at the tip, and Tom lapped that off. More salt, and something a little bitter, a diluted version of the spunk Tom had licked off his hand the other night.

  He slipped his lips tentatively around the head, then down further. Cicero moaned and curled his fingers in Tom’s hair. Tom hadn’t realized quite how good it would feel to have a cock in his mouth, tasting Cicero’s desire and feeling the little, repressed twitches of his hips as he fought not to thrust deeper.

  Tom bobbed his head, as Cicero had done to him, although he didn’t go as deep. Next time, he’d try it, but for now he wrapped his hand around the base of Cicero’s shaft and pumped him at the same time as he sucked. Clearly the other man didn’t have any objections to the method, given the sounds he was making.

  “Enough,” Cicero gasped finally, pushing Tom back. “I don’t want this to end too soon. Especially since I’m the only one naked so far.”

  “It was good, then?”

  “Wonderful,” Cicero bent to kiss him, clearly not minding the taste of himself in Tom’s mouth. “Sometime soon, I’ll let you keep going until I come. But right now, I want you to give me a good ride.”

  Cicero retreated to the bed, sinking down on it in a marvelous sprawl of arms and legs and slender, muscular torso. Tom rose to his feet and fumbled off his clothing, torn between the need to feel Cicero’s skin against his own, and his worry that maybe Cicero wanted someone who looked a bit more like himself, and a bit less like a brick wall.

  But Cicero had come here of his own volition, when he could have gone anywhere else in the city. He watched Tom undress through hooded eyes, the tip of his tongue darting out to touch his lips. “You’re quite the sight,” he purred.

  “Do you like?” Tom asked hopefully.

  Cicero indicated his erection and cocked a brow. “That is normally what this sort of reaction means, you know. But yes, if you must hear it. As much as I’m enjoying observing your glory, though, I’d much rather feel it.”

  Tom slipped into bed beside him, and Cicero immediately wound his body around Tom’s. And oh God, it was better than he’d dreamed, the press of hot skin against his own, the shift of muscle beneath his hands, the hard jut of Cicero’s cock touching his with nothing to separate them. He groaned from sheer pleasure, and Cicero laughed softly. “If you think this feels good, just wait.”

  “You’ll be the death of me,” Tom mumbled against his lips. Then the words turned into a gasp as Cicero pinched one of his nipples. It felt as though the little nub of flesh had a direct connection to his balls, pleasure shooting through him until he arched against Cicero’s lithe body.

  Cicero followed his fingers up with his mouth, teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin. Christ, no wonder men came to clubs like the Rooster, desperate for this sort of contact, even if they had to pay for it. He slid his hand up the bare expanse of Cicero’s chest and found one of the nipple rings, tugging on it until Cicero writhed and whimpered.

  Gripping Cicero’s hips, he rolled onto his back and pulled Cicero on top of him, so he could reach the other nipple with his mouth. Cicero’s cock left a slick trail on Tom’s belly, and his hips rocked as Tom sucked hard. “Fuck
, that’s good,” he mumbled. “Would feel good even without the hexes, but—unh…” he dissolved into wordlessness as Tom used his teeth.

  After a minute or so, Cicero pulled away. Tom lay under him, the blood singing beneath his skin, his prick aching for attention. Cicero’s pupils reduced his irises to thin yellow rings, and his lips were red and wet and inviting. “I want you. I want you to fuck me with that big cock of yours until I beg for more.”

  Tom nodded dumbly. “Aye. Please.”

  Cicero grinned and rolled off of him. “How do you want it?” he asked as he picked up the oil. “Facing away or towards?”

  Tom hadn’t realized there were options. “We can do that? Facing, I mean?”

  “Certainly.” Cicero grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under his hips as he lay down. “The pillow will help with the angle, and make it easier on my back.” He licked his lips. “Now watch.”

  He poured the oil over his fingers, then drew up his legs, exposing everything to Tom’s gaze. One long finger slowly circled the puckered ring of his arse, then eased in. “Mmm.” He arched a little as he worked the finger into himself. “Feels good.”

  Tom’s heart pounded against his ribs, and he was harder than he’d ever been in his life.

  Cicero writhed on the bed as he added a second finger. “Ahh. Yes. Watch, Thomas. See me opening myself up for you?”

  “Aye,” he managed. Anything more was utterly beyond his powers of speech.

  “You want to put your cock here, don’t you?” Cicero teased. “Slide it in and out, just like I’m sliding my fingers.”

  The sight and words alone were almost enough to have him spurting. “Oh, God, aye.”

  “Then be a dear and use the oil on your cock.” Cicero withdrew his fingers and grinned wickedly. “And do be thorough—I want every last inch of you in me.

  Tom’s hands shook as he slicked himself generously, and he almost dropped the bottle. He took up position between Cicero’s uplifted legs, guiding his cock to press the tip against Cicero’s passage. “Nice and slow, darling,” Cicero murmured. “Rock back and forth a bit, until you’re past any resistance.”

  Tom’s throat was too tight to speak, so he only nodded and pressed forward carefully. Cicero’s body parted for him, and a startled sound of pleasure escaped him. There was a little resistance, as Cicero had warned, but he eased forward and back a few times in succession. Then something relaxed, and he was in.

  “That’s it,” Cicero moaned. “Now the rest.”

  Heat and tightness engulfed Tom’s length as he pushed in, Cicero’s body gripping his, as if urging him deeper. The pleasure was intense, different than the feel of a hand, even of Cicero’s clever mouth. “God,” Tom swore.

  Cicero’s eyes were wild, and he gripped Tom’s shoulder with one hand, the other on his own prick. “Does it feel good?”

  “Better than good. You?”

  Cicero grinned broadly. “Incredible. Kiss me.”

  Tom bent over, and Cicero arched up, until their mouths met. He felt himself slipping deeper, until his balls slapped against Cicero’s skin. “Yes,” Cicero gasped against his lips. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck me, ride me.”

  Cicero let go of him, head falling back. Tom shifted his stance slightly—and Cicero nearly came off the bed, back arching and mouth parting. “There—there—that spot—”

  Tom gripped Cicero’s hips and rode him, every thrust dragging a mewl of sheer pleasure forth. And, Christ, it was incredible, watching Cicero so undone, speared on his cock and helpless with ecstasy. He felt dizzy with pleasure and power, that he could do this, make someone like Cicero come apart this way. “Say it’s good,” he begged.

  “Bloody hell, Thomas,” Cicero’s face contorted, teeth flashing between parted lips. “You don’t know how good. Us, like this, together. Tell me you feel it too, that it’s not just me.”

  “I feel it,” Tom said, because how could he not? The way they moved in time, Cicero’s ankles locked down behind his back, thighs flexing as he met Tom’s thrusts. There was something primal in this, a magic older than hexes, older than witches and familiars, older than humankind.

  “I can’t hold out any more.” Cicero reached for his prick again, but Tom was there first, wrapping one big hand around it. Those luminous yellow-green eyes widened, and then Cicero let out a laugh of sheer delight, sprawling back into the sheets. Just taking everything Tom gave him, luxuriating in it, and the sight turned Tom’s blood to flame. Tom felt his sack tighten—and then Cicero let out a shout, come shooting out of his prick and onto his chest, his body clenching around Tom’s.

  It wrung an answering cry from Tom. He drove in deep, loosing jet after jet into the wet heat of Cicero’s body, until his balls almost hurt from the force of it.

  He let go, bracing himself so as not to simply topple over. His head swam, senses saturated. The little room smelled of their mingled sweat and come, and Cicero made a soft thrumming sound of contentment, almost like a purr.

  “Oh,” Tom said, when he could talk again. “Oh, hell. That was…”

  Cicero wriggled, and Tom gently freed himself. “It was, wasn’t it?” Cicero asked.

  Then he laughed, and Tom found himself laughing too, just for the joy of it. He wrapped his arms around Cicero and they rocked back and forth in the bed, chuckling like a pair of fools.

  Eventually their mirth died away. Cicero rested his head on Tom’s shoulder, absently running his long, clever fingers through the curly hair on Tom’s chest.

  “When do you have to be back at the barracks?” Tom asked.

  Cicero’s hand stilled. “I don’t, actually. It’s not as if there’s a curfew. So long as they have some idea of where we are, we can do what we like.”

  “And where did you tell them you were going?”

  “Here, silly.” Cicero propped himself up to see Tom’s face. “Why would I lie?”

  “They think we’re working on the case, then?”

  “No one is that naïve,” Cicero said with another laugh. “I told Greta I was coming to see you, and she made some horrible joke about plum pudding that I’ll spare you the pain of hearing.” The look on his face became guarded. “You aren’t ashamed, are you?”

  “Of course not!” Tom tightened his arm around Cicero’s waist. “It’s just…the idea of other people knowing what we’re up to…”

  “Oh.” Cicero looked as if he hadn’t even considered the matter. “I’m terribly sorry, darling. After years in the barracks, knowing each other’s business, most of us familiars tend not to think twice about it. Look at it this way—if I went back right now, half the familiars there would smell you on me and know what we were up to without my having to say a word.”

  The part of Tom that had spent years carefully hiding everything he didn’t want anyone else to see was appalled. “Holy Familiar of Christ.”

  “Blaspheming, and on Christmas Eve.” Cicero pressed a kiss to Tom’s cheek. “No one will think twice. Most of them won’t even think once. No one cares, Thomas. As wonderful and fascinating as all of this has been to us, it’s not of much interest to anyone else. And if you’re concerned what they’ll think of you, then don’t be. For whatever reason, more familiars prefer their own sex in bed than not.”

  It required some adjustment in his own thinking. But hadn’t he told Cicero he’d put in the work? “So,” he said slowly, “if you stay the night, when you walk in the barracks tomorrow, everyone will know you’ve come straight from my bed?”

  As spent as he was, the thought was surprisingly arousing. A sly grin crept over Cicero’s lips. “You like that idea, don’t you?” He leaned over and planted a kiss just at the corner of Tom’s mouth. “And yes, tesoro. I will.”

  “Will what?”

  “Stay the night.”

  “Good,” Tom said, drawing him in for a proper kiss. “Because I need some more practice with my French.”

  “Don’t tell them you’re a police officer,” Cicero said as he stepped daintily alon
g the icy sidewalk beside Tom. “I’m still pretending to be on the outs with the MWP, and you’re still just a bartender at the Rooster I’ve struck up a friendship with.”

  Tom barely restrained a roll of the eyes. “I know. You don’t have to remind me.”

  Cicero had indeed stayed the night, then spent a lazy Christmas morning drinking coffee and lounging about while Tom made them pancakes atop the little coal fired stove. Before returning to the familiar barracks, though, he’d asked if Tom would like to come to a party with him.

  “Just a little something Noah—the owner of Techne—is throwing,” he’d said.

  “You want to talk to the anarchists before we try to get into the tunnels tonight?” Tom guessed.

  Cicero let out a little huff. “No, darling, I want to go to a party with my friends. Yes, Leona will be there, and yes, I will take the chance to speak with her.” He shrugged. “If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. I can meet you back here around, say, ten o’clock? I just thought you might like to meet them.”

  Tom’s chest warmed. Cicero wanted him to meet his friends, which made Tom think he meant for whatever it was they had to continue. “Of course I’ll come.”

  Now they traipsed down Greene Street, Cicero dressed at his most outrageous. Short of his dancing costume, at any rate. The kohl was thick around his eyes, and Tom was almost certain his lips and cheeks owed their redness to something other than the cold.

  “I’m terribly sorry, darling,” Cicero said. “Nerves, you know.”

  A group of men loitering on the street stared at them. Tom glared back, glad for his size. “Nerves? What…oh.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask what the ‘oh’ was for.”

  Tom shrugged. “You’re worried they’ll look down on you for bringing the likes of me along.”

  Cicero let out a little hiss. “Don’t be absurd. Quite the opposite. I’m worried you won’t like them.”