Marc let out a sinister chuckle as his hand slid from the guitarist’s head down to the back of his neck. “Not sure you could handle that.”
“Do it,” he gritted, raising his voice above the slapping sound of their skin. Another moan. He turned his face to the bassist and looked at him over his shoulder. “Fucking wreck my ass. Ruin me for any other man out there.”
Marc smacked his asscheek harder than before, making him cry out with no restraint. He slowed down just slightly, building the momentum as he stared at the place they were connected.
With his fingers entangled through ash-brown locks, the bassist yanked Chris’s head back, exposing his throat to him. He licked and bit the side of it, pulling their bodies flush together as he separated him from the wall enough to wrap his arms around his waist and neck.
“You’re gonna regret giving me so much freedom,” Marc whisper-growled in his ear.
Chris didn’t say anything else, just gave in to the pleasurable pain as the bassist mercilessly pounded into him. Nothing in the entire world felt like drilling into this man’s ass with such brutality, feeling him clenching, trying to protect himself from the intrusion at the same time as he sucked him in deeper.
With his arms constricting, cutting the normal airflow and squeezing his ribs, the bassist bit him again, leaving some pretty teeth marks on his nape. One of Chris’s hands clawed at the forearm wrapped around his neck, holding on for dear life without showing any real desire to stop. Vicious. Relentless. Primal. They unleashed dark desires they’d never been brave enough to voice.
After a few minutes, with the steam soaring like a suffocating cloud, Marc heard the flapping of Chris furiously jerking himself off.
It was so obscene, the sounds they were making and the way their bodies desperately sought a release, crashing against each other with ferocious need. Two ravenous animals in heat would probably look more tasteful than them, but Marc didn’t give a fuck. All he wanted was to make this man his. To obliterate him. Break him into millions of pieces so no one else knew how to put the puzzle back together, and so every time Chris wanted to feel something, he had to crawl to him.
Electricity shot through the bassist. “Fuck, baby. I’m gonna come… so fucking hard in this tight hole.”
“Do it,” Chris said, out of breath.
“Tell me how much you want it… Beg for it.”
“I want every pulse of your cum deep in my ass. Fill me up.” The last words came out in a desperate whine. “Fill me up, Zimmer… please. I need it. Just—fuck!”
With his fingers reaching behind, scraping the bassist’s scalp, Chris twisted slightly bringing their mouths together. Lips ravishing. Tongues swirling. Hips grinding, bucking until their movements became sloppy.
Marc grunted, tightening his arms around his friend when he came inside his ass, loving how the guitarist shuddered through his own release. Ecstasy flooded their systems, connecting them through the invisible threads that fed their relationship.
With their bodies still connected, Chris rested his forehead against the wall and Marc dropped his onto his shoulder. They were both panting, trembling with the aftershocks of their orgasms.Fucking shit…He loved this man. He really loved him. The guitarist had seen the corner of his soul he hid from the world, and instead of running away, he had welcomed it.
As Marc finally pulled out, he kneeled behind Chris and caressed his ass, making him gasp when his attention focused on the right side. He was fascinated—almost turned on again—by the marks he’d imprinted, but they looked painful. Tenderly kissing Chris’s branded skin, the bassist’s lips wandered down his thighs.
Suddenly, something sparked inside of him.
He had tried his own cum before, but it didn’t make him feel anything close to how he felt when tasting someone else’s. Right now, though, the urge to mark and own all of this man was stronger than ever.
Marc spread the guitarist’s cheeks and admired the sight of his semen dribbling out of him. Then stuck his tongue out to collect it. Not one fucking drop of him was getting out of Chris. Lapping and rimming his slightly swollen hole after licking his legs clean, the bassist stood up and grabbed his friend’s shoulder. As he turned around, Marc pressed their mouths together.
For a moment, the guitarist tensed, eyes widening in surprise. But when he processed what the unexpected amount of fluids was, he leaned into the kiss, languidly caressing his tongue over Marc’s, as if neither of them were still out of breath.
Degenerate, probably offensive in certain parts of the world, and so fucking dirty. This was where he belonged; with, in, and all over Chris. Even if the possibility of holding this man’s heart in his hands was just an empty vase, no one could steal these moments from them.
“You’re gonna be the fucking end of me,” Marc whispered against his lips, kissing him between words as his palms held his face.
“Good.” He smiled.
“Love the way you take my dick.” Marc bit his bottom lip, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. “So fucking good…”
“Are you okay?” Chris asked when the bassist peeled himself off him.
“Yeah.” Marc pecked his mouth one more time, then grabbed the body gel and began lathering his friend, massaging his skin as if it were the most delicate thing. “My knees are jelly, but I’m good. Why?” He was close to suffering a bout of tachycardia, his pulse not giving him a break yet, and he was back to feeling feverish. Still, he’d fuck Chris again if he asked him to.
“You’re pale and you said you were feeling sick before, but you—”
“And I am, but can’t help myself around you.” Marc crouched down to soap up the guitarist’s legs.
He snorted in disbelief.
