Small. Involuntary.
Greg responded by kissing him deeper. His hand moved from Dustin’s jaw to the back of his neck, fingers sliding into his hair. There was a sureness in the grip that hadn’t been there before.
This reaper’s hands shook when Dustin looked at him too long. He couldn’t hold a burger without causing disaster. But now his hand in Dustin’s hair was steady, and something about that put a crack right down the center of Dustin’s chest.
He’d told himself he didn’t want anything tonight.
Stupid.
What he wanted was so big it didn’t have a shape. It wasn’t sex, or not only sex. It was Gregpressed against him in the dark. This thing between them that Dustin couldn’t steer or name or outrun.
Greg kissed the corner of his mouth. His jaw. Just below his ear, feather-light.
Dustin’s breath caught.
Fuck.
He was losing the high ground.
He rolled Greg onto his back, carefully because of his shoulder, but less carefully than Greg expected. Greg made a startled sound, and Dustin swallowed it with his mouth.
This, he knew how to do.
He kissed his way down Greg’s throat, finding the places he remembered from last time. The hollow behind his ear. The dip at the base of his throat. The spots that made Greg’s breath stutter.
“Dustin—”
Greg’s hand was in his hair again, but the sureness had given way to something more familiar. Fingers curling, uncertain, following instead of leading.
Better.
Dustin moved lower. Down Greg’s chest. His stomach. He could feel the tension in him, the fine tremor of his breathing, the way Greg’s muscles tightened under his mouth. His fingers twitched with every kiss until, at last, they went still in Dustin’s hair, not pulling.
Just holding on.
When Dustin reached the waistband of Greg’s pants, he paused.
He could barely see Greg’s face in the dark, but he could hear him breathing—shallow, fast, already half-wrecked.
“Can I take these off?”
“Yes.” Barely a sound. Then, bewildered, “Where are you— What are you?—”
“Trust me.”
Dustin pulled the fabric down.
Then he lowered his mouth.
The sound Greg made?—
Christ.
It was like his brain short-circuited and left only a body that didn’t know what to do with the sensation. His back arched off the bed, both hands flying to Dustin’s hair, gripping hard as his hips jerked.
Dustin pinned him down with his good arm. His bad one hurt anyway, but he didn’t care.
Greg’s voice climbed. Small, wrecked sounds, higher and more desperate with every breath. Something smug and warm unfurled in Dustin’s chest because yes, okay, he was going to ruin this reaper. He was going to make this so good.
