“You okay?” Lake asked softly, brushing a knuckle down the boy’s cheek.
Miles twitched. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason,” Lake murmured. “Just checking in.”
Miles scowled like that was the worst possible answer. His fingers curled into the front of Lake’s suit again, tugging him down, muttering, “Shut up and kiss me.”
Lake smiled. Warm. Obedient.
He lowered his mouth to his again—slow, coaxing, reverent—because God help him, he wanted to kiss this boy for hours, would have been fine with doing nothing more than that until the sun came up.
Lake was quickly getting addicted to the soft sounds he made, the way he writhed under even a hint of attention. He liked how small he felt beneath him, how his breath hitched every time Lake’s fingers skimmed over warm skin, how he clung to Lake’s shoulders like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be kissed or devoured.
When Lake pulled him upright and tugged off his shirt, Miles didn’t fight. He just lifted his arms like a sleepy toddler letting someone undress him, the mask still sitting just at his cheekbones. Lake’s mouth twitched. For someone who strutted around like a mouthy menace, he was shockingly compliant the second gentleness entered the equation.
When Lake pushed him back down—carefully, slowly—Miles threw his forearm across his mask, hiding his eyes like he didn’t want to see what was coming next. Or maybe like seeing would make it too real.
Lake sat up, straddling his hips, running both hands over his abdomen with a reverent slowness that made the boy’s breath stutter. He mapped the contours of lean muscle, the subtle dips between ribs, the tight tension in his stomach. When his thumbs brushed over the peaks of Miles’s tight nipples, the boy jerked like he’d been startled.
Lake leaned down and took one into his mouth.
The moment his lips closed around the sensitive bud, Miles’s hips bucked up beneath him, a strangled whine tearing free. Lake nearly groaned.
God, those sounds.
He scraped his teeth very gently over the peak, just enough to tease, not enough to hurt. Miles grabbed at Lake’s suit again,fingers clutching the fabric like he needed something to anchor himself to.
“Take it off,” he panted, pulling at his costume, breathless and bossy in a way that made Lake smile. “I want to see you, too.”
Lake sat up and peeled the top half of the suit off in a single fluid motion. He heard the tiny gasp immediately, sharp, involuntary, unguarded. Then small hands landed on his abdomen, hesitant at first, then bold. Fingers traced the ridges of muscle, ghost-light touches that made goosebumps rise across Lake’s skin.
“How do you look like a superhero even without the costume,” he whispered, almost as if he didn’t mean for it to come out.
Lake snorted, embarrassed in a way he hadn’t been in years. “Hardly.”
But the way Miles was touching him—soft, almost reverent—made his pulse pound.
Miles dragged him back down into another kiss, messy and needy and immediate, like he couldn’t stand even a second of distance. Lake liked how desperately he clung, how he tugged at him, how his little noises kept slipping out against his will.
And yeah…he liked that this cocky, sarcastic little shit seemed wholly out of his depth without anything rough. Like tenderness scrambled his brain.
Their clothes disappeared in fragments between kisses—spandex, shorts, gloves, the rest of Lake’s suit—shed piece by piece as if vanishing under the heat they kept stoking between them. Every time Lake tried to pull back to breathe, Miles reeled him in again like they were sharing oxygen. Soon the only thing between them was the bottom of Miles' costume.
“For someone who hates softness,” Lake teased, lips brushing his jaw, “you sure are clingy.”
Miles froze. Just a fraction. But Lake felt it.
Then Miles dropped his hands from Lake’s shoulders like he’d been burned. “Whatever,” he said softly. Too softly. The bravado cracked at the edges.
“Hey,” Lake murmured, tipping his head. “Don’t be like that. I like it. You’re the one acting like I need to give you a black eye to get you off.”
Miles huffed, then shoved Lake away—not hard, just enough to vacate the closeness—and rolled onto his stomach. The movement exposed a long line of bare spine, a perfect curve of ass, well-muscled thighs. It would’ve looked like an invitation if it weren’t so…defensive.
“Do you want to stop?” Lake asked softly, hoping he didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt.
Miles didn’t turn around. “Did I say that?”
Lake exhaled slowly, letting his gaze sweep over the half-naked form sprawled before him. Vulnerable without admitting it. Defiant without meaning it.
