Then he pulled back just enough to look at me, and his thumb found the split on my lip again.
"I thought about this," he said. "In the stands. Watching you fight." His thumb pressed into the cut, and I sucked in a breath at the sting. "I thought about what you'd taste like with blood in your mouth."
"So find out."
He leaned up and licked across the split, slow. The cut had started to close, but his tongue opened it again, and I tasted copper flooding fresh across my teeth. He kissed me with the blood between us, swallowing the sound I made, and the pain blurred into something else until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other started.
When he pulled back his mouth was dark with it.
"You're fucked up," I said again, but my voice came out wrecked.
"You like it." He wasn't wrong. "Take off your pants."
"Make me."
His hand was in my hair before I finished, yanking my head back hard enough that my neck arched and my throat was exposed. His teeth scraped against my pulse and his other hand worked at my belt, getting it open one-handed while I was too busy trying to breathe to stop him.
"You want to fight me?" His breath was hot against my neck. "Go on, then. Fight me."
He shoved his hand down my jeans and wrapped around my cock, and I bit down on my tongue to keep from moaning. His grip was tight, almost too tight.
"Fuck you," I managed, but I’d stopped trying to get free.
"You like it. Don’t pretend you don’t."
He let go of my hair and yanked at my jeans, and I helped him because I was done pretending I didn't want this. The cold air hit my bare skin, and I shivered, but then his mouth was on my hip bone, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, and the cold stopped mattering. His tongue traced the edge of the bite, soothing and then not, his teeth scraping over the bruising skin while his hand kept working my cock. I was leaking all over his fingers and I didn't care because his mouth was moving lower, dragging down the crease of my thigh, and when his breath ghosted over the head of my cock, I stopped breathing entirely.
He licked the tip once, just enough to taste the pre-cum beading there, and then pulled back.
"Turn around," he said.
The command in his voice went straight to my cock. I turned around, bracing my forearms on the back of the bench seat, and the position put my ass on display in a way that made my face burn. Plastic crinkled as he tore open a packet of lube. Of course he’d come prepared.
His hand landed on my ass, not quite a slap but close enough that my breath caught. Then his fingers were spreading me open and his tongue was on me, licking a wet stripe across my hole before I had time to process what was happening.
"Jesus fuck," I said, and my voice cracked on it.
He didn't answer. He just kept going, his tongue tracing circles around my rim and then pressing inside, and I dropped my forehead against my arms and tried not to make the sounds that were building in my throat. His hands were on my hips, holding me still when I tried to push back against him, and the lack of control was making me crazy.
"Joel." I didn't know if I was asking him to stop or keep going. "Joel, please."
His fingers were cold and slick when he pushed two of them inside me, and I hissed at the stretch.
"You could've warmed that up."
"You'll live." He twisted his fingers, and I stopped complaining.
He worked me open while his other hand traced up my spine, pressing against each vertebra like he was mapping me. Three fingers now, stretching me until the burn faded into something good, and I was grinding back against his hand and making sounds I couldn't control.
"That's it," Joel said, and his voice was rougher now, some of that control starting to slip. "Let me hear you."
"Just fuck me already."
He pulled his fingers out. I heard the condom wrapper tear, heard his breath catch as he rolled it on, and then his hands were on my hips and the blunt head of his cock was pressing against me.
"Tell me you missed this."
I gritted my teeth. "Fuck you."
