“What you said before.” He panted between kisses as his hand ventured into the guitarist’s boxers and grabbed his cock. “That I’m yours.”
Under different circumstances, or with his blood somewhere other than his dick, Chris would have mocked his friend. But he was intoxicated, and all he wanted to do was possess him and to be possessed by him.
“You’re mine.”
A grunt vibrated in the bassist’s chest as he jerked Chris.
“You better not let anyone touch you without my permission ever again.”
“Fuck…” Marc groaned with his friend’s bottom lip pinched between his teeth.
As his mouth slid down his jaw, he nibbled the guitarist’s neck, pumping his shaft with one hand while rolling his hoodie up with the other. He even growled something unintelligible when it got stuck under Chris’s back because he didn’t arch right away.
It was almost cute seeing this man so desperate. The bassist was dominant—there was no questioning that—but he tended to be more collected, barking orders and patiently beholding the action unfolding before his eyes. The deranged one used to be Chris. But now, Marc seemed anxious to touch him.
Leaving a trail of licks and bites on his torso, the bassist let go of his friend’s dick for a moment. He gripped his already halfway-down jeans and yanked them off along with his boxers, making Chris hiss. Nothing about the way he was touching him tonight was gentle, and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He loved this unrestrained version of Marc.
After tossing the clothes somewhere on the floor behind him, he went down again. Open-mouth, erotic kisses peppered the guitarist’s hip. Teeth clacked against his piercing. A warm tongue lapped his dick. And suddenly, an overload of sensations flooded all his systems.
“Fffuuuck!”
Marc responded with a grunt, vibrating around Chris’s dick as he took him to the back of his throat. Bobbing his head up and down, a fist matching the rhythm, he worked him thoroughly. He sucked and licked, and nipped, and tugged, and the guitarist just lay there, struggling to hold himself together.
Unaware of where his own hands had been all this time, Chris reached for the bassist and let his fingers tangle in his hair before gathering it up into a ponytail.
Looking at this man now, so powerful even on his knees, with the guitarist’s cock in his mouth, made the feelings he had already acknowledged sink deeper. Marc had trespassed the boundaries he’d unwittingly set for himself long before. And now he was physically and emotionally warped, stuck between what he craved and his inability to put all this into words. But one thing was certain: having this man’s body alone wasn’t enough anymore.
As if Marc had heard the turmoil in his head, he looked up, locking eyes with him. The ghost of a smirk glowed in his irises, and Chris’s pulse sprinted. The asshole was enjoying the way he had him completely undone, panting and groaning at everything he was doing as he disarmed all the layers of anger.
The guitarist’s jaw ticked.
He might have given in too easily to his friend’s touch, but in the back of his mind, Chris was still upset because he’d kissed his ex. Every time that image flashed in his retinas, he was triggered with jealousy. But he knew how to let it out, and Marc was going to be the conduit for it. Rolling his hair around his fist, the guitarist thrust up once, twice… slowly picking up the pace as he firmly planted his feet on the floor.
“Fuck, Zimmer… Suck me deeper. I wanna see my cum overflowing your mouth.”
With his grip on Marc tightening, Chris fucked his throat furiously. In and out, over and over. A wave of uneven panting, gagging, and slurping sounds washed through the empty room. The sight drove him mad. The sensations sent him into a haze. He was numb, the buzzing under his skin turning into a full-blown explosion of electricity. He was there, at the finish line. But then he wasn’t.
In a swift motion, the bassist released his cock.
That shit must have hurt his head and neck with Chris’s tight hold on his hair. Though thinking about it, he didn’t care. The fucker had just abruptly cut off his release, leaving him aching everywhere.
“What the fuck, dude?”
Marc wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re not coming yet.”
“Asshole.” Chris scoffed and sat up, taking off his hoodie and shirt before reclining on his palms.
Instead of retorting with another insult, Marc nudged Chris’s legs closed and shuffled towards him, bridging the gap between them. He had no idea what, but something in his friend changed. He had never seen the hardness carving his face right now. It was kind of terrifying. Yet, strangely, it turned him on even more.
He let his suspenders fall and untucked his shirt as he straddled the guitarist’s lap. His rough hand came up and immediately wrapped around Chris’s neck. “You’re not gonna come until I say so. Tonight you’remineto break inside out,” he growled, fiercely biting his bottom lip.
Although a part of Chris was in fighting mode and all he wanted to do was make Marc pay for putting him through this emotional turmoil, he was also a pile of embers. The aftershocks that usually followed an orgasm were pulsing around each one of his organs, yearning to be released.
He hooked his thumbs into the back of the bassist’s jeans, pressing him against his erection. Their lips crashed once more, tongues finding each other in the middle of their frenzy. The kiss was a violent delight. Chris loved it. The way their bodies molded together. The urgency burning in their fingertips. The fire sweeping through his airless lungs. The way his friend’s open shirt traced their embrace as he crowded him, attempting to fill his same physical space.
Trapped in the snare of lust, they became a wreck of panting breaths and fury. The tension built, and before Chris could react, his friend was hauling him up on the bed, their mouths never pulling away.
There was no mercy tonight. No hesitation or sympathy. As they sank into the wasteland underneath their fears and fantasies, Marc removed the few layers of fabric keeping them apart and prowled between Chris’s thighs. The shadows cast within them had already made their bets, offering pleasure as retribution for their mutually assured destruction.
