Sinner's Gin

by Rhys Ford

  “I’ve got you, Miki love,” Kane’s fingers tangled into Miki’s hair, and he caressed the man’s nape, feeling Miki slowly relax around his erection. “We’ll take our time.”

  Pulling himself up, Miki kept his head down as he pushed against Kane’s thighs. A change in the angle of his hips, and Kane’s cock nearly slipped free of his ass, but Miki ground his hips back, moving in a small circle to recapture Kane in his tight grip. Kane shivered from the sudden plunge of his cock into the cold air of the room, only to be engulfed by the simmering warmth of Miki’s slick hole. Another tilt, and Miki gave a whispering moan, filling himself again with Kane’s heft. Reaching forward, he palmed his own cock, only to have his hand pushed away.

  “Let me,” Kane insisted. “I want to do that for you, baby. I want to make you explode.”

  Kane’s fingers found him, stroking at his length until Miki’s hard cock jerked and twisted in his hand. Murmuring encouragement, Kane began to thrust up, piercing Miki’s core with a solid push of flesh. They began to move, finding the pulse between their bodies. In a few heartbeats, Kane found the right hook to follow, and he gripped Miki’s hip with his free hand, guiding the man into a steady rhythm.

  Miki’s tight, velvet grip around his cock drove Kane wild as he plunged in and out of his lover’s body. Buried inside the man for the first time, he pushed himself deep to stroke against Miki’s pleasure. He struck the spot, and Miki’s body untangled around him in a sudden, frenetic squirm. Miki grunted for more, and Kane tried to time his strokes with the roll of his fingers. The lube on his hand turned Miki’s cock to a satiny-hard shaft, and he worked down its length, burnishing the head with his palm before fondling his way back down to the base.

  Unable to hold himself back, Miki covered Kane’s fingers with his own hand. They slid up and down Miki’s sex with their tangled fingers, its lube-slick skin rolling over the shaft in time with the thrusts of Kane’s hips. Encouraged by Kane’s whispers, Miki drove down to meet his lover with each stroke.

  “I can’t last, Miki. Gonna lose it.” Kane shuddered, trying to slow his own release.

  The spiraled clench of Miki’s passage on him was nearly too much to handle, and he felt the rush of his seed beginning to boil up from his sac. Quickening, he flicked his thumb over Miki’s entrance, running the spread of lube around the rosette so he could pound Miki harder. The rough feel of his finger against Miki’s crinkled entrance drove Kane to lose himself in the feel of his lover’s skin sliding against him.

  “Too much, Kane,” Miki gasped. “Going to come.”

  Grasping himself firmly, Miki pulled his sex hard, jerking his palm over the head as he tried to match the thrusts pounding up inside of him. His shoulders and stomach trembled with the release building along his erection, and Kane began to rock faster, determined to drive Miki over the edge.

  Nearly painfully hard, Miki’s cock throbbed once, then spurted a thin trail of white. It spread over his fingers, seeping down between the cracks of his knuckles. A moment later, another climax hit him, and he shot wide, splattering Kane’s chest with a blast of hot seed. Continuing to rock on Kane’s sex, Miki lunged forward, dropping his shoulders and pushing back onto the other man, driving Kane as far in as he could take him.

  Kane picked up his pace, moving in time to the man’s encouraging grunts. Digging his fingers into the small of Miki’s back, he regained his control long enough to hold on, slapping their bodies together in a wet slide of skin on skin.

  A spark of release hit Kane hard, and he leaned back, nearly losing his balance as his cock erupted. Miki crested again, and Kane cried out, driven to his orgasm by the clench of Miki’s muscles around his shaft. Pulled in by the man’s contractions, Kane gritted his teeth and came hard. Sweat dotted his chest and ran down his torso as he gripped Miki’s shoulders and drove his lover down onto his throbbing shaft.

  Engulfed fully, Kane thrust one last time into Miki, the tight sac under his erection giving to his release and curling up into the hollow of his thighs. The hot spill bloomed into Miki’s passage, working a flood of sexual desire through the tight space between them. The latex swelled, filling to the brim with Kane’s seed, and Miki gasped at the volcanic rush coursing from Kane’s shaft, his own cock seeking its final, fluttering release.

  Kane eased Miki down, reluctantly laying the panting man onto the mattress. The singer complained softly when Kane’s softening erection slid free of Miki’s rippling entrance. Bound by sweat and drying lube, they kissed what parts of each other they could reach, wet skin slick under their palms, and the smell of musky sex blended with almond oil.

  “Fuck, that was nice,” Miki finally gasped. Panting slightly, he stretched out over the bed, sucking in as much air as he could. “I’m going to hurt like hell tomorrow but it was worth it.”

  “Nice?” Kane muttered. The muscles in his legs were rubbery, and there was a creaking ache beginning to form in his spine. Next to him, Miki looked well-fucked, his skin glowing gold and his mouth slightly swollen from Kane’s tongue and teeth. “Fucking hell, it was more than nice. You wore me out, and I get nice?”

  “Yeah, nice.” Miki turned his head, sleepily winking at the man lying next to him. “Maybe next time, we can aim for pretty good.”

  “What do I have to do to get a fucking fantastic?” Kane eyed his lover suspiciously.

  “Make me forget my name,” he murmured, his green eyes gleaming with satiation.

  “Deal.” He chuckled, rolling over to give Miki a slow, simmering kiss. “Just so long as you don’t forget mine, Miki love, because you’re going to be screaming it for a very long time.”

  Chapter 14

  We are lost somewhere in Boon Fuck E.

  The van’s all broke and we don’t have tea.

  Damie’s driving us to hell and gone…

  Sinjun, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to take that guitar and shove it down your throat.

  Hey, what rhymes with gone? Maybe I should change it to back. That way I can use black.

  —First Tour of the Americas, location unknown.

  KANE jerked awake at the sound of a deep, lolling chime echoing through the warehouse. He debated ignoring the doorbell, then thought better of it when Miki shifted in his sleep and grumbled into the pillow he’d curled up around. After sliding out from the tangled sprawl of the man’s limbs, Kane grabbed a pair of sweats from the floor and tugged them up over his hips. The chime sounded again, a low, mournful sound and Kane shook his head.

  “Sounds like you should have Lurch answering your door there, Miki boy,” he mumbled to the sleeping man. Dude opened one eye from his post at the end of the bed and rolled over, showing Kane his extreme disinterest in getting up in the form of his blond-furred belly.

  According to the green light displays on Miki’s living room electronics, they’d slept the afternoon away and were quickly heading toward early evening without either of them having much in their stomachs. Somewhere close, someone had cooked a dinner rich with garlic and cabbage, and his insides protested the emptiness sticking to his ribs. Shuffling to the front door, Kane peered through the fish-eye peep hole and stared in shock at the person standing on Miki’s stoop.

  “Oh, fucking hell,” he whispered under his breath.

  He would rather have taken on another pack of reporters. Hell, he’d even be willing to tackle Connor’s team of glorified thugs who thought they were real cops. No, instead God chose to deliver onto Miki’s doorstep the source of all Morgans’ nightmares following a missed Sunday family dinner—a short, red-haired Brigid Finnegan Morgan carrying casserole dishes in the bright pink paisley fabric tote Riley got her last Christmas.

  “Fucking Connor. You were supposed to tell her I was missing dinner, not send her here!” His brother had to have told her where Miki lived, and it was no use pretending he wasn’t there. His SUV was parked only a few feet from Miki’s front door, and he’d turned on the living room lights so he could see his way to the door wit
hout tripping on one of Dude’s tennis balls. “Okay, come on. You’re an adult. Take the food and turn her back around.”

  Kane knew he was lying to himself before he even turned the knob, especially when the garlic and cabbage aroma bloomed in his face when he opened the door and his mother shoved her shoulder through. A second later she was inside, tottering in on a pair of flame-red leather pumps she usually wore only to church or to visit people she wanted to impress.

  Obviously, Brigid Morgan had also decided they were appropriate footwear for kicking her son’s ass to the lower circles of Hell where she thought he belonged.

  “Since you couldn’t seem to find yer way home, I had Connor tell me where you’ve been hiding. Where’s the kitchen, Kane Aodh Morgan? Never mind, I can see it plain as day from here.”

  A heavy dram of Ireland lived in his mother’s words, a strong reminder of the home she’d left behind to chase Donal Morgan’s dreams. When she spoke, her rolling words shouted green hills and a douse of Emerald Isle rain, but Kane could hear the promise of a peat bog in his future if she didn’t get an answer to why he’d not shown up at the family gathering for over a month.

  His mother stalked past him, her heels clomping on the wood floor, leaving Kane by the front door. She came to a screeching halt at the open archway and stood there, gaping.

  Kane knew what she was staring at. He’d just left a naked Miki still asleep on his stomach and lying on a web of tangled sheets, bared to God and kissed to submission. The memory of the man’s green-tea-and-sex-scented skin was burned into his brain so deep he was surprised he could smell his mother’s cooking through it.

  In that moment, he was fourteen again, and his mother had walked in on him jerking off in the bathroom. It’d been the perfect vantage point, overlooking their backyard where his brother Connor and his friends were playing chicken fight in the pool. Their toned, wet bodies had been too much for him to take, and he fled to the relative safety of the old-fashioned bathtub’s wide rim to satisfy himself.

  If only he’d locked the door.

  If only Miki had a door.

  “Yer telling me that in this big, expensive place, you couldn’t be finding that poor boy a door for his bedroom?” Brigid gave her second son a withering glance. “And you call yerself a woodworker. I’ll be heating things up in the kitchen. Yer going to wake up that young man so he can get some food in him. Yer a sorry excuse for a son if yer letting him starve himself to bones.”

  Kane wondered if he could get Miki dressed and bundled up in his car before his mother noticed they’d fled, but Dude was a complication. The dog would probably sniff out the food and go investigating. He’d notice Kane squirreling Miki away, especially if it included a car ride.

  The skitter of nails on the wood floor confirmed Kane’s thoughts on the terrier, and Dude barely spared him a glance as he trotted quickly by him, his twitching nose leading him to the kitchen.

  “Fucking mutt.” Kane padded into Miki’s bedroom and stood at the end of the mattress. He was reluctant to wake the man. The shadows under Miki’s eyes were only just starting to fade, but arguing with his mother was useless. As far as she was concerned, if there was food on the table, everyone in the house showed up to eat. Even if it wasn’t her house and there wasn’t technically a table.

  Miki’s foot twitched, and Kane grabbed his big toe, tugging lightly. The singer mumbled and kicked Kane’s hand away, burying his face into the pillows. Kane was tempted to let him sleep, but when Miki squirmed on his belly into the rumpled sheets, Kane got a good view of the man’s naked, firm ass.

  “Damn. You hate me, don’t you?” Kane threw a glance up at the heavens. Unless he wanted his mother to learn firsthand about how two men had sex, he didn’t dare touch Miki’s bare skin, but short of tossing a bucket of ice water on him, Kane didn’t have much choice. “Aw, screw it.”

  Stretching out across the enormous mattress, Kane lay perpendicular to Miki’s lean body. Tucking his elbows under him, Kane supported himself on his forearms and blew a fierce puff of air into Miki’s left nostril.

  “What the fucking hell?” Miki shot up, scrambling to rub at his face. Rubbing hard at his nose, he slapped frantically at the sheets for a moment with his other hand. His hazel eyes focused on Kane, and he glared. “Fucking asshole. Face is okay, but never the nose.”

  “It was either that or kiss you.” He gave Miki a cocky smile. “It was safer for my dick’s sanity not to kiss you.”

  “Never ever fucking do that to someone who’s lived around roaches,” the singer grumbled, taking a final swipe at his nose. “I have nightmares about those bastards climbing into places I can’t get them out.”

  Kane winced. He’d stupidly complained about the Irishwoman who, at that very moment, was clanging around Miki’s kitchen because she missed him, and Miki’s first thought at being tickled was roaches. He leaned in and kissed the corner of Miki’s frown, murmuring, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Miki snorted and shrugged it off, rolling his shoulders. The crack of his spine was loud enough to make Kane wince, and the popping from his neck almost echoed in the cavernous room. Stretching his arms up over his head, Miki shifted his legs out and sniffed. “You ordered dinner?”

  “Worse, dinner came to us.” Kane grimaced playfully. “My mother’s here. She brought food. Smells like roast beast a la Morgan and cabbage rolls.”

  Miki raised his eyebrows. Then his eyes widened, his pupils nearly pinpricks amid the green and gold. “What the fuck? Your mom? How the… oh fucking hell… fuck me.”

  “Yeah,” Kane agreed. “I’ll do that later. Hopefully, I can wait until your knee’s better, but I’m not promising anything.”

  “Dude, I don’t do parents,” Miki mumbled in a panic. “Fuck, they hate my guts. You’ve got to get rid of her. Why the hell did she come here?”

  “You’re cute when you’re nervous.” He laughed and slid off the bed. “Go pull your pants all the way up and go wash up a bit. You’ll be fine. She’s nice. It’s me she’s pissed off at. You, she’ll love. Just be yourself.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve met me!” he grumbled and searched for his shirt, finding it balled up under the sheets. “God, this is the worst fucking idea.”

  “I’ve had worse,” Kane promised. “Remind me to tell you about my baby brother Ian’s adventures of seeing what his dick would fit into when he was sixteen. Having my mother here will seem like a walk in the park.”

  “Who the hell walks in the park?” Miki sighed and flung himself back on the bed. Kane nudged him with a poke in the ribs, and he yelped, rubbing at the ticklish spot. “Fine, go keep her company so I can sneak into the bathroom, but I swear to God, if she hates me, it’s all your fault.”

  KANE’S mother loved Miki.

  She’d been thrown by the Spartan warehouse and the seemingly overwhelming supply of packaged ramen in the pantry, but when the gun-shy, wide-eyed, disheveled Miki emerged from the bathroom, Brigid fell in love.

  Kane almost bit through his upper lip to stop from laughing when Brigid clasped Miki’s fine-boned cheeks. His deep hazel eyes flew open in surprise, and he stumbled back, caught short by his injured knee. He was nothing like her own sons, with his haunted, startling eyes and pretty face, but that didn’t stop Brigid from clasping him to her not inconsiderable bosom and tsking over his lean body.

  “Mom, leave him be.” Kane pulled a shell-shocked Miki out his mother’s grasp. “Mick, grab the plates. We’ll go set up in the living room.”

  Miki snatched the plates, forks, and napkins from the counter and limped out faster than Kane thought humanly possible. Dude glanced up at Brigid once, obviously contemplating his options. It was decidedly easy once Brigid began trimming the fat off the roast beef she’d set into the oven to warm and slid the finely slivered trim into Dude’s dish.

  The lack of dining room table perplexed Brigid for a moment, but she rallied admirably, ordering Kane to set the pseudo-coffee table once it
was cleared of game controllers and a stack of notebooks with worn edges. Miki grabbed them before Kane could get ahold of them, and stashed them in a milk crate set on its side by the couch. A swipe of a damp sponge took off most of the dust, and Kane grinned when Miki hurriedly shoved a couple of DVDs under the couch before Brigid could see them.

  Kane left Miki to figure out how he was going to set up the coffee table and ambled back into the kitchen to see if his mother needed help.

  “He doesn’t eat healthy,” Brigid said accusingly when Kane joined her. “You call yourself a boyfriend? Look at what he has in his fridge!”

  “Mom, he’s not….” Kane stopped himself. “I know what he’s got in the fridge. I put some of it there. I’m not going to tell Miki what to do. He’s a grown man.”

  “Where’s his mother? Doesn’t she care about him?” Kane shook his head at her warningly, and she sniffed haughtily, a strong condemnation against Miki’s absent parents. “It looks like I sent a five-year-old to the store. I worry about him.”

  “You just met him.” He knew it was useless to point out the obvious, but he tried anyway, reaching over his mother’s head to grab the long platter he’d found above the fridge. “You can’t worry about him yet.”

  “I’ll worry if I want to. Yer not one to tell me I can’t.” She waved the business end of her wooden spoon at his nose. “Put that there. I’ll use it for the cabbage rolls. Does he like cabbage?”

  “I’m guessing he’s never ever had those before,” Kane admitted. “But you never know. He might love cabbage.”

  He was saved by his cell phone skittering across the kitchen counter as it sang about a private dick who was a sex machine to all the chicks. Smiling a fake apology at his mother, he grabbed the phone to answer it just as Brigid headed out into the living room to interrogate Miki about green, leafy vegetables and his fondness of them.