Long Time Gone (Hell or High Water ) (8 page)

Tom buried his face against Prophet’s chest as he slid his fingers in and out of his ass, dragging his teeth against the man’s skin, then sucking hard, needing his taste. He wanted to leave a mark, so he did, higher on Prophet’s neck where everyone could see it. Wanted to give Prophet something to see when he looked in the mirror.

Because the man damned well needed some reminding.

But the damned man was here. And thank fuck Tom had ignored Phil’s orders, listening instead to his gut, which had screamed to him that getting on a plane would be the most important thing he’d ever done in his life.

The ground shook from a loud slam outside, and Prophet was shuddering. Tom could see his gray eyes beginning to crowd with too much sensation, too much intensity threatening to close in and overwhelm him.

“S’okay—just a tree down,” Tom said as he grabbed for Prophet’s hips to push him up further. Prophet’s wet feet slipped on the floor, and he grabbed for Tom’s shoulders. Wound his legs around Tom’s back and ended up holding onto the back of Tom’s neck as his cock wept between their bodies.

Being taller made this position perfect—Tom eased his cock inside Prophet, and Prophet hissed and dug his fingers into Tom’s neck. But it was a good hiss, because Prophet was attempting to push down and take Tom in, deeper and faster.

He grabbed Prophet’s hips and stopped him. Held him in place so he could drive himself inside, loved watched Prophet’s mouth drop as he entered.

Prophet was so fucking tight around him that Tom nearly stopped. But Prophet growled at him, and Tom slid in balls deep with a hard push that made them both groan loudly. Then Prophet grabbed Tom’s shoulders hard, dug in, and pushed down while resting his head against the wall.

Surrender. Acceptance. They were both there, and Tom took them and ran with them, steamrolled over them with hard thrusts that had Prophet cursing and moaning.

They were loud, but the storm outside was louder. Their own personal hurricane swirled between them until Tom’s orgasm shot through him like a rocket. He pinned Prophet with hands and cock, giving the man no quarter.

He put his hand on Prophet’s chest, felt the man tremble with exhaustion and nerves and need. Prophet unlocked his legs and lowered them on the floor, and Tom got down on his knees.

He looked up at Prophet. The hard planes of the man’s body were glistening with sweat and rain and cum from earlier. Prophet’s head was still back against the wall, his eyes closed, and Tom slid a hand around his hip, reassuring the man that he wouldn’t let him go. He licked at the light dusting of hair that led down to Prophet’s cock, letting his free hand stroke Prophet’s balls.

“Tommy.” It was barely a breath. Prophet’s body broke out in gooseflesh as Tom lapped at the head of his cock, and Prophet finally moved, putting a hand into Tom’s hair. Rubbing. Encouraging. Forcing.

How the man could move from so completely submissive to dominant with a single motion was beyond Tom, but Prophet had done it. And Tom’s cock was already half-hard again at the thought of what Prophet would do to him after this.

He took Prophet further into his mouth, sucking and humming, cupping his balls, squeezing his hip to leave another mark. He glanced up again and found Prophet staring down at him, the corner of his mouth pulled into a lazy grin.

It made Tom work harder, both to make the man smile more and to wipe it off and replace it with a grit of teeth.

A contradiction. Just like Prophet.

He moved farther down between the man’s opened thighs, mouthing one ball, then the other, sucking gently then harder.

Prophet’s legs shook.

Tom smiled.

Prophet cursed at him.

In response, Tom moved back up and swirled his tongue around the soft skin that encased the hard throb of cock, then pushed his tongue into the small opening. Prophet gasped and cursed again and held Tom’s hair tightly, to the point of pain. But that wasn’t stopping him. He speared his tongue into the entrance harder and harder, finally glancing up again to see Prophet, most definitely unsmiling, a flush spreading along his chest and neck.

“Going to . . . fucking . . . spank you . . . for this,” Prophet managed, and Tom laughed around his cock, giving a momentary respite before going back to the same torture.

And then he took Proph’s cock down as far as he could. When it touched the back of his throat, he swallowed, and Prophet jerked.

He pulled back quickly to stop Prophet from coming, licked slowly from the root upward, then curled his tongue around the top.

Prophet’s body shook. Tom took pity on him, slid the man’s cock between his lips as he palmed it as well and used mouth and fist to pump in a steady rhythm. He wouldn’t last long—and Tom was surprised he’d made it this far.

He was ready when Prophet spilled into his mouth with a violent spurt and a hoarse howl to match. Swallowed him down as Prophet’s climax jerked his body with hard shudders. Kept him in his mouth even after the orgasm stopped. Pulled back and licked and sucked gently until Prophet tugged his head away.

Only then did Tom let go of Prophet’s hip to allow the man to slide down the wall.

“Now that’s a sight for my old, sore eyes,” Dave murmured against Roger’s ear as they watched the bodies in the shadows. It was too dark to see much, but it was more than obvious what was happening, the two men moving in unison, one pinned to the wall, the other covering him.

“Young love.”

“Young lust.”

“Looks like he doesn’t need our company after all.”

In the dark, Dave reached for Roger’s hand as they watched the shadowed lovemaking. “Were we ever that beautiful?”

“You still are,” Roger told him. “Maybe we should make the most of the hurricane.”

“This was definitely foreplay.”

“It’s like Tumblr, the live version.”

Dave chuckled. “True. But I did
not
see it coming.”

“Maybe hurricanes affect gaydar?”

“How much did you have to drink?”

“Enough to pretend we can still have sex like that.”

With Tommy collapsed half on top of him, Prophet lay on the kitchen floor, spent. Sweaty. Unable—or unwilling—to break the almost spell-like silence that covered them like a blanket. He hadn’t been this wet or dirty since BUD/S, but BUD/S definitely hadn’t felt this good.

Tom was still breathing hard, and Prophet’s legs still shook from the exertion. But if Tom wanted more, right now, Prophet would be game.

“You know they watched us, right?” Prophet asked finally, his voice rough as he drew lazy circles on Tom’s back with his fingertips.

Tom shivered at the contact, then snorted. “Yeah.”

Prophet laughed. And then laughed more, which made Tom laugh.

They both stopped when sideways hail began hitting the window above the kitchen sink. The house creaked, the lights flickered, and then went out.

Prophet blinked and tried to swallow the panic. He started counting as soon as the reassuring hum of the generator kicked in—ten seconds down—and he continued to count, even as Tom nuzzled his chest, then bit his nipple hard enough for Prophet’s cock to stir.

He wound his hand in Tommy’s hair and breathed, and then the kitchen lights returned.

Tom’s head lifted. “You installed a generator in my aunt’s house?”

“Someone had to.”

Tom balanced his chin on Prophet’s chest. “Hope you bolted it down.”

“And alarmed the fucker too. And set up a trap to catch anyone who went near it.” Prophet paused. “I wasn’t going to tell you that before you went out to check the oil.”

“Fucker,” Tommy muttered. “You didn’t even know I was coming.”

“You said you couldn’t.”

“Don’t look at me that way—I didn’t come here to see you.”

“God forbid,” Prophet grumbled.

“I didn’t know you’d be here, Proph,” Tom said, his voice gentler now.

“Cut the innocent act, Voodoo. Unless you always carry condoms in your pocket when you travel.”

“Dammit, Proph . . . okay, look, I just knew it was as important as fuck for me to get here. I don’t ignore my gut. Not anymore.”

Jesus, Prophet didn’t want to do this yet. Things were so goddamned fragile between them, and the second either one of them pressed for more, it could all fall the fuck apart. Prophet refused to risk any of it to the threat of reality. Because the indisputable fact remained that he’d come here for Tommy, yes, but Tom had come for Della. No matter whether he’d thought Prophet might be here, Tom still hadn’t chosen him. “Things are better when we’re fucking. Simpler, at least.”

“I’m up for keeping it going.”

“You can’t even move.”

“Neither can you.”

Prophet held up a hand, then gave Tom the finger. “See? I moved.”

Tom lunged to completely pin him. Prophet was quicker, and they rolled underneath the table and hit the bench. Tom ended up on top, and as he leaned in for a kiss, Della cleared her throat in the most obvious of ways before coming into the kitchen.

They both glanced over and saw her feet, and Tom turned back to press his face against Prophet’s chest to keep from laughing. Prophet wound a protective hand in Tommy’s hair, and felt the man’s heartbeat, steady and strong against his.

“Roger and Dave enjoyed the show,” Della said. “I’d have charged money had I known. And nice to see you, Tom. Don’t get up. Just let me know if the house starts to float away.”

Prophet hooted softly, and Della left.

“She’s not pissed,” Tom said, and as he lifted his head to stare at Prophet, Prophet let his hand slide down to Tommy’s neck and then between his shoulder blades. “She actually sounded . . . happy. How long have you been here?”

Prophet snickered and rubbed Tom’s calf with his foot, spreading his legs so his cock touched Tom’s. “Long enough that she likes me better than you.”

“Such an asshole,” Tom muttered, but he shifted, a catch in his breath because they were both getting hard again. “What are they predicting? I couldn’t get a report during the last few hours before I got here.”

“I don’t listen. They’re never on target—it’s either way worse or not as bad.”

“Yeah.” Tom’s hand slid along Prophet’s chest and Prophet was dangerously close to rutting up against him again. And really, he saw no reason to try to control himself, but he did.

He needed a distraction. “Guess you’ve been through enough storms.”

“More than I can count.” Tom traced a finger along Prophet’s jawline. “Are we really talking about weather?”

“Yeah. Weather.” Prophet ran a hand down to Tom’s hip, the other cupping the back of Tom’s neck.

“Better than fighting.”

“Not by much. Fighting leads to fucking.”

Tom leaned in to kiss the hollow of Prophet’s neck, then murmured, “Weather leads there too,” with his lips still against Prophet’s skin.

Prophet closed his eyes for a second, secure with Tom’s body this close. “I don’t want to talk about all the shit we’re supposed to talk about. For tonight, let’s just not go there. There are other things I want to do more.”

“While the world falls down around us?”

“Especially because of that.” Prophet paused, then, ignoring his own advice, admitted, “You were . . . unexpected.” And not just because he’d walked through the door in the middle of a hurricane.

“You hate that.”

“Yes.”

“Because you’d rather be the unexpected one.”

“Yes,” Prophet said with relish. And that was the truth, although whether it was on purpose, or whether he was wired that way, he had no idea. It probably didn’t matter, but either way, it was something he’d cultivated out of necessity.

Tom laughed, seemingly with empathy rather than at him, and pressed another kiss to his collarbone, probably because Prophet had slowly started to move his hips, even as he asked, “So how did you make it here?”

“I have my resources, same as you.”

Prophet frowned at him. “I’ll fuck it out of you, if I have to.” And when Tom shivered at the implicit promise, Prophet chuckled. “You’re easy.”

“A slut for you,” Tom said seriously.

Prophet stared into Tom’s dark eyes and knew Tom was purposely repeating those words, the same ones Prophet had uttered to him months earlier. “Good.”