Cole McGinnis 05 - Down and Dirty (14 page)

“Keep doing that, Sunshine, and there’s not going to be enough left in there for you,” Bobby growled, his voice deepening to a dark thrum. Ichiro felt the bass rumbling up from Bobby’s chest, cupping his balls and traveling up his now rampant cock with every word the man spat out. Bobby’s hands kneaded Ichi’s ass, pulling apart his cheeks. The air on his hole was sharp and cold, a startling contrast to the heat building up between them. “God, I want to fuck you.”

“Good. Kind of what I had planned. Next time, though, you’re letting me do this to you,” Ichi teased, bending to rub his lips over Bobby’s mouth. Their tongues danced together, fighting, then retreating. Bobby’s eyes shuttered, his lashes swooping down in a narrow glare. Mistrust built up, and Ichiro could almost see the walls springing up between them. Gently rocking against Bobby’s rigid cock, Ichiro murmured, “If we’re going to do this, it’s gotta go both directions, Dawson. I’m not just going to be some hole for you to fuck.”

“You’re not a damned hole. That’s what’s getting me into this shithole I’m falling into,” Bobby grumbled, his cock wedging itself into Ichi’s tight cleft. Shoving his hips up, he ran the length of his erection along the crack of Ichiro’s ass, his hands pushing in Ichi’s cheeks, amping up the friction along their sweat-damp skin. “I’ve… hell, I haven’t done that in fucking years, Sunshine. And the last time, it didn’t go so well. But yeah, next time, I’m all yours.”

There were no lies in Bobby’s eyes. None in his voice either. Something dark slithered in his thoughts and wormed its way into his soul, and it peered back out at Ichiro, mocking the gruff tenderness he’d already experienced from Bobby’s kisses.

Pressing his forehead to Bobby’s, Ichiro whispered softly, “I’ll take care of you, Dawson. Someone should, you know? And maybe that someone is me.”

He didn’t wait to hear Bobby’s response. His tongue fit perfectly around the tip of Bobby’s left nipple, and Ichiro took his time exploring the edge of the tightening nub. Bobby tasted salty-sweet, a hint of arousal blending into masculine skin. A drop of sweat ran down Bobby’s neck, drawn out by the warmth of their rubbing bodies, and Ichiro chased it down with the tip of his tongue, following its trail down Bobby’s throat to the hard curve of his side.

Bobby’s ribs jerked when Ichi’s mouth left butterfly kisses behind the drop, and he lost the smidgen of damp somewhere in the tumble of being flipped over onto his back. Bobby’s heavier body pressed Ichi down into the mattress, and their cocks bobbed together, greeting each other in a wet slap of heads and prickling hair.

“You’re killing me here, Sunshine.” The growl was back, chasing away any shadows Bobby’d brought up between them. Raking his fingers up Ichiro’s thigh, he left faint pink furrows along the pale skin as he bit into the softness of Ichiro’s throat. The growl was replaced by a satisfied hum at hearing Ichi gasp, and Bobby pressed his hips down into Ichiro’s crotch when his hips jerked up in response to the bite. “Damn, I could just eat you up.”

The sparks of pleasure and pain continued. Bobby’s teeth raked and scored down Ichiro’s chest, stopping only long enough at a nipple to work it to a piercing bitter-sharp nub before moving lower still. He dug his hands through the short scruff on Bobby’s neck, needing to guide the man to where Ichi wanted to be touched, but Bobby had his own ideas. He reached up, wrapping his strong fingers around Ichiro’s wrists, and pushed his hands away, roughly shoving them against the slatted headboard.

“Let me do this.” Bobby’s tongue flicked over Ichi’s still smarting nipple. “You just lie there and take it for a few minutes.”

Ichiro tried to bury himself into his surroundings—anything to stave off the hot pleasure boiling up from his balls and through his body.

The air from the windows was filled with the sounds of the city. Soft laughter, husky and feminine, trailed over them, and, somewhere close by, a Mexican polka oompahed in encouragement to a boisterous party below them. Los Angeles flew past them, cars skimming out on the streets in a wash of soft white noise, but Ichi barely heard it.

His own ragged breathing drowned out everything but his mewling pleas for Bobby’s mouth to finish what it started.

Cole might have been right. Bobby spent a lot of time with his mouth around dicks and on skin. If there was any question about that, it was answered as he teased and plied Ichiro’s cock and balls with his tongue and lips. A soft sear of teeth on his balls made Ichiro jerk in response, but it was more to shock than hurt, especially when Bobby followed up with a skilled laving of the nipped area.

“Pay attention to me, Sunshine. Anything else—leave it outside.” Bobby’s hot mouth closed in on him, enveloping his cock head in a hard suckle. His hips rose, unwilling or unable to stay flat on the mattress, and it was all Ichiro could do not to grab Bobby’s cock and shove it as far in as it could go.

Bobby, however, had other plans.

His tongue touched the edge of Ichiro’s hole, and Ichi jumped, twitching in reflex at the soft, hot probe.

“Fuuuuu—”

There were other noises following that one, but none of them bloomed into full words. He tried. The universe knew Ichiro tried to mewl out his pleasure into something close to any language he knew, but he was lost in the sensations rolling over his skin and into his blood.

Then Bobby slid two thick, strong fingers through the tightness of his now wet hole, and Ichiro lost his damned mind.

He closed his eyes, falling into the dark. It didn’t remain shadowy for long. The stretches of bone and flesh into his body held a promise—a raking, a splitting apart to follow once Bobby angled his heavy, lust-swollen cock up against Ichiro’s ass and slid in. A wet smear streaked across Ichi’s thigh, more promises—seed-laden fluid begging to run hot into Ichiro’s insides.

More pressing in—deeper still—until Ichi wanted to scream in frustration. His fingers were numb, bloodless from tightening his fists into Bobby’s sheets, and his ass ached to be filled. Hell,
he
ached everywhere.

“Dawson—shit, Bobby,” he growled, unable to find a good purchase on Bobby’s wide shoulders. His nails dug in finally, and Ichi knew he’d left a stinging reminder of Bobby’s teasing in his skin.

“Want a bit of me, then, Sunshine?” Bobby’s tongue worked around his head, drawing out the slip of skin around his glans.

The same tongue began another circuit down to his balls, and Bobby gently nipped Ichi’s sac, pulling it down as his balls rolled and churned below Ichiro’s hard cock. His fingers moved again, hooking up until Ichi thought his skin would envelop Bobby’s palm. Then Bobby drew out, leaving him stretched apart and achingly hollow.

“Give me a bit of time, babe.” Bobby tore a condom wrapper open, spitting out a sliver of foil stuck to his tongue.

The astringent smell of lube joined the night air, and Ichi’s asshole clenched involuntarily, his body gearing up for the intrusion. Snapping the condom on, Bobby smeared the excess lube over Ichi’s opening, then leaned over, covering his mouth with a savage kiss. Hooking his hands under Ichi’s thighs, Bobby lifted Ichiro’s legs and spread them apart, opening him up even wider.

“Hang on to me, Sunshine,” he growled through another hot kiss, sucking Ichiro’s breath out of his chest. “I’m going to give you the ride of your life.”

S
INKING
INTO
Ichi’s tight, velvety heat was an exercise in patience.

There was no question the man’d gotten under Bobby’s skin. Hell, if he could live the rest of his days with Ichiro wrapped around his dick, Bobby would die a happy man.

He’d even be willing to try having Ichi press into him.

The thought of a man other than—Bobby shook his head. The past needed to remain in the shadows, where it could lurk to its heart’s content and not smear its ugly oiliness over the pleasure he’d pulled out of Ichi’s body.

God, when
was
the last time he’d mourned the man he’d loved enough to break his life apart for? Bobby couldn’t remember—hell, he wasn’t even sure he felt any anguish over what Mark’d done to him after he’d broken his marriage and ruined his family.

He was freer for it—Bobby reminded himself as he drank in the sight and feel of Ichiro’s young, primed body. Loving a man—this man—felt right. More than right. More than good. Running his hands over every inch of Ichi’s body, Bobby wondered what kept him from having Ichiro. Fear of Cole finding out or—something darker and deeper welling up inside of him—a fear of wanting more than Ichiro could give.

Or just fear of wanting Ichiro to stay and rediscovering the pain of not being enough for a man to want in return.

He had to go slowly. Ichi was tight, nearly painfully tight, and no amount of stretching seemed to help. If anything, it drove Ichi into a frenzy, and he clamped down on Bobby, bucking and twisting to get more.

Every skimming touch along Ichi’s skin brought out a growling sound or a slithering purr with Ichi writhing beneath him, begging for—no, demanding—more. Bobby intended to give him more. Give him as much as he could take and maybe even beyond that. The skin at the base of his cock tightened when he thought of how Ichiro’s hole would kiss it, suckling at his cock’s root until they both lost themselves in the fucking they’d danced around in the months since they’d first met.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself, tightening his hold on Ichi’s hips. “I just need to hear you scream.”

Ichiro was damned gorgeous. Spread out over Bobby’s bed, he was a sprawl of ivory skin inked to hell and gone with demons, birds, and swirls of color. Stories lay in his skin. A dip of a scar across his shoulder ran white through his faint golden tan. Ichi’s dark eyes gleamed, catching a lamp’s glow as he turned, mink studded with amber flecks, as if their depths hid slivers of a harvest moon. The faint light reflected off a dab of sweat on Ichiro’s jaw, tracing its trail in silver when the drop grew heavy and surrendered itself to the curve of Ichi’s throat.

They both shone with the wet of their efforts, muscles gleaming under a soft sheen as Bobby worked in and out of Ichiro’s grip. His balls slapped and tickled Ichi’s cleft, his cock growing slick with oil with each pound against Ichiro’s hole. With each slide in, Ichi arched his back, sucking Bobby deeper in, then tightening, refusing to let the length of Bobby’s cock slip away from him.

The strain showed in Ichi’s thighs, his powerful, lean muscles rippling beneath their ink shrouds. A tiger on Ichi’s rib cage leaped in time with their thrusts, its body undulating with Ichiro’s hips rising to meet Bobby’s cock.

His lover… God, Ichiro pistoned over Bobby’s cock, and all he could do, all he wanted to do was revel in the feel of his
lover
. Something stronger than lust boiled up into his balls, cresting over his pleasure and frighteningly spilling out into his soul. Bobby didn’t want
this
. He’d never wanted to feel that connection to another man. Men were… disposable. Holes and mouths who laughed and maybe kept him company but eventually wandered off like strays finding a new home.

He wasn’t supposed to
want
to keep them. To soothe them or wipe their tears when their worlds were shattered by violence. The world was a tough place. He’d seen enough blood and death to stare it down until it whimpered away, but he’d never
wanted
to keep someone else safe from its looming, dark presence.

Until now.

And it scared the shit out of him.

His body feared nothing. Not when it was safe, warm, and suckled in deep by Ichiro’s clench. No, his body and soul were running off without him while Bobby’s heart skipped and churned, twisting to get away from the
reality
of the man he’d laid down on his bed and was—making love to.

Because as Bobby felt the ripple of lightning lick and curl at the length of his cock, he felt a tendril of… regret mingled in with his climax.

He wanted to fill Ichiro with his spend.

He wanted to wipe Ichi clean, wrap him in the sheets, and spend a sleepy evening laughing about the horrible music coming through his open windows.

He wanted to lick at the ink on Ichiro’s body and ask him
why
this picture.

Bobby wanted—
needed
—to know the reason for each drop of ink, every smirk Ichiro threw his way, and the why of every hitch in Ichi’s breath as life spun around him.

His cock released, bursting full gushes of come into the trap of latex around it, and Bobby bent over, letting Ichiro’s thighs go so he could wrap his arms around his lover’s trembling body. Ichi came, splattering the tight space between them with his hot release, coating their stomachs and tangling them together in a liquid kiss Bobby smeared as he lurched a few final, gentle thrusts.

“Fuck,” Bobby ground out as Ichiro milked the last of his release from him. He didn’t know what he was cursing—his resentful attachment to the man he’d needed since he’d first laid eyes on him or the knowledge he’d agreed to let Ichiro walk away from him. Either way, Bobby was screwed, and
fuck
seemed like too mild of a sound to explain the depths of his troubles.

“Yeah,
anata
,” Ichiro gasped, his hair plastered to his cheeks and throat, damp from the sweat of their lovemaking. “I think we’re in trouble.”

I
CHIRO
WAS
gone when Bobby woke up.

His bed was empty, but the coffee machine was on warm, fragrant and filled with a dark, syrupy roast Bobby knew would keep him buzzing all day. A quick trip to the bathroom turned out to be longer than he’d expected, because as he drizzled piss into the toilet bowl, he spotted a folded piece of paper taped to the mirror over his sink. Torn between wanting to yank the paper off the glass so he could read it and finishing his piss so he could walk without a limp, Bobby examined the situation—and silently berated his dick for seemingly taking its damned sweet time in finishing its business.

The note was more than three feet away, and while some of the ink bled through the other side, he couldn’t quite make out what Ichi wrote. Stretching didn’t help. It was too far away, and all it did was ensure Bobby would have to spend a few seconds wiping piss off the side of the bowl from trying to unhinge his shoulder joint to reach the damn mirror. He was about to give up and resign himself to mopping the floor when his bladder suddenly announced it was done and his dick sighed in relief, flopping back down into its space against his thigh, worn out from the previous night’s calisthenics.