"Your faith in me is overwhelming."
"I have a lot of faith in you. I’m also a big mouth with a penchant for pissing off his boyfriend with shitty jokes." He turns to face me, backlit by the sun. "So. We're here. In your non-murder clearing. What now?"
I close the distance between us, cup his face in my hands, and kiss him.
He makes a surprised sound against my mouth, then melts into it, his hands coming up to grip my jacket. The kiss is slow, thorough, the kind we haven't had time for in the chaos of the past week. I take my time, relearning the shape of his mouth, the way he tastes, the small sounds he makes when I do something he likes.
When I pull back, his eyes are hazy, his cheeks flushed.
"Not that I'm complaining," he says, slightly breathless, "but we could have done that inside. Where it's warm. And there are beds."
"I wanted you here."
"Why?"
"Because I needed to." The words come out rougher than I intend. "Because death knocked on your door and you survived, but mostly, I wanted to bring you somewhere beautiful and remind myself that you're still here."
His expression softens. "Jagger—"
"And because I wanted to do this without my brothers hearing."
I drop to my knees.
The ground is soft and damp, soaking through my pants immediately. I don't care. I'm looking up at Jonah, at the way his eyes have gone wide, at the flush spreading down his neck.
"Oh," he says. "That's—okay. That's happening."
"Unless you want me to stop."
"If you stop, I will literally never forgive you."
I smile. It's not a nice smile. It's the smile of a man who's about to take his time.
My hands find his belt. He's already half-hard, just from the kiss, just from the anticipation. I work the buckle open slowly, watching his face as I do. His breath is coming faster, his hands flexing at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them.
"You can touch me," I chuckle. "I’m not breakable."
His hands immediately find my hair, fingers threading through the strands. The grip is tight, desperate. Good.
I pull down his zipper. Push his jeans and boxers down just far enough to free his cock. He's fully hard now, leaking precum in fat drops, and the sight of him makes my cock throb.
"You're staring," he says, voice strained.
"I'm admiring." I wrap my hand around the base, his dick twitches at the contact. "You're beautiful like this. Hard for me. Waiting for me."
"Less admiring, more sucking. Please."
"Since you asked nicely."
I lean forward and take him into my mouth.
The sound he makes is erotic. A broken moan that echoes through the clearing, scattering birds from the nearby trees. His hips jerk forward, and he pushes deeper. I have to relax my throat to accommodate him.
He's thick and hot on my tongue, the taste of him salty and familiar. It’s been so long, I struggle not to cum in my pants. I pull back until just the head remains, tonguing his slit, lapping up the precum that keeps beading there. His fingers tighten in my hair, and he swears, a stream of curses that would make a sailor blush.
"Fuck, Jagger, your mouth—"
Taking him deep again, I hollow my cheeks, sucking hard enough to make his knees buckle. He catches himself with a hand on my shoulder, bracing, and I feel the tremble running through his whole body.
