Bad Judgment

by Sidney Bell

  Brogan eyed him sidelong. “How sweet of you, Carol.”

  “It’s my speech,” Embry said, only a little bit defensive. “She barely helped.”

  “She wrote almost all of it, didn’t she?”

  Setting his jaw, Embry continued, “The caution reminds me of why you’re being careful. So if you could trust me to tell you if there’s a problem and... I don’t know, throw me against a wall or something, I’d appreciate it.”

  Brogan studied him. “Throw you against a wall?”

  “Or something.” Embry wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Or, fuck it, we can have polite hand jobs year after boring year until you can’t help staring at little blond twinks and I’m forced to get violent.”

  Brogan shook his head, clucking his tongue in pretend admonishment. “Oh, Embry, you’re the only—”

  “Call me a twink and die,” Embry snarled.

  “I would never,” Brogan replied, holding his hands up, eyebrows lifting in mock fear. Then the concern returned. “Embry...are you sure about this? We can... I’m not with you for sex, you know that, right? You don’t have to do anything or be anything to keep me loving you. I’m all in, remember?”

  Embry’s heart softened against his will. He still hadn’t figured out how Brogan managed to say things like that.

  “I loved the way you fucked me,” he muttered. He couldn’t quite make eye contact—it was as close as he’d ever gotten to saying those three little words, much to his own self-disgust. “I’m not gonna let him take that away from me. You’re too important.”

  Brogan’s expression turned fond. “You know, for someone with shitty interpersonal skills, you didn’t do half-bad.”

  “Thank fuck,” Embry said, glancing heavenward. “That was like getting dental surgery.”

  Smiling, Brogan got up and rewarded Embry for his efforts with a kiss. It was slow, sweet. Respectful.

  And good. For a minute at least, and then Embry hummed impatiently into his mouth.

  “The wall?” Brogan asked, lifting his head and searching Embry’s gaze. “Is that what that obnoxious buzzing noise means?”

  Embry nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I might not like it, but I want to try it.”

  “Where did this new fascination with gymnastics come from? Did you see it in a movie or something?”

  Embry felt himself turning deeply, painfully red. Brogan lifted an eyebrow.

  “Our first time,” Embry mumbled. “Remember? You went down on me, but first you kind of...”

  “Shoved you against the wall. Hmm.” Brogan tilted his head back, thinking about it. The look he aimed at Embry was tender, if tinged with smugness. “Liked that, did you?”

  Embry squirmed, scowling at him. “Don’t be a dick.”

  “All right. One erotic wall throw coming up.” He bit down on his lower lip then added, “If you want to stop—”

  “I know. As long as it’s you, Brogan, as long as I can see you and remind myself, it’ll be okay, even if you get rough. I trust you.”

  Brogan swallowed, staring at Embry like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d gotten here, and then he took a deep breath and shoved Embry against the wall, crowding in next to him, his eyes going dark at the feel of Embry up close.

  Despite his request, Embry had half feared that he would lose all progress when the moment came, but there wasn’t even a wisp of panic on the horizon. There was only the weight and strength of Brogan against him, a sensation he wasn’t sure how he’d gone so long without.

  “Yeah,” Embry gasped. “Oh, yeah.”

  Brogan watched Embry’s face as he leaned in harder, bringing his weight to bear. Embry’s eyes fell closed and he sighed. He felt surrounded and craved and safe, all at once.

  “Okay,” Brogan said, sounding relieved. “That works. Good to know.” He lowered his head and kissed the fuck out of Embry, and Embry moaned and took it, desperate and greedy, because this felt like them, here was the heat he’d missed. The kiss went on and on, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, and finally Brogan wrenched free to drop sucking kisses along Embry’s throat. “God, you smell good,” Brogan growled. “Can I?”

  “Yeah,” Embry said, not even sure what he was agreeing to, but he doubted Brogan would want to do anything Embry wouldn’t like. He was surprised when Brogan hauled Embry up into his arms, and he wrapped his legs around Brogan’s hips, more than happy with his new abode.

  “Impressive,” Embry panted, biting down on the earlobe in front of him before adding a comforting lick.

  “Well, I work out,” Brogan replied, carrying Embry down the hall. He didn’t even sound winded, which was hot. He stopped for a second to shove Embry against another wall on the way, which showed that he was the well-mannered sort of person who remembered when other people requested things, which was nice because fuck, yeah, Embry liked this wall thing a lot when it was Brogan doing the throwing.

  The force of it knocked their bodies together in interesting ways, and Embry squirmed around, eager for more contact.

  Brogan groaned. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

  “Okay,” Embry said. “You have too many clothes on.”

  “I’ll have to put you down if you want me naked.”

  Embry was torn about that for a second. Brogan’s mouth returned to his, tangling and open and nipping, and Embry writhed, looking for friction and heat and Brogan and mostly got denim. He finally wrenched his mouth loose to say, “Bed. No clothes. Bed.”

  So Brogan carried him the rest of the way to the bedroom, shut the door on Gizmo with his heel, and then dropped Embry on the bed. Before the mattress even finished squeaking, they were clumsily stripping amidst flailing limbs and shirt buttons pinging and clashing kisses.

  “Christ, you’re beautiful,” Brogan said, voice low, almost reverent, and his eyes were flitting all over Embry’s body, warm and possessive and clearly pleased with what they saw, and Embry couldn’t take it. He went to his knees on the floor, mouth opening, lips trailing along sticky pre-come and heated, hard flesh. He started with a kittenish kiss right on the tip of Brogan’s cock, thinking maybe he’d tease, but he abandoned that plan when Brogan let out a low, edgy groan. Instead, he took Brogan deep, delighted by the strong, uncompromising hands that began tunneling through his hair—at least, he was delighted until they started pushing him gently back.

  “You don’t have to—” Brogan mumbled, and he probably thought he had a good reason for that kind of crazy talk, but Embry interrupted, saying, “Look, I can suck it or I can bite it, but either way, it’s going in my mouth so stop being stupid,” and Brogan laughed even as his eyes clenched shut and his grip loosened.

  It was probably the sloppiest blow job in the history of the world—there was spit everywhere, and Embry’s hand slipped along the surface of Brogan’s cock where it met his lips, and he was breathing harshly through his nose. He didn’t care. He wanted more, wanted the salty, slightly bitter taste on his tongue, wanted Brogan’s thick hardness filling his mouth, wanted to ruin Brogan with pleasure. He glanced up, aware of how obscene he must look with Brogan’s cock in his mouth, and he shuddered—Brogan’s eyes were wide and dark and wild. It gave Embry a little thrill. He’d done that. He’d made Brogan desperate, made Brogan crave him.

  It didn’t frighten him the way it would’ve from anyone else. Brogan would never hurt him, never use him. Brogan would stop if he asked him to, and that made it safe to keep going, made it easy to let himself crave Brogan in return.

  Embry brought his free hand up to roll Brogan’s balls in his fingers, and that was the last of Brogan’s patience, apparently, because he hauled Embry to his feet.

  “Not coddling you,” he said. “Fucking you. Promise.” Then he manhandled Embry to the bed, pushing him onto the mattress, crowding over him, smothering him with his big body and sweat-damp
, hot skin, his mouth merciless in a starving kiss.

  When he finally moved on to bite at Embry’s throat, Embry choked out, “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m gonna do something violent.”

  “I will. I’m gonna...fuck, the things I want... I’m gonna take you apart.” Brogan muscled his way between Embry’s thighs, hands cupped under his knees, saying “Spread your legs for me,” as if he hadn’t already done it himself. Embry half expected the sensation to trigger him, but there was only Brogan’s gaze, a palpable weight on Embry’s most private flesh, and he shivered, feeling the last of his worry dissolve.

  Brogan fumbled for the lube and a second later a wet finger eased inside of Embry. He squirmed under the touch, and Brogan put one big palm against his belly, holding him still, sending a sizzle along his spine.

  “More,” Embry managed.

  “Demanding,” Brogan said, not sounding like he minded at all. He added a second finger, stretching and scissoring, and the scrape of skin on muscle felt really fucking good. Embry mumbled praise and pushed down into it.

  Brogan watched his wide fingers disappear into Embry’s ass, which had Embry blushing and dizzy and wonderfully self-conscious. The heat in Brogan’s gaze and the coiling pleasure in his belly combined, reducing Embry to incoherent begging sounds.

  “God, listen to you,” Brogan breathed. “I have to, right now. Are you ready? I have to.”

  Embry nodded and Brogan slid up, lifting one of Embry’s legs so his ankle rested on Brogan’s shoulder. Brogan propped himself up with one hand and directed the angle of his cock with the other as he began to push in, cataloguing Embry’s reactions, his expression hard and uncompromising in his arousal.

  Embry tipped his head back on the pillow, concentrating on breathing and relaxing, because the thick head of Brogan’s cock had barely begun to enter him and already he felt overwhelmed, his muscles crying out wait even as the rest of him said hurry.

  “Christ,” Brogan choked out. “You feel—”

  It was nearly too much, nearly. Embry’s body couldn’t help resisting the intrusion, and he was hyperaware of every inch as it slid inside him. The stretch was brutal, but he got a dark thrill from the slow surrender of his flesh, from the inevitability of Brogan inside him. He broke into a sweat, and dug his hands into the sheets until one corner popped off the mattress—he didn’t care.

  Brogan rocked his way inside Embry, tiny thrusts, his hips jerking as he fought the urge to go faster, and Embry could only arch his back and pant through it.

  By the time Brogan’s hips settled against his buttocks and his big body stilled, Embry was writhing. Fuck, he felt full and open, vulnerable in a way he’d never allow with anyone else. He lay there and trembled, eyes closed, concentrating on the slow unfurling within him as his muscles adjusted.

  “Okay,” he said finally.

  “Yeah?” Brogan’s voice was rough and raw as he pulled out and slid back in on a long, slow stroke, watching Embry, always watching, and when the angle hit just right, Embry’s whole body went lax with pleasure. His limbs went heavy, thick and slow like honey, and he couldn’t move or push or fight anymore—he could only melt and yield and give Brogan everything he was.

  Brogan groaned. “Hold on,” he ordered.

  So Embry did, one hand on the ridges of Brogan’s ribs, the other on the nape of his sweaty neck.

  Brogan’s muscles bunched beneath Embry’s fingertips as his hips drove in and out. The size and force of him stole Embry’s breath, and he lunged up to suck a bruise into the column of Brogan’s throat, tasting salt.

  “Harder,” he urged, lips to skin.

  “Are you sure?” Brogan asked through labored breaths.

  “Yes,” he begged. “Harder. Please, Brogan.” Embry wanted to feel him for days, wanted the imprint of Brogan in his skin, in his flesh, down into his bones, as close to permanent as possible.

  Brogan slammed himself inside Embry, shoving him against the new headboard—which Brogan had assembled with a great many pointed looks at Embry, because it had no bars at all, just a flat panel that Embry took to mean that there would be no more late-night handcuffings. But that panel gave Embry a surface to brace himself against, and he pushed down into it, the depth and speed and power of Brogan inside him dragging a strangled sound from Embry’s throat.

  “Fuck,” Embry gasped. “Shit. Oh, God.”

  “Yeah,” Brogan said, dropping his head into the hollow of Embry’s shoulder, nodding against his skin.

  The perfection of it, the brutal, satisfying, pleasure-pain of it...he shook under the lash of pure need.

  The tension built inside him—he was close, so close, and oh, God, the heat...fuck. They were pressed so tightly together that the hard plane of Brogan’s belly rubbed against his cock with every thrust, barely more than a tease, the constant friction just shy of enough. Brogan drove into him so hard they were moving up the damn bed, and it was—Jesus, he needed more, just a little more, and it wasn’t—shit, he couldn’t take this much longer without going mad.

  Brogan gritted his teeth, his ruthless concentration downright vicious, animalistic, maybe, and it should’ve been scary but it wasn’t, it was fucking hot. Besides, that concentration meant that Brogan figured out Embry was about to explode, because he shifted ever so slightly to the left and the next thrust landed directly in that perfect spot. It all coalesced within him: the pounding, the slide, the burn, the fullness—a landslide set loose and Embry began to come.

  The hot, liquid pleasure welled up in thick, slow-moving waves that ripped through him for endless seconds, and by the time it dissipated, he was stunned and wordless and clinging. The world could’ve ended and he wouldn’t have known, wouldn’t have cared. Brogan came not long after, shaking and growling Embry’s name like a plea, his rhythm going uneven at the end.

  When he’d recovered somewhat, Brogan lowered Embry’s leg to the mattress and curved that big body down over him. He kissed Embry—worshipful, grateful kisses, and he made fragile, contented noises against Embry’s mouth. His fingers clutched a little too hard, and Embry closed his eyes and held on with all the strength in his body.

  Their pounding hearts slowed. Eventually, Brogan disentangled them and went for a washcloth. He cleaned Embry up, belly, cock and even back between his cheeks, tender and protective, and Embry lay there and let him, knowing how important it was to Brogan to take care of him, enjoying the luxurious feel of Brogan’s hands on his body.

  Brogan climbed back in bed and tugged Embry into his arms even though the room was hot and the sheets beneath them were sweat-damp. Gizmo snuffled at the crack under the door, whining every now and then so they’d know how mean they were for excluding him and Brogan was wrapped around him like a monkey on a vine, and...and it was perfect. So perfect that he couldn’t believe it was his. That he could keep it.

  “So that was some good fucking,” Embry said, far too seriously because what he actually meant was thank you. “I feel better.”

  “Maybe there’s medicinal properties in spunk,” Brogan replied, but his smile was warm, and Embry knew the message had been received. Brogan was fluent in speaking Embry.

  “We should probably fuck again to confirm the theory,” Embry said, coughing a little to get the thickness to ease. “Because of science.”

  Rubbing at the damp corner of Embry’s eye with a thumb, Brogan said, “You did good, baby. I’m proud of you.”

  “It’s not like I broke a world record or something.”

  “Somehow, I love you anyway.” Brogan kissed his temple, but there was a beat of hesitation, the same beat that always followed when Brogan said I love you. Then, as if he hadn’t been wondering if this was the moment that Embry would finally pull his head out of his ass, as if it was fine that Embry was emotionally inept even after everything Brogan had done for him, Brogan went on, “Y
ou know, I don’t think I put the turkey away. I bet Gizmo ate it.”

  “I know you’ve been waiting for me to say it back,” Embry murmured, and Brogan twisted onto his side, cupping Embry’s chin and lifting it to make eye contact.

  “No,” Brogan said firmly, if a little guiltily. “I understand. After everything that happened the last time you loved someone, saying it out loud probably feels like tempting the fates.”

  Embry jerked one shoulder, but that was it. Hard as it was to put anything he felt into words, he’d learned by now that he could say anything to Brogan, so it wasn’t distance or mistrust that kept him from opening his mouth. The truth was that Embry still woke up sometimes at night, short of breath at the risk he was taking by reaching for any of this happiness. It was superstitious and silly, but he hadn’t said the words because he couldn’t bear to jinx it.

  “Are you listening to me? I know,” Brogan insisted. “I don’t need to hear it, baby.”

  “But you deserve to.” Embry clenched his eyes shut, begging with everything in him that this time he’d be allowed to keep someone. “I love you, Brogan.”

  His voice broke—it was little more than a whisper. But he knew the words were heard, because Brogan’s heart thumped beneath his ear as he exhaled in a shudder. A heavy throb of pressure dissipated between them, like the echo that subsided after a ringing bell fell still.

  “Oh,” Brogan said softly. “So that’s what it feels like.”

  He was so sweetly astonished that Embry climbed on top of him, straddling Brogan’s hips, pressing their bellies together and burying his face in Brogan’s throat to conceal the hot tears that he couldn’t keep back.