Jonah’s scent clung to every inch of the space, the sharp smell of Irish Spring soap, sweat, and gunpowder. It wasn’t anything Cas would have called sexy, but the smell went straight to his dick, because he knew Jonah’s secret. He knew who Jonah really was, and, somehow, knowing Jonah’s secret was the ultimate aphrodisiac, like knowing that Superman was really Clark Kent. Jonah was a killer, and everything about that turned Cas on.
Cas humped his hips against the mattress, moaning at the pressure, feeling both horny and pathetic. Jonah never touched Cas, didn’t so much as drop a hand onto his shoulder, and it somehow only made Cas want him more, and it was the most frustrating experience of Cas’s short life. He had put himself in Jonah’s way a thousand times, but he just seemed to easily sidestep him. It was probably for the best. The longer Jonah went without touching Cas, the more it felt like foreplay, like some long con, and Cas was afraid the payoff would be him jizzing in his pants the first time Jonah’s hand accidentally brushed his in the kitchen. There’d be no recovering from that.
It didn’t stop Cas from daydreaming, though. Jonah starred in all his jerk-off fantasies. Who needed porn when you lived with a tall, tan, toned god with muscles he’d chiseled and bronzed by spending endless days on the roof beating a heavy bag? And don’t even get Cas started on the stubble, the constant shadow on Jonah’s jaw that Cas just knew would leave red marks on his skin anywhere Jonah’s mouth went.
Cas wished Jonah would teach him to fight. He’d finally caved and agreed he needed to learn to shoot and fight, but he’d turned that task over to fucking Madigan. He’d spent so much time imagining Jonah being his teacher. Then he’d have to touch Cas, right? Jonah would wrap his arms around him to correct his form, adjust his stance, teach him to block a punch…
Fuck.
Cas moaned, flopping onto his back but taking Jonah’s pillow with him, pressing it to his face as he slid his hand into his underwear and wrapped his fist around his aching cock. He was such a perv. Jonah was nice enough to take care of him, and he repaid him by jerking off in his bed any chance he got. Yeah, he was a total freak show. It didn’t matter, though. He had no intention of stopping now. The dry friction of his hand felt too good, both pleasure and punishment. It was too easy to think of Jonah’s weight on top of him and his voice growling in his ear. At least the pillow stifled each whine and groan. But it didn’t muffle the door slamming open and shut downstairs.
Cas froze, his hand still gripping his dick and his heart beating against his ribcage like it might burst from his chest and make a run for it. Part of him prayed it was Jonah. Another part prayed it was an assassin sent to merc him before he died of humiliation.
But it was Jonah. Cas knew the fall of his booted footsteps on the hardwood floors, knew what Jonah’s go-bag sounded like when it hit the table, recognized the sound of Jonah freeing his gun from its holster and sliding it into its hiding place between the fridge and the wall. Cas couldn’t move. He could only lie there, frozen, as Jonah went about unloading his bag.
Suddenly, the enormity of the situation weighed Cas down like an anchor. Jonah was home and Cas was jerking off in his bed. Holy fucking fuck.
“Caspian?” Jonah called, his voice a barely contained growl that made Cas’s cock throb beneath his hand.
Cas held his breath and his dick for dear life, clamping his teeth down on his lower lip. If he answered, Jonah would know he was in his bed, but if he stayed silent, Jonah would literally find him in his bed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Where the hell did he go in this weather?” Cas heard Jonah mutter before closing the bathroom door.
This was his chance. All Cas had to do was get down the ladder before Jonah left the bathroom. But then where would he say he was? In the hallway? Outside in the rain? He was completely dry. Jonah wasn’t stupid. Cas was stupid, so fucking stupid. He started to roll toward the ladder, but the door to the bathroom opened and Cas saw Jonah walk into the living room without a stitch of clothing on. Sweet holy Mary mother of fuck. Cas’s mouth hung open, and he just stared. Jonah was art. He was perfection.
He was huge…and heading for the ladder. Cas was fucked and not in the way he’d hoped. Still, he didn’t fess up, he just rolled himself slowly to the other side of the bed, melting onto the floor so as not to make any noise.
Cas didn’t move. He wasn’t even sure he breathed. He lay there, eyes clenched shut, his heartbeat loud as a drumline in his ears. Some logical part of himself imagined Jonah couldn’t hear him over the riot of the storm above and the rustling of his sheets as he made himself comfortable, but still, Cas didn’t let himself take a normal breath until Jonah’s own breaths became deep and steady.
How would he get himself out of this? Jonah’s hearing was almost supernatural. A creak in the wood. A shift of the ladder and Cas was dead. But he was dead either way. Did he get caught leaving or have Jonah find him on his floor in the morning?
So, he did nothing. He rested his head on one arm and watched the storm overhead, and when his hand slid back into his underwear and once more wrapped around his still hard cock, he tried to convince himself it wasn’t a completely pervy thing to do. That he was just a guy with a healthy sex drive. Besides, if he was going to die in the morning, shouldn’t he die smiling?
There was something hot about jerking off right next to Jonah. Cas usually jerked off in the shower where his heavy breathing was washed away by the sound of rushing water. The rain would have to do. He kept his eyes closed, letting himself pretend that it was Jonah’s hand as he slowly worked himself to the soundtrack of Jonah’s breathing. Having to take it slow was painful, but each time, he worked himself faster, his breathing increased, tiny sounds escaping even with his best efforts. So, he had to go slow, edging himself toward orgasm as he imagined Jonah pinning him down, working him open, forcing him to take everything he had to give, even if Cas didn’t exactly know what that entailed.
It seemed to take forever, but when he finally came, it was the most intense experience of his life. His toes curled, his hips twisting off the floor, his mouth open in a silent scream as he spilled over his tightened fist. Jonah shifted on the mattress, his hand falling over the edge to dangle inches from Cas’s lips, but Cas couldn’t stop gulping in breaths like he’d just been rescued from drowning. Jonah had to feel his breath, but Cas couldn’t bring himself to care. If he was going to die, at least he’d die cum drunk.
But nothing happened.
Time stretched on, lightning and thunder growing more and more distant until only a drizzle of rain fell on the windows above, causing Cas’s lids to grow heavy.
He was just drifting off when a voice said, “Goodnight, Caspian.”
Cas’s eyes flew open, his gasp audible in the silence. He was certain his soul left his body and he floated on the ceiling looking down at his own corpse. Did Jonah just chuckle? Had he been awake the whole time? Had he heard? Did the room stink like sex? He closed his eyes, begging whoever was the god of abject humiliation to come and smite him right there on the spot, but nothing happened. He was still trapped beside Jonah’s bed, cum gluing his underwear to his skin, his face burning.
There was nothing more he could do but whisper, “Night, Jonah.”
* * *
Cas woketo the sound of glass crunching beneath booted feet. The only light in the apartment was the full moon overhead illuminating a swath of the mattress but leaving everything else in shadow. Adrenaline pumped through him as he fought to wake up, his hand reaching for the gun he’d stashed between the bed and the crate before he’d crashed into sleep a lifetime ago. The loft ladder protested under the weight of the intruder. He rolled into a sitting position, weapon trained on his visitor, his staples ripping with the jarring movement.
Though some of the tension melted from his shoulders, his heart still knocked against his ribs as he glared at Jonah, feeling almost like his dream had willed him into existence. A sarcastic comment sat just behind his lips, but it died as he remembered what had taken place at the massage parlor the day before. The reddened welts on his skin throbbed, as if just thinking about them had resurrected the sting of Jonah’s palm.
Jonah arched one infuriatingly cocky brow at the gun trained at his head as he finished climbing into the loft. “You gonna keep pointing that gun at my head?”
“I don’t know. Are you planning on assaulting me again?” Cas snapped, keeping the gun where it was.
“We need to talk.” Jonah’s voice was gruff.
