When the world snapped back into focus, Malik realized he was gasping, clutching Lincoln’s jacket like a lifeline. Lincoln’s face was flushed, lips swollen, hair mussed where Malik had gripped it. They were both wrecked, and neither seemed to mind.
Lincoln leaned in, resting his forehead against Malik’s. “This is a terrible idea.”
Malik laughed, breathless. “Probably.”
But neither pulled away.
Lincoln’s hands slammed into Malik’s chest, pinning him to the metal shelving. The jolt rocked the stack, making the books rattle a warning. Lincoln’s mouth crashed into his, teeth scraping hard enough to threaten blood. Malik’s head spun. Not from pain, but from the vertigo of finally having all the barriers fall away.
He grabbed at Lincoln’s belt, fumbling with the buckle in the heat of the moment. The leather unlooped, the metal clinking as it dangled. Lincoln’s hands weren’t idle. He yanked Malik’s shirt from his waistband, bunching the fabric until fingers grazed bare skin.
Malik got Lincoln’s pants open, the zipper a harsh sound in the hush of the library. He pushed them down just enough to reach inside, hand finding Lincoln’s cock already hard, hot to the touch. He stroked, slow at first, savoring the way Lincoln’s whole body stiffened at the contact.
“God,” Lincoln whispered, voice guttural. He kissed Malik again, sloppier this time, tongue invading deep. Malik tasted the salt of sweat and the faint tang of the black coffee Lincoln drank all day.
Lincoln’s hips bucked against his fist, but after a few strokes, Lincoln disengaged, breathless, and dropped to his knees in a single, decisive motion. The shift in position sent a surge of dominance through Malik. He braced himself, back flat against the shelf, as Lincoln unfastened his pants and tugged them down just enough.
Malik’s cock sprang free, flushed dark with need. Lincoln didn’t hesitate. He took Malik deep, the heat and suction making Malik’s knees buckle. Lincoln set a rhythm, one hand at the base, the other gripping Malik’s thigh hard enough to bruise. The slide was relentless, tongue pressing the underside, every swallow an affirmation.
Malik let his head fall back, the edge of a shelf digging into his skull. He reached for Lincoln’s hair, threading his fingers through the thick, sweat-damp strands, urging him deeper. Lincoln didn’t resist. If anything, he pushed the boundary, taking Malik to the root until Malik’s vision blurred at the edges.
He wanted to let go, to surrender right then, but he wasn’t finished. He tugged Lincoln’s head up, pulling him to his feet. Lincoln’s lips were raw, face flushed, a streak of saliva at the corner of his mouth.
Malik spat into his palm, the sound sharp in the quiet of the stacks, and reached between them. He didn’t just touch Lincoln. He gathered both of them together, his large hand slicking the heat where their bodies collided.
Lincoln’s eyes widened, his back slamming against the metal shelving as Malik gripped them both. The jolt rocked the stack, books rattling behind Lincoln’s head, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Malik held his gaze, forcing Lincoln to witness the collapse of his own restraint.
Malik set a relentless, heavy pace. He watched the way his own dark fingers moved over Lincoln’s pale, flushed skin. The contrast was staggering, a visual reminder of the two worlds finally crashing together in the dark.
“Look at me,” Malik commanded, his voice a low, rough vibration.
Lincoln let out a tortured sound, his knuckles turning pale as he gripped the edges of the shelves for leverage. He met Malik’s rhythm, his hips bucking forward into Malik’s hand, seeking the friction. The air between them was thick with the scent of cinnamon coffee, old paper, and the salt of their mutual skin.
The heat built with a terrifying speed. Lincoln’s breath hitched, his eyes glazing over as he reached the edge. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound that he didn’t even try to stifle,and came hard. A hot, heavy spatter between them that slicked Malik’s hand even further.
The feeling of Lincoln’s release triggered the end of Malik’s control. He followed a heartbeat later, a pulsing, violent finish that left him gasping for air, his forehead dropping to rest against Lincoln’s shoulder.
The silence that followed was thick, the sterile library air suddenly heavy. Lincoln looked down at the mess between them, his chest still hitching, his eyes fixed on the front of his own trousers with a look of stunned realization. Then he fumbled with his blazer pocket and pulled out a folded linen handkerchief. It was white, crisp, and absurdly dignified. Precisely the kind of thing a man like Lincoln would carry.
Malik took it from him before he could drop it. He didn’t say a word, his own breathing still ragged as he used the fine fabric to wipe the cum from Lincoln’s pale, trembling skin. The contrast was vivid. The white linen, Malik’s dark hand, and the evidence of their heated tryst now staining the cloth. Malik then wiped himself and finally his own hand.
Instead of handing the ruined thing back, Malik balled the damp handkerchief into a tight knot and shoved it deep into his own trouser pocket. He wasn’t going to let Lincoln carry that evidence back to the reception, and he certainly wasn’t going to let him throw it in a library trash can for a student to find. It was his now. A heavy, damp weight against his thigh that felt more like a trophy than a secret.
He glanced at Lincoln, waiting for the inevitable regret, the words that would reestablish the old boundaries. But Lincoln just looked at him, expression unreadable.
Malik braced for anger or self-loathing. What he got was a hand, reaching out, pulling him close for another kiss. Softer this time, but no less urgent.
When he pulled back, Malik leaned into Lincoln, pressing his lips to the curve where neck met shoulder. Lincoln’s breath raked in, muscles shivering beneath the sweat-slick skin. For a long moment, neither moved. Malik kept his arms around Lincoln, steadying both of them. The cold metal of the shelves seeped into his hands, but he didn’t care.
He wanted to stay there, just like that, forever or at least until the world demanded otherwise. But that wasn’t an option. Malik opened his eyes. Lincoln’s were already watching him, searching for something Malik couldn’t name. Without thinking, Malik pressed his forehead to Lincoln’s. Their noses bumped, a clumsy collision that made them both smile.
Lincoln’s hand slid from Malik’s face down to his chest, resting flat over his heart. Malik felt his pulse hammering, wild and obvious. He covered Lincoln’s hand with his own, holding it in place.
They stood like that, cocooned in the library stacks, until the sweat on their skin started to chill. Lincoln exhaled, a long, steady release. Malik recognized the sound A lifetime’s worth of tension draining in one breath.
No more games. No more distance. Lincoln’s eyes opened. Malik nodded, once. Lincoln nodded back. The understanding between them was absolute.
Malik stepped away first, running both hands down his shirt, flattening creases and tucking the hem back in. Lincoln followed suit, smoothing his hair, then reaching up to adjust his collar. They said nothing. The mutual effort at composure was itself an admission.
