Malik dropped between Lincoln’s legs, his hands sliding under Lincoln’s knees to pull them up. The exposure was total. Lincoln felt the draft on his skin, the vulnerability of the position making his heart race. Malik didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, his mouth closing over the head of Lincoln’s cock.
The sensation was a physical blow. Lincoln’s hips bucked off the mattress, his hands clutching the sheets until the fabric threatened to tear. Malik was thorough, his tongue flicking over the frenulum, his throat opening to take as much of him as he could. The wet, rhythmic sound of it filled the room, a scandalous counterpoint to the quiet of the hallway.
“Malik,” Lincoln pleaded, his voice breaking.
Malik ignored him. He increased the suction, his hand reaching back to cup Lincoln’s balls, his thumb tracing the seam. He looked up while he did it, his eyes fixed on Lincoln’s face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every wince of near-pain. He wanted the total sum of Lincoln’s reaction.
Lincoln felt the pressure building, a tidal wave that he couldn’t stop. He tried to pull back, his muscles locking, but Malik gripped his thighs, pinning him in place. He worked him until Lincoln’s back arched, his heels digging into the mattress, and he came with a muffled, sobbing cry. Malik didn’t pull away. He swallowed every drop, his eyes never leaving Lincoln’s until the last of the tremors faded.
The silence that followed was heavy. Lincoln lay spent, his breathing ragged, his skin slick with sweat and the cold air. Malik sat back on his heels, his mouth wet, his expression unreadable. He looked at the man he had just unmade, and for a second, Lincoln saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. The fear that he had gone too far, that the bridge had finally been burned.
Lincoln reached out, his hand shaking, and touched Malik’s cheek. He pulled him closer, his fingers tracing the wetness on Malik’s lips. He didn’t have the words to tell him it was okay. Instead, he pulled Malik up, his legs wrapping around Malik’s waist, pulling the heavy heat of him back where it belonged.
Malik’s hands found Lincoln’s hips, lifting him. He wasn’t gentle this time. He was like a man who had been starving for a lifetime.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Lincoln.” Malik paused, his gaze searching Lincoln’s. “Do you have any lube?”
Lincoln felt a sharp, electric spike of heat hit his gut. He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering toward the small, secondary drawer of the nightstand.
“The bottom drawer,” Lincoln whispered, his voice breaking. “
The admission was its own kind of surrender. Malik didn’t say a word. He reached down and opened the drawer. The slide of the wood was a heavy, resonant sound in the quiet room. He pulled out the small, clear bottle of water-based lubricant, the plastic clicking as he set it on the quilt.
Malik didn’t rush. He clicked the cap of the bottle open. The sound was a finality. He poured the slick, cool liquid into his palm and began to work it into Lincoln’s skin, dragging his hand down over Lincoln’s ribs, over his hips, until Lincoln was arching off the mattress, his breath coming in jagged, desperate gasps.
“Look at me,” Malik commanded.
Lincoln looked. He saw a man who had been his intellectual equal for a lifetime, now reduced to the same raw, possessive hunger that was currently tearing Lincoln apart. Malik moved between Lincoln’s legs, his hands sliding under Lincoln’s knees to pull them high, opening him completely to the gray morning light.
Malik applied the lube to his fingers, the wet, sliding sound of it making Lincoln’s vision blur. He pressed into Lincoln, the first finger a slow, shocking intrusion of silk and pressure. Lincoln’s head thrashed against the pillow, a high, thin whine escaping his throat. Malik followed with a second, his knuckles grazing Lincoln’s skin as he curled his fingers upward, seeking.
When he hit the mark, Lincoln’s entire body went rigid. “Malik—”
“I have you,” Malik whispered. “I’ve always have you.”
He added a third finger, the pressure turning from a burn into a deep, hollow ache that Lincoln wanted filled. He pushed back against Malik’s hand, his breath hitching as Malik found the spot that made his entire body go electric.
Malik pulled his hand away and positioned himself. He paused at the entrance, the tip of him hovering, a final moment of choice. Lincoln looked up at him, his eyes wet, his mouth open. He didn’t look away. He didn’t hide.
“Now,” Lincoln breathed.
Malik pushed in. He went slow at first, the first inch a trial of restraint that made his jaw lock. Lincoln’s eyes went wide, hisbreath catching in a high, thin whine. He felt every ridge, every pulse of Malik’s body as it claimed his own. Malik stayed still for a moment, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against Lincoln’s.
Then he began to move.
It was a brutal, honest rhythm. Malik gripped Lincoln’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the muscle, and he drove in with a force that rattled the old bedframe. Lincoln met him, his legs locked around Malik’s back, his hands clutching Malik’s hair. Every thrust was a question, an interrogation of the decades it felt like they’d had wasted.
Malik leaned down, his mouth crashing into Lincoln’s, their tongues battling as their bodies did. He turned Lincoln over, pushing him onto his stomach, his hands pinning Lincoln’s wrists to the headboard.
He entered him again from behind, the new angle hitting Lincoln’s prostate with every stroke. Lincoln’s head thrashed against the pillow, his moans no longer muffled. He was a tenured professor of Classics, a man of logic and language, and he was being reduced to a series of raw, animal sounds.
Malik leaned over him, his chest hot against Lincoln’s back, his mouth at Lincoln’s ear.
“Do you like the way I feel inside you, Lincoln? Tell me. I want to know exactly how much of you I’m taking.”
Lincoln couldn’t find the words, only a broken, affirmative sob. Malik shifted his grip, pulling Lincoln’s legs even higher, tucking Lincoln’s ankles over his shoulders. The new angle allowed him to strike deep and hard against Lincoln’s prostate.
Lincoln tried to bury his face in the pillow to stifle a loud cry, but Malik immediately reached down, his fingers hooking under Lincoln’s chin to pull his head back.
