They stripped off their clothes. Lucas’s fingers fumbled with haste. Tom, Tom, Tom. They kissed greedily, urgently—Tom’s cock burned against his belly, almost branding him—and then they were on the bed, rolling over one another, almost wrestling, kissing fiercely, their mouths hard, hot, hungry.
He found himself on his back. Tom broke the kiss, panting, and sat up. Lucas tried to sit up, too, but Tom shoved him back down and bent and captured Lucas’s cock in his mouth.
“No,” Lucas said, and grunted as Tom sucked hard. His balls tightened, and his hips twitched helplessly, and then he said, “No,” again more loudly, and sat up and grabbed a handful of Tom’s hair, pulling his head up.
They stared at each other, both breathing heavily. Tom’s pupils were dilated, his cheeks flushed, his lips glistening.
“I don’t want that,” Lucas said. He didn’t want to lie back and be passive while Tom smoked his cheroot, or whatever that bloody colonel had called it. He wanted to be active. He wanted Tom straining against him, hips grinding together, mouths biting, cocks clashing.
He clenched his fingers in Tom’s hair and hauled him closer and kissed him even harder than before, and then they were wrestling on the bed again, limbs tangling, mouths tangling, tongues tangling, and now Tom was on top, and now he was, and then they rolled right off the bed, and Tom said, “Oof,” when they hit the floor.
“You hurt?” Lucas said.
“No.”
He rolled Tom onto his back, pinned him with the weight of his body, and bit the curve where Tom’s shoulder met his throat, dragging his teeth roughly over the skin, sinking them into the muscle.
Tom gasped, and jolted convulsively.
“Like that?” Lucas asked, and licked where he’d bitten.
“God, yes.”
Lucas bit him a second time, even harder, and Tom jolted again, his body bucking helplessly.
Lucas bit his way down Tom’s torso, not gently, but roughly, his teeth leaving marks. He bit Tom’s pectorals, his nipples, bit the lean sheet of muscles that covered his ribs, and every time Tom tried to twist away, tried to sit up, he shoved him back down. He could smell Tom’s arousal, smell sweat and muskiness, and the smell made the drumbeat in his head even louder. Tom, Tom.
He bit Tom’s taut belly, and licked where he’d bitten, and Tom’s cock was right there, inches from his mouth, and he could smell it, could feel its heat like a small furnace, and he almost turned his head and took it in his mouth—but panic fluttered in his chest, and he hesitated, and reached down and took Tom’s balls in his hand instead.
Tom jerked at his touch, and hissed out a breath. “Careful.”
He was careful—careful, but rough—handling Tom’s balls as he would his own, stroking, squeezing, tugging, while Tom breathed in short, fast gasps, almost whimpering, his body twitching helplessly and his cock—the Corinthian—straining, and leaking, and growing a deeper shade of red than Lucas had yet seen it.
His own cock ached and throbbed in sympathy. He knew he couldn’t last much longer. Knew neither of them could.
Lucas let go of Tom’s balls and captured the Corinthian instead. It was damp and desperately eager—and part of him wanted to bend his head and discover what that slick helmet felt like beneath his tongue, discover what it tasted like, and part of him shrank from doing so.
He tightened his grip and pumped once, hard.
Tom’s hips lifted off the floor. A guttural sound came from his throat.
Lucas pumped again—and again—and again—rough and hard and fast—and Tom bucked and panted and uttered incoherent noises—and Lucas pumped again, even more roughly, and leaned over Tom and sank his teeth into the muscle where Tom’s shoulder met his neck.
Tom jackknifed on the floor. His cock jerked in Lucas’s hand, hot semen spurting, and Lucas’s cock jerked in unison and his whole body spasmed, great jolts of pleasure that rolled through him repeatedly.
When the jolts had faded to tingles, Lucas released Tom’s cock and stretched out alongside him.
Neither of them said anything for a long time, and it felt good to be lying here on the floor with Tom, sated and weary.
“Fuck,” Tom said finally, hoarsely. “I think you just about killed me.” He sat up with a groan, moving stiffly, as if every bone in his body ached.
Lucas’s contentment vanished. Shame filled the space where it had been. He sat up, too. “Did I hurt you?”
Tom looked down at his chest and abdomen. Lucas saw the sticky spattering of semen—and the red marks where he’d bitten him.
“I’m going to have bruises,” Tom said ruefully.
Lucas averted his gaze, too ashamed to look at him. I did that. Me. I fucked him on the floor and bit him until he almost bled. He felt sick, sick to the pit of his stomach. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? What on earth for? That was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life.”
Lucas’s gaze jerked back to him.
“When you bit me that last time, my skull just about exploded.”
“You . . . liked it?”
Tom laughed. “Lu, I’ve had sex hundreds of times. Hundreds and hundreds of times. And that was the best. Ever. Yes, I liked it.”
“Oh,” Lucas said. He felt himself blush. The shame was gone. Instead, there was a warm feeling in his chest that he didn’t quite recognize, as if he was pleased and proud at the same time.