Moonstruck

by Aleksandr Voinov

  Anthony slid a hand between them and started stroking Samir’s cock, and he was rewarded with a soft moan and the sting of fingers tightening in his hair.

  Then Samir’s hands drifted lower, and he tugged at Anthony’s shirt again, this time freeing it from his waistband. Once it was free, he slid his hands under it, and Anthony gasped when Samir’s warm palms met his bare skin.

  “You’re really wearing too many clothes,” Samir murmured.

  “I’ve only been here five— Fuck.” Anthony sucked in a breath as Samir ran a nail over his nipple. “Okay. You’re right. Too many clothes.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Samir nudged him back. “We should leave your clothes on my bedroom floor.”

  “Good idea.”

  Anthony got up. He held out his hand and helped Samir to his feet, though they both should’ve known they wouldn’t get very far. As soon as Samir was standing, Anthony wrapped his arms around him, and once again, they were lost in a long kiss, Samir’s hot, naked body pressed against Anthony’s, and goddamn it, Samir was right. Far too many clothes. He wasn’t used to being this needy for someone, but damn, he liked it.

  He broke the kiss and took Samir’s hand again. “Let’s go.”

  Samir planted his feet. “Bedroom’s this way.”

  “Oh. Right. You lead the way.”

  Samir laughed and guided him down the short hallway to the bedroom. He flicked on a dim light beside the bed, and Anthony had a split second to notice a few wolf-themed items decorating the walls, but then Samir’s hands were on his belt, and who the fuck cared what was on the walls.

  “Do you have any idea,” Samir murmured between kisses, “what kind of torture it is to have to wait that long for you to get here?”

  As he struggled to help Samir with his belt and zipper, Anthony said, “Do you have any idea what kind of torture it is to have to drive all that way?”

  “Ugh. No. Never mind.” Samir unbuttoned the top of Anthony’s jeans, and slid his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

  Anthony groaned, letting his forehead rest against Samir’s. “Oh God.”

  Samir curved his other hand behind Anthony’s neck and kissed him, and Anthony couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. Not while Samir was stroking him, kissing him, holding him in place. He couldn’t tell if the firm grasp was “please don’t pull away” or “you’re not going anywhere,” but the end result was him happily, willingly, eagerly at Samir’s mercy.

  “You know,” Samir said, barely breaking the kiss and slowly sliding his hand free, “I like what you were doing before.”

  With that, he pushed down, and Anthony’s knees buckled. He knelt at Samir’s feet, his clothes a mess and his mind even more so, and almost fell apart completely when Samir placed his cock between Anthony’s parted lips. And this time, Samir didn’t lose control—he thrust deeper, and Anthony let him go as far as he wanted, concentrated on taking him deep and meeting the movement halfway, then pulling back a bit to tease Samir. The response was a deeper thrust.

  Somehow, they found a rhythm where their movements fell in sync, but it was more Samir fucking his throat than Anthony teasing him. The hands on his neck and the back of his head were more about steadying Anthony than holding him in place, and through the dizzying sensory overload, he became aware of Samir’s sounds, which might have been curses if he’d been able to turn them into words.

  As Samir’s thrusts became more erratic, Anthony slowed him down with his hands on Samir’s hips.

  “Why ...?”

  “I want to feel you come when I’m inside you. Bed?”

  Samir blinked a few times, but then got on the bed and pulled the lube and condoms from a bag on the nightstand. Anthony quickly shed the rest of his clothes—half-dressed, frantic sex could be hot, but he preferred as much skin on skin with Samir as he could get. Especially after a couple of long days of not touching him at all.

  Anthony then pushed against Samir, and they ended up with tangled limbs, kissing and panting, on top of the covers and completely naked. It was fun—playful, easy, and passionate, exactly the way Anthony liked sex. There were plenty of guys to whom sex was nothing but a transaction, and some did it like a competition, probably counting strokes in their heads and trying to beat their previous record. With Samir, he could relax. They could even get silly, both of them laughing while they were still breathless from making out, and making out while they were still breathless from laughing.

  Anthony sometimes enjoyed being bossed around too, and sometimes bossing the other guy around—it was a mood thing, but nothing he wanted to negotiate all the time. With Samir being equally flexible, they were so effortlessly in sync it made Anthony’s head spin.

  And speaking of fitting well together: Samir tore the condom wrapper and rolled the condom down Anthony’s cock, teasing him just a bit with strokes that were firm, but not nearly firm enough. And then, Samir bent down and sucked Anthony’s balls in his mouth, which, damn, made all other thoughts vanish.

  “Jesus.” Anthony ran his fingers through Samir’s hair. “G-get on your back before I fucking lose it.”

  Samir lay back on the pillows. He put a pillow under his hips, and Anthony positioned himself on top. He sat up, guiding himself closer, and as he did, Samir shivered, the first sign he’d given that he wasn’t a hundred percent in control.

  Grinning, he pressed his cock against Samir, but didn’t push in.

  Samir closed his eyes. He rocked his hips a little, as if trying to encourage Anthony. “Goddamn it ...”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Samir met his eyes, then reached up and grabbed the back of his neck again. Pulling himself up as he pulled Anthony down, he growled, “Fucking tease.”

  Anthony laughed, but then his lips were against Samir’s, and suddenly the teasing and joking and laughing were forgotten because ... God, the way he kissed. Samir relaxed his grasp. They sank back down to the bed. Anthony’s dick pressed against Samir again, and they held each other and made out, and every time Samir touched him, he sent sparks down the length of Anthony’s spine. Samir’s back arched, and Anthony slid a hand under it, holding him close while they kissed and rubbed against each other.

  Getting so tangled up in someone that he forgot what he was doing altogether, was entirely new to Anthony. He was vaguely aware he’d been about to fuck Samir, but that seemed like it had happened days ago. And then Samir dragged his nails down Anthony’s back, and Anthony’s internal clock went haywire again, and they’d been doing this—kissing and touching while thin, straight lines burned on his flesh—for days. Weeks. Forever.

  “Please, Anthony,” Samir gasped. “I want ...” He pulled Anthony’s hips against his, grinding their hard cocks together. “You want to be inside me when I come, then fucking fuck me.”

  Anthony couldn’t even form enough of a coherent thought to tease him. He lifted himself up a little and guided his cock in, and as he pushed in, they both exhaled. Anthony’s head spun even faster. The deeper he moved, sliding easily into Samir, the less he could focus on anything except that. On being inside him, moving inside him, picking up speed. He fell into some semblance of a rhythm, one he couldn’t have consciously kept if he’d tried but his body—their bodies—seemed to know by heart.

  Anthony lowered himself onto his forearms and found Samir’s lips with his, and he didn’t bother trying to figure out this smooth, somehow-steady cadence. He kissed Samir, moved in him, and let himself get completely lost. All that counted right now was Samir, his gasps and squirms and kisses, the way their sweat mingled and that delicious give and take.

  Neither was in control, and neither needed to be, so all they did was race along and enjoy the pleasure and the lust with the tenderness and desire, until they were both so full of it all there was no other option but to come undone. Anthony felt Samir tighten and grow frantic, just as he was starting to lose it too. Anthony thrust harder, and then they were both coming and gasping, holding each other tight
, swept away by orgasm.

  “So ... glad you could make it,” Samir slurred once words were a possibility again.

  Anthony nodded. “Glad I skipped training.”

  “You did? For booty?”

  “Well, your booty, but mostly, I didn’t want to have to drive back all the way from Victoria again.”

  “You don’t have a gym in that place?”

  “I do.” Anthony gently withdrew. “I hired a personal trainer in Victoria because”—he’s not involved with the locals and doesn’t have the foggiest who I am—“it forces me to leave the house once in a while. And I like driving—there’s something meditative about it that helps me plot.”

  “Uh, ok. I see why. Change of scenery and getting away from a place where everybody knows you and pesters you for book eight ...” Samir stretched out languidly.

  “Exactly.” Anthony kissed him again and then slipped out of bed to deal with the condom in the bathroom.

  When he got back, Samir was lying under the covers, pillow pulled close, watching his every move. “Are you going to stay tonight?”

  Anthony hesitated. “Do you want me to?”

  Samir grinned, pushed back the covers, and gestured for him to join him. Anthony did, and damn, he still couldn’t get over how well they fit together. They were perfectly matched when they were getting hot and heavy, and just as perfectly matched when they were cuddling under the sheets. Anthony lay on his back, his arm around Samir’s shoulders, and Samir rested his head on Anthony’s chest. Absolutely perfect.

  After a while, Samir said, “We’re both going to be spending a lot on gas now.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Anthony kissed the top of Samir’s head and absently ran his fingers up and down his arm. “Figures we’d meet while gas prices are through the roof.”

  Samir chuckled. “Could be worse, I guess.”

  “Yeah. Could be worse.” We could have never met at all. Anthony drew Samir closer and nuzzled his dark hair. “I don’t mind paying for gas. I just want to see you.”

  Samir draped his arm over Anthony’s chest. “I’m happy to pay too, as long as we get to see each other.”

  Anthony couldn’t put his finger on why the soft-spoken admission was such a relief, but it was. It made him feel like less of an idiot for bailing on his gym session and dashing across Puget Sound. Because for some reason, it didn’t feel like he’d made the drive in the name of sex and nothing else.

  “Have you heard from Leanne?”

  Anthony idly smoothed Samir’s hair, grateful for the subject change. “Aside from the hourly emails haranguing me for not finishing book nine yet? No.”

  Samir laughed. “She’s already on you about that one? I mean, okay, I get that it’s got a deadline coming up fast, but realistically, she knows it’s going to take you some time.”

  “Oh, Samir. Sweet, sweet, naive Samir.” Anthony sighed dramatically. “Deadlines don’t cower to things like real life, catastrophes, and writers who need incredibly devoted fans to come along and save their asses. One way or another, I still have to come up with book nine within the next eight weeks.” Just the thought of trying to hit that deadline made his stomach turn.

  Samir gently freed himself from Anthony’s grasp and propped himself up on his elbow. “How much did you have written in book eight? Before you read mine?”

  “Maybe eighty thousand words. Something like that. Why?”

  Samir watched himself trail his fingers up and down the middle of Anthony’s chest. “What if we combine them?”

  “Combine them?” Anthony furrowed his brow. “How so? They’re quite different.”

  “They both came from the same canon. Picked up at the same spot. If we can salvage some of yours and blend it with mine, that’ll make Axis Mundi long enough to break into two books.” He shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”

  Considering Axis Mundi focused on different characters from Anthony’s book eight, the idea had merit. They could blend some of the subplots too, and maybe salvage quite a few individual paragraphs to put into Axis Mundi. Samir’s book would be very much the backbone of it—the structure was excellent—but book eight could pad things out and develop the characters Anthony knew were important at the end of the series, but who had been much less on Samir’s radar. His memory of his own work was hazy after the slow slog and avoiding it for weeks, but maybe if they created an outline of both, merged them, copied and pasted bits and pieces over, ran it past a few critique partners ...

  Anthony was wide-awake now. “I think that could do it. Damn, I didn’t bring my laptop.”

  Samir chuckled. “You know I have to work tomorrow, right?”

  A quick glance at the alarm clock confirmed it was going on eleven, and sitting awake with printouts and notepads until five in the morning wasn’t really an option for Samir. Damn it. “Curse you, corporate America.”

  “Well, it’s that or no condo.”

  “Once the deal’s done, you won’t need to do that anymore. When I quit working, I could just write whenever I wanted, and I’m a night owl. I didn’t have to cut off the most productive hours in my day because I had to get up at are you kidding o’clock.”

  “I’m in.” Samir smiled, but there was a hint of caution in his expression. Maybe he still didn’t believe it was going to happen, or maybe he didn’t dare hope until it was done. For Anthony, too, that had been a challenge; that, and facing complete freedom about what to do with one’s time, having to cope with unstructured days that seemed to last longer and bleed together until Anthony hadn’t been able to tell what weekday it was anymore. Even facing the pressure of having to produce books, instead of writing for the hell of it and because that was the only way to get the characters in his head to shut up, had contributed to the stress. But at least Samir had an ally who’d gone through it before him.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Anthony said softly. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “I wake up tomorrow and find I fell asleep over a story I was writing where I meet you and we have sex?”

  Anthony’s grip tightened. “Won’t happen. You weren’t writing when I came in. And I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

  Samir smiled again, but that hint of caution remained.

  Anthony touched his face. “Something else wrong?”

  “What? No.” Samir laughed, though it sounded forced. “It’s been a crazy week, that’s all.” He took Anthony’s hand and kissed his palm. “Still, you know, adapting. To everything.” He met Anthony’s eyes and shyly added, “Some things more than others.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, this.” Samir swallowed. “Maybe I’m overthinking everything. It was kind of mind-blowing to go from idolizing this author from a distance and developing feelings for a best friend you’ve never met, to finding out they’re the same person.”

  Anthony blinked.

  Samir lowered his gaze. “I, uh. It’s just, It’s a lot, and I—”

  Anthony kissed him. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” But you might have to spell it out because I’m not sure I can process it all. “It’s overwhelming. I get that.”

  “Everything with the book is overwhelming,” Samir whispered. “I’m not sure what this is.”

  Anthony drew back enough to meet his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, now that I’m getting over the shock of realizing my closest friend is also my idol author, I’m wondering what this means for ...” He paused, eyes losing focus. “I guess I’m still afraid of what this is going to do to SirMarrok and Ulfhedinn.”

  Anthony smoothed Samir’s hair. “I’m still the same guy, Samir. And so are you.”

  “True. But I’ve dated friends before.” He took a deep breath and met Anthony’s eyes again. “The thing is, I could have handled meeting my idol and being disappointed, if that had happened, which it didn’t. But I keep going back and forth about what we’re doing. Like this.” He gestured at the sliver of space between their naked bodies. “And whether
it’s worth what could happen to our friendship if things go south.”

  “We’re both sensible adults. We can always talk it through. And while it doesn’t always work out when you try to be friends again, sometimes it does. I don’t see why it shouldn’t.”

  “Okay.” Samir still seemed dubious. Probably all he really needed was time; when they’d spent more days and nights together, the anxiety would wear off. Maybe for both of them. After all, Anthony’s reputation as a recluse hadn’t happened by accident, and most of the men who’d been in his bed had been just friends or total strangers. So whatever this was, Anthony wasn’t going to rush it.

  He rubbed his eyes. “Damn. I’m still really awake because of the stupid book. Nine, I mean. Not Axis Mundi.”

  “If you need to work while you’re here, go for it. I have to crash pretty soon so I can get up in the morning, but you’re welcome to use my office.”

  “I don’t have my laptop.”

  “Well, you could look at Axis Mundi again. It’s on my desktop.”

  Anthony balked for a few minutes, but that was exactly what he’d have done at home. Get up, put on coffee, sit somewhere, and work his way through the printout in the library or the kitchen. “I’ll need a notepad.”

  “Pile of legal pads is in the first drawer to the left.” Samir yawned. “Use whatever you need.”

  “And you don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. It was my idea.” Samir kissed his chest. “Also, you’re twitchy now.”

  “Guess I am.” He leaned down to kiss Samir’s cheek, then slid out of bed and put on his boxers and jeans. He gathered the other clothes, and then turned to Samir again. “Passwords?”

  “Oh. It’s TooWerewolfForMyShirt. One word, first letters capitalized.”

  Anthony grinned. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, probably.”

  “No rush.” Samir turned onto his other side and killed the light.

  Anthony left the room. It felt strange to leave Samir to sleep while he worked, but there was no real alternative. He hated losing momentum, and especially hated having to do something else when he did feel inspired to write. Sleep would be a fleeting thing full of weird dreams if he forced himself into it now.