THE REMAINING twenty-seven minutes and sixteen seconds it takes to reach William’s apartment is spent with Brady in his lap, kissing him till William’s lips are puffy and damn near numb and the rest of him is buzzing like a live wire. Brady is pure, blissful evil wrapped in an enticing and sweet package.
William’s got his hands under Brady’s shirt, tracing the notches in his spine and the jut of his shoulder blades, down to the dimples in his lower back that so perfectly frame his ass when he’s naked. Selfishly, he hopes that’s one thing that hasn’t changed about Brady over the years. Please still have all your dimples. He finds his hands drifting more than once, fingers edging toward Brady’s waistband despite his brain telling him that the back of a hired car isn’t the place for this.
Brady helpfully swats his hands away each time, grabbing William’s wrists and bringing his hands to rest on Brady’s hips, and then—very unhelpfully—Brady wiggles his hips in the most torturous way possible.
Needless to say, by the time the car finally—oh God, finally—rolls to a stop in front of his building, William isn’t capable of thoughts that don’t involve his dick and Brady. He nearly face-plants climbing from the car. Which, later when he can think about this better, he will blame on the icy sidewalk and not his jellylike legs.
The doorman gives them a wide-eyed look as they stumble in, straight past him in a giddy tangle of uncoordinated limbs and right into the elevator. William has to work a little too hard to remember his apartment’s on the eighth floor. He stabs the button, and then he’s crowding Brady against the wall and, hands on his thighs, lifting him up.
He’s not expecting Brady to start giggling.
William pauses in his exploration of how every bit of Brady’s neck feels on his lips and pulls back to look into his smiling face. “What?”
Brady tilts his chin up. “We’re under the mistletoe.”
William looks. The entire ceiling is covered in dangling mistletoe. Someone in the building went mistletoe happy when decorating. Over the centuries and with several country changes, many traditions have come and gone, but kissing under the mistletoe is one that has always been consistent. Granted, William hasn’t done it in two hundred and one years, but maybe this is one old tradition he can keep alive.
He keeps the kiss slow, teasing glides of tongue and barely there grazes of teeth. Brady has his hands in William’s hair, massaging William’s scalp with the pads of his fingers. It makes him sigh into their kiss, and he has to lock his knees to keep from falling. God, he’s missed this.
The elevator jolts to a stop, and it takes both of them to unlock William’s front door. Their brains and ability to function like competent adults have taken a leave of absence in favor of letting passion and their dicks take over.
The door bangs into the wall, and once they’re over the threshold, William reaches back blindly to shut it. His mouth is too preoccupied with Brady’s at the moment to allow him to step away. There’s a few seconds of grasping air, and then his hand lands on it, and it’s shutting just as loudly as they’d opened it.
“Bed,” he says, tilting his head so he can lick the sensitive spot right behind Brady’s ear. He’s rewarded with a shaky sigh and a full-body shiver.
“Good idea. Where is it?”
Right. This is William’s place, and Brady hasn’t been here before. He doesn’t know where anything is. William sucks in a deep breath—which is a mistake with his nose practically buried in Brady’s hair. He’s got a lungful of Brady’s heady scent now, and how is he supposed to concentrate?
His bed is… somewhere.
He nibbles Brady’s earlobe, nips his way down his neck to his collarbone.
Palms to his chest, Brady shoves lightly. William staggers a step back. Brady raises an eyebrow.
William scrapes his hand over his jaw. His lips feel puffy, and he’s got a little more than a five o’clock shadow coming in. He has to close his eyes to think. The sight of Brady standing there, disheveled from all the teasing touches with his clothes wrinkled and his curls in a crazy mess, is not conducive to thoughts outside of what William would like to do to him next. He shakes his head. It’s been so long, and he’s overflowing with too many emotions. This is a lot to take in, and he’s not doing a great job of keeping himself together.
Brady circles his hand around William’s wrist, fingers tight like a manacle. “Are you okay?”
William nods. His throat has a lump the size of Texas in it all of a sudden. His eyes are still closed. He should probably open them. He’ll wait till they stop burning. His body has gone AWOL on him.
After letting go of his wrist, Brady wraps his arms around William and they’re hugging. They’re not kissing. There’s no searching touches. They’re wrapped around each other like if they let go the world will implode, and Brady’s breath is hot against his neck, his chin digging into William’s shoulder.
They’re both still hard, but neither of them is doing a damn thing about it.
William lowers his head to Brady’s shoulder, tucking his face against his neck. “I love you,” he says. “I never ever stopped.” If there’s only one thing he’s ever been sure of in life, it’s that the man in his arms is his soul mate, and he doesn’t care how sappy or crazy that sounds. Brady is his perfect other half, and there’s so much he wants to do, to say, that he’s torn as to what to do first. Logically he knows he has time now. Finally. But that’s not curbing his impatience. His need.
“I love you too,” says Brady, his grip tightening. “So fucking much.”
He doesn’t know how long they stand there, but it somehow feels like seconds and hours at the same time. It’s long enough for William’s cock to start doing the lion’s share of the thinking and for his turbulent emotions to sway toward pure desire, though.
He manages to distance himself, to grab Brady’s hand and lead him through the living room, down the hall, and into the master bedroom. He’s got deep blue walls and a gray accent one, and the bed is the main focus of the room. It’s a California king, because he likes to move in his sleep, and he has like a million pillows. He frequently wakes up on the opposite side of the bed from which he went to sleep on.
He squeezes Brady’s hand. They’ve never shared a bed overnight before. Ten years together and it had been too risky to pull off.
As if this day wasn’t momentous enough already.
“You nervous?” asks Brady, and he’s speaking barely above a whisper, but William swears it echoes in the room.
William licks his lips. Is he? He’s… something. It’s not nervous, though. He tells Brady so. “It feels like the first time.” Like everything has led to this moment in time that’s completely and utterly meant to be.
Brady untangles their fingers and crosses to the bed. He bounces as he sits on the end. William watches as Brady toes his shoes off while starting to unbutton his chef’s coat.
“Do you remember our first time?” asks Brady, a wicked, naughty smile quirking his lips. “I’ve got it in my memory bank, but… I’m thinking it’s not the same as having been there.”
William’s heart stutters. He takes a step closer, shrugging out of his tux jacket and then getting to work on his waistcoat buttons, kicking off his shoes at the same time. It’s weird to think that he knows the man in front of him, his likes and dislikes and his body, and yet at the same time he doesn’t. This Brady might have different taste, and he remembers things but hasn’t lived them, and his freckles might be in different places. “It was awkward,” he says. He can remember their first time like it was yesterday. They’d been young and clumsy. “We had no clue what we were doing, and I came in like five seconds. You elbowed me in the nose trying to get your shirt off.” His waistcoat hits the floor. The buttons on his shirt are next. “It was the best thing that ever happened to me. The first time—not the elbowing.”
Brady laughs, deep and giddy. “Thanks for the clarification.”
His shirt is hanging open, showing off his bare chest. He’s pale and freckled all over. His happy trail is a thin, barely there line of curls that disappear into his pants. The scar he’d shown William in the alley is visible, a livid mark on otherwise perfect skin. As William watches, he shrugs his shirt off and lets it flutter to the hardwood floor.
Brady crooks his finger. “Come here.”
Because he’s a smooth kind of guy, William trips over his own feet in his haste. Thankfully he manages to catch himself and come to a—dignified, dammit—stop in front of a smirking Brady. Brady spreads his legs, and William moves into the cradle of them, rests his hands on smooth bare shoulders. He traces the shape, the dip of Brady’s collarbone, the jut of his shoulder blade. He wants to know it all.
Brady starts at William’s waist and smooths his hand up over the planes of his toned abdomen, to his chest where he teasingly flicks each nipple. He leans forward to kiss them, tongue darting out for a too-quick taste. William twitches, pushes his chest forward. Brady ignores him, moving to William’s shirt to shove it down and off. It requires William to put a pause in his own exploration, and he resists for a brief second before letting the dress shirt fall. Now they’re both in their pants and nothing else. He immediately returns to learning Brady’s body.
“I see two.”
William’s gaze is focused on the steady rise and fall of Brady’s chest. He glances up, confused. “What?”
Brady trails his fingers over the brightly colored sugar skull on the inside of William’s forearm, and then over the Captain America shield on his ribs. “You’re not even American. Though you have lost your accent.”
“I thought it was fitting. He’s a man living in the wrong time.” William circles Brady’s wrist, just because. “You’ve still got an accent. How’d that happen?”
Brady tilts forward and licks a path from William’s belly button to his right nipple. He nips sharply, taunting him. William’s breath hitches.
“Well, you see, a couple in Manchester decided to engage in the ancient art of—”
William slaps his free hand over Brady’s mouth. “I get it. No need to give me the details.”
Brady licks his palm. William’s nose scrunches up. Logically he shouldn’t care, he doesn’t mind when Brady licks anywhere else, but… still. He makes sure to wipe his palm on Brady’s chest, which earns him a gentle back of the hand slap to his stomach.
“You’re a dork,” says Brady, nothing but fondness in his voice. He starts unbuttoning William’s pants. “I wonder if what’s in here lives up to my memories of it.” He’s careful about pulling the zipper down over the straining bulge.
“Should I be worried?” asks William. “I like to think it’s pretty nice.”
Brady snorts, forehead dropping to William’s stomach as his shoulders shake with laughter. “Oh my God,” he says. “I’m playing. We’ve got time now. We can do that. Tease and go slow and all that jazz.”
In contradiction to his “go slow” comment, he shoves William’s slacks over his ass, and they crumple to tangle around his ankles. He hums, not wasting time taking William’s briefs on the same path. William’s cock slaps his stomach, standing tall and proud.
Like it knows its prowess was being doubted, in jest or not.
Brady tilts his head, and then he’s slicking his tongue over the head, sucking William in like he’s a lollipop. William has to grip Brady’s shoulders to remain upright, but he quickly brings one hand to wind through Brady’s curls. He resists the urge to push and pull, letting Brady set the torturous pace.
That lasts until his balls are tightening and he’s half a second from reenacting his stamina from their very first time. Staggering back, he gasps for breath and control, dropping to his knees to work on Brady’s pants. Helpfully, Brady raises his hips so William can slide them and his electric blue briefs down and off, tossing them to the side.
It’s time to return the favor.
Brady groans when William sucks him in, hollowing his cheeks and humming around the leaking head. He uses his tongue to massage the sensitive bundle of nerves just under the cap, and with a deep breath in through his nose, sinks farther down till Brady’s at the back of his throat and his eyes are streaming from his effort. Brady has a hand in his hair and one on the back of his neck, holding him in place as he rocks his hips into William. Brady looks all sweet and innocent, but in bed he likes control. There’s nothing innocent about him. Sometimes he is a little sweet, though. In the best kind of way.
Thank God that apparently hasn’t changed.
He’s yanked off and up by the hold Brady has in his hair, urging him to rise from his knees and climb onto the bed. They kiss, a little sloppy and a lot “I’ll die if we stop” passionate, as they worm their way across the bed. It’s a slow process to get it so their feet aren’t hanging over the edge, but they’ve got nothing but time.
And oh, fuck, the full-body contact.
William’s on the edge from that alone. His chest to Brady’s, their dicks side by side and rubbing, their legs slotted together like puzzle pieces. This is undoubtedly heaven. He can’t think of anything but heat and more and yes, yes, yes.
When Brady rolls them, William goes eagerly, thighs splaying wide to fit Brady’s hips. With his arms braced on either side of William’s head, he sinks his tongue into William’s mouth at the same time he twists his hips and drags them forward. William claws at Brady’s back, his own arching in a bid to get impossibly closer.
It’s perfect, but things could be even more so, and William wants. “Please,” he says, voice cracking halfway.
Brady dips his head, sucks on William’s neck. “Please what?” he asks, words muffled by William’s extremely sensitive skin. He feels like he’s coming out of his body.
William lifts his hips, trying to slide Brady’s cock where he really, really fucking would like it to be right now. It takes a little maneuvering, but he manages, and Brady’s dick slips over his hole, nudges his sac. William grunts, bearing down, trying to repeat the movement.
Brady’s mouth goes slack, and a low moan slides from between his lips. “Fuck,” he says. “All right. All right.”
It takes a second, but then he’s slinking down, his hands on the inside of William’s thighs, spreading them wider as he slots his shoulders between them. William thunks his head to the pillow. “Lube,” he says. “You need to get the lube.”
He jerks like a live wire when Brady blows a hot breath over his hole, darts his tongue out to tease. He follows up with a finger, not pushing in, just tracing the rim.
“You reach for the lube. I’ll have some fun,” he says.
And then his mouth is on William, driving him insane and tearing embarrassing noises from William’s throat. How is William supposed to concentrate to reach his bedside drawer like this?
He flails a hand out, his entire body fighting him as he needs to move away from the intense pleasure to reach.
His fingers brush the wood of the nightstand.
Brady slides a single finger into him. William sees stars for a second. God, it’s been so long, and this is Brady, and oh, fuck. He’s going to come. Just from this. Brady closes his hand around the bottom of his shaft, and William’s orgasm is abruptly cut off.
“Lube, now,” says Brady.
“Evil,” says William. Brady is pure evil. Breathing like he’s run a marathon, William finally gets the drawer open, and he tosses the lube to Brady, then collapses onto his back and pulls his knees to his chest. There’s no mistaking what he wants and that he’s ready. “Fast now, slow next time,” he says. They’ve got all night. He definitely plans for this to be only the first of many more times in the next several hours.
William is very vocal as Brady stretches him. He thinks Brady’s fingers are the best thing in the world as he twists them, rubs William’s channel, and nudges his prostate, insistently applying pressure until William’s hips aren’t on the bed and he’s damn near hoarse from shouting. He’s got fistfuls of his comforter, and he’s pretty sure his nails are going to leave holes in it. Somewhere in all the moaning, he manages to get in begging. “Now, now. Please. Fuck. Fuck me. Brady. Brady. Brady!”
Eventually Brady runs out of his river of patience, and then they’re face to face, brown gaze to bright green as Brady shoves home. William’s mouth parts on a silent cry, and Brady’s kissing him, panting into his mouth as his hips set a hard, relentless rhythm. He’s not taking his time anymore. Brady laces their fingers together, bringing William’s hands up beside his head and holding them there as he moves his body in a steady, rocking wave.
William’s got his heels digging into Brady’s ass, trying to keep him from pulling out too far. His cock is being continuously massaged by the press of their stomachs, and Brady’s dick seems to have a homing beacon on his prostate because damn if it isn’t pounding the thing with every thrust.
There’s precome all over their bellies.
William comes first, everything in him going tense, clenching. It’s a current running through him, fast and furious, and he shakes with it, feels like the head of his dick is fit to burst with each heavy spurt of release between them. He clings to Brady’s hands, mouths helplessly at his cheek as he gasps through it. Over him, Brady shudders, tipping over the edge himself. He’s pulsing inside William, blinding warmth and an overwhelmingly full feeling slamming into him.
When Brady collapses, body going limp at the same time as William’s, William doesn’t let Brady spare him his weight. He wants Brady on him, pushing him down into the bedding. He wants to feel him soften and slip out slowly. He’s not ready to feel empty just yet.
They’re panting on each other’s necks, and William runs his fingers through Brady’s curls, getting them stuck in what has become a bird’s nest thanks to their activities. He tries to gently remove the knots.
The first thing Brady says to him is, “Merry Christmas.”
William blinks blankly up at the ceiling. “It’s Christmas,” he says. “I’ve hated Christmas for the longest fucking time.”
Brady kisses his chin. His eyelashes brush William’s cheek. “I’m thinking we can make new memories of Christmas for you. We’ll wake up in twelve hours”—he ignores William’s snort—“and we’ll make breakfast together. We’ll eat it in bed. Maybe off each other, how about that? And we’ll talk about our lives and what we’ve missed of each other’s, and we’ll get to know everything we don’t know. Of course there will be breaks for kissing. Plenty of those. Can’t have too many. We can go to my apartment and get all my shit and move it over here. ’Cause I’m not living somewhere else. It’s you and me and this bed from now on. We’ll ignore our phones and all the real world problems till the holiday is over, because they’re not important.” He kisses the tip of his nose. “We start the rest of our lives together from this day forward.”
Brady’s green eyes are serious, even hazy with sated lust as they are right now.
William bumps their noses, brushes a kiss over Brady’s lips. There’s a list of things they should probably worry about (their jobs that they’d walked away from tonight without thinking twice and the fact that as far as William knows he can’t age), but for the moment… for the moment William is going to revel in only the good stuff. Namely the perfect human being in his arms.
“Merry Christmas. To the rest of our lives,” he says, and with a twist of his lower half, he flips them so he’s hovering over Brady.
It’s never too soon to start round two.