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Bellamy and Murphy never went farther than impromptu make-out sessions in the woods, occasionally sneaking a hand down the other’s pants in the aims of earning a pleasurable moan that they often tried to keep from one another. Their sexually-fueled relationship was kept under heavy lock and key, thrown into the vault with the rest of their dirty little secrets. What they did to one another behind closed doors – or more literally behind thickets of trees – was concealed by heated glares, biting remarks, and avoidance of one another if it could be helped. Which, if they were both to be honest, wasn’t necessarily an act. It was no secret they hated each other, but it was so intense that they couldn’t express it with violence or venomous words anymore. Instead it was by digging their nails into the other person’s back, biting a little too roughly on the other’s lip until they tasted copper, shoving each other against walls or trees, or yanking their head back by a fistful of hair.
Today, however, was different.
A few days of not crossing paths seemingly drove Bellamy off the deep end, as he had never pressed his body into Murphy’s as hard as he was now. Murphy could feel every muscle move underneath Bellamy’s shirt as he ran his hands through his hair, the older man planting wet kisses along his jawline and down his throat, ending right on his collarbone before Bellamy resorted to biting his skin then licking the spot, earning a hard-to-conceal moan from the boy.
“Fuck, Bells,” Murphy grunted, sliding his hands down Bellamy’s well toned torso before sneaking one beneath his belt loop. He could already feel how much Bellamy wanted this with him pressed so tightly against him, but running his hand further down only proved this even more. “Keep doing that and I might think you actually like me,” he finally managed after another moan escaped.
“Shut up, Murphy,” Bellamy growled lowly before pulling away from him.
Murphy took this time to step away from the tree, feeling the bark peel away from his skin, likely leaving indentations on his back. He wouldn’t be surprised if the area felt bruised tomorrow. At this thought his eyes flickered back to Bellamy, watching as the man grabbed the back of his shirt and gracefully slipped it over his head, carelessly tossing it to the ground while never breaking his hungry gaze from Murphy. This was new.
“What are you–?” he began, but was cut short as Bellamy grabbed him by the neck and pulled him into a heated kiss, nibbling briefly on his lower lip before pulling away, though not by much as he could feel his nose gently brush against him. Bellamy’s hands slipped under his shirt, grabbing a fistful of the fabric, before pulling it over his head, giving Murphy no time to protest – not that he would, but he was too caught off guard to express this.
Bellamy planted an unusually gentle kiss on his jaw before hooking a finger in one of Murphy’s belt loops and tugging him closer. Another kiss was placed on his temple before Murphy felt his hot breath on his ear, “Take it off.”
The order shocked him more than anything, but he also felt himself grow very excited. Murphy chuckled at this, trying to remain coy, “Excuse me, Blake?” Maybe he misheard him. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But then Bellamy repeated himself, his voice firm.
“You heard me, John,” he drawled. “Take. It. Off.”
Needless to say, they were no longer just simple make-out sessions.