D just shook his head, turning against Jack’s, but it wasn’t a denial. Jack felt arousal
spiking through him, clouding his mind with the wanting, wanting this man, all of him,
black and tarry, rotted with disuse, glorious and fractured and spilling out of the cracks.
His hands went on their own to his belt buckle and fumbled it open. D’s hands were
on his neck now, gripping and squeezing it, kneading the damp skin. Jack heard him suck
in a breath and hiss it out, and then suddenly he seized Jack’s shoulders and turned him
toward the bed, onto his stomach, pulled to his knees. Oh Jesus, this is happening. He felt
the humid air of the bedroom hit his bare skin as D yanked his jeans down off his hips.
The bed creaked as D moved up behind him; he could hear D’s breath scraping in and out
in harsh bellow pulls, a faint mumbling beneath it, the heat of his hands on Jack’s hips.
He put his head down and tried to relax; then a press and a deep throb and D was inside
him.
Jack groaned and grabbed at the sheets, wincing against the pain; D let out a
strangled cry and Jack felt his hips tight against his ass, his weight pressing him forward,
his hands hanging on to Jack’s shirt, then scrabbling beneath for skin. He pushed back,
the discomfort fading, D thrusting forward again and again, rough and eager with denial.
Jack’s brain emptied of all thought and he let himself go, giving himself over to D’s
urgency, low-pitched whines coming from D’s throat and then Jack lost it, crying out as
he came without even a hand to himself, D’s hands on his back beneath his shirt greedy,
then seizing and holding as D thrust deep and came into him without a sound, rigid and
overtaken before he flopped forward with a quiet groan, bearing Jack down onto the bed
with him, slipping out of him and rolling to his back. Jack turned on his side, whirling
and dizzy. He kicked his jeans off and lay there in just his T-shirt, pulse slowing and
sleep racing to overtake him, cautiously extending one hand to rest on D’s chest before it
caught them both.