Lance
We don’t make it past the doorway with anything close to control.
George has me up off the ground the second we cross inside. My legs lock around his hips on instinct, like my body had already decided before my brain caught up. His hands are hard on me, fingers digging into wet denim like he’s anchoring me there, like letting go would mean something he doesn’t want to think about. I hit the doorframe on the way in. Hard enough that it knocks the air straight out of my chest. The door swings wide, slams back against the wall, and echoes through the apartment like it’s announcing us.
He kicks it shut behind us without breaking the kiss. He doesn’t slow down or give either of us time to remember how to think.
My place is dark except for the streetlight bleeding through the curtains. He takes a few fast steps into the living room and catches on something—one of the moving boxes by the couch. His boot clips it and the whole movement jolts through him. Through me. He doesn’t go down, just stops, breath coming hard like he had to physically pull us both back from the brink.
I pull back from his mouth just enough to see his face in the weak light.
The sight hits him like a physical thing. His jaw flexes, gaze sweeping over every packed corner, every piece of proof that I’m actually leaving. For one second, the desperate grip on my ass hurts a little, too tight that it’s closer to grief.
The boxes are everywhere. Tall stacks along the walls, smaller ones half-blocking the hallway. The kitchen counter is buried under cardboard marked BOOKS and KITCHEN SHIT in my handwriting. The lamp from my bedroom sits wrapped in an old sweatshirt.
He doesn’t say anything. He looks at it all for a second like nothing here is still up for discussion.
He starts moving again, carrying me down the hallway like the boxes aren’t even there, as if none of them matter right now anyway.
He drops me on the bed. Stands there for a beat. The streetlight cuts across the sharp line of his jaw and catches in the wet strands of his hair. He reaches back, yanks the soaked shirt over his head, and lets it fall with a heavy slap against the hardwood.
I sit up too fast and reach for him. He comes down on me like there’s no point in waiting anymore.
Whatever restraint we had left on the ridge is gone.
George’s hands are rough and impatient, but he doesn’t move yet. He just looks at me. The scrubs are soaked through, clinging everywhere, and he drags his eyes down the length of me slowly, jaw tight, like he’s deciding where to start. His hands come up and grip my waist through the wet fabric, thumbs pressing in hard.
Then he yanks the scrub top up and off me in one rough pull, shoves the pants and boxers down my thighs in the same move, and doesn’t stop after that. I kick them away desperately while he strips himself just as fast—boots kicked off, belt ripped open, jeans and briefs shoved down and stepped out of.
Everything ends up in a soaked pile on the floor.
He snatches the lube from the drawer and comes back down like a storm. “Swear to god, I don’t have the patience tonight,” he growls. “I’ll try to get you ready, but fuck, Lance…”
I’m already groaning under the assault of his mouth—teeth scraping down my throat, sucking dark bruises across my chest, biting hard on my nipple until I arch off the bed. He flips me onto my stomach, works two thick fingers into me, then three when I demand more.
“George.”
He freezes, fingers still buried deep.
“I don’t need careful tonight.”
He just stares at me, his breaths turning uneven and impatient.
“I mean it.” I look back at him over my shoulder, eyes locked on him in the dim orange light. “Just fuck me with everything you’ve got. Raw.”
Something feral breaks loose in him.
“I’ve been tested, and I’m negative. Haven’t been with anyone else since Trevor’s wedding months ago. It’s only been you ever since.” I’ve never been surer of anything. “I want you bare. Fill me up.”
He studies me for one long second, then he adds more lube, curls those thick fingers deeper, and stops pretending he’s in control. I push back hard, greedy for it. He gives it without mercy, working me open like he owns every inch.
“Same for me. Tested negative, no one but you. Would very much want to fuck you bare, fill you so deep my cum leaks from your hole the whole damn night.”
He carries on prepping my ass, then spits on it for good measure.
He then lines his cock up behind me and pushes in. Even though I’ve had it many times by now, I still can’t get used to it. I hiss through clenched teeth, fists twisted in the bedding,body fighting the invasion even as I want it. He pauses halfway, breathing out hard, giving me a second.
I don’t want the second. I shove back hard, taking every brutal inch in one rough slide, and he bottoms out with a low, broken curse that vibrates down my spine.
