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Gawin wasn’t a stranger to the effects alcohol had in his body. He could hold his liquor just fine for as long as the night would allow, but he could feel it — the trail of fire inside his veins, the burn down his throat. The racing heart and the flushed cheeks. The lick of fire on the back of his neck, calling, daring him to look.
And usually, Gawin wouldn’t pay much attention to the feeling. But it was a Friday night, and his friends decided to spend it laughing and ordering another round of tequila, drunk at a bar after an exhausting day of work, saying — no, no, let’s switch to vodka, we can’t take it —, and Gawin could feel the touch of a gaze everywhere. A soft caress down his back meant to make him shiver, the ghost of a breath below his ear, right where he was a little more sensitive.
He knew Joss was looking now. Joss had been looking all night — had looked when Mix made him laugh at a joke. Searched for Gawin when he got up to order another round of drinks. Kept searching now, while Gawin leant on the counter with Aou, waiting for a beer, avoiding his stare, refusing to give in to the game they’ve been playing for too long now — the almost. The almost touch, almost kiss, almost finger on the back of his teeth—the promise of being killed by a lover and the devastation of being saved in the end.
“I know you don’t talk much, but you’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” Aou said, resting his head on his hand, slouching in his seat by the counter.
“Just tired,” Gawin said, a half-truth, his throat dry with the words he could not say. With the burn of a stare on his back. With the memory of his empty cup on Joss’s nightstand. Aou was looking at him with a smirk, and Gawin rolled his eyes, knowing what was about to come. “Don’t even start.”
“I’m not saying anything,” Aou chuckled, drunk and silly, touched Gawin’s knee in a fake apology. Said, “But you’re not as subtle as you think, you know. Just saying.”
Gawin’s beer appeared in front of him with a smile from the pretty bartender. He thanked her, drank his beer like a salvation, took some time to organise his thoughts, to slow the beat of his heart. Aou still looked like he knew too much, like he knew Gawin was thinking about the taste of strawberry on the tip of Joss’s tongue. Like he knew Gawin still felt the silkiness of bedsheets against his back, velvet skin on the tip of his fingers.
He swallowed the memory with alcohol and desperation, raised an eyebrow at Aou, said, “And what are you saying, again?”
“Nothing,” Aou shrugged, chuckled again at the annoyed frown between Gawin’s eyebrows. “Did you fight?”
Gawin hummed, resting his head on one shoulder, a bit more tired than he was a minute before. Said, “It’s fine,” even though he was sure their friends had noticed their lack of interaction. They were never apart, never far to touch. He said, “I think I’m going home in a bit.”
“Sure,” Aou said, getting up with his beer in hand, urging Gawin to go back to their table to find the others, his eyes lightening up immediately as soon as he saw Boom laughing with Mix, head thrown back and all. Aou grinned, the sap, and said to Gawin: “Make sure not to get lost and end up in another house on your way.”
Gawin followed him back with a laugh and a curse, his skin prickling with the urge to run away, to pretend nothing had happened two weeks ago. And he knew he was supposed to talk about it. He knew he had to sit with Joss and talk at some point, to ask him what they were meant to do with it. Knew more than anything that his hunger was the sting of a cut on the side of his neck, a threat, a warning. The knowledge he could bleed out his desperation, his insanity, at any time. But now, tipsy and tired, Gawin wanted nothing more than to go home and pretend Joss’s eyes were not touching his skin now as warm as his tongue had done before.
But Gawin should’ve known he couldn’t avoid Joss when they were in the same place for too long. There was this thing between them, the tug of a string, the pull of a magnet. Something alive and sharp with its teeth, a kiss and a bite in the same breath. His body reacted as soon as he heard the sound of a laugh, loud and free, the awakening of a memory, of a feeling too fast to catch before it was too late. And Gawin’s body was weak, too weak for this, so he looked at Joss, caught the vestige of a supernova on the fade of a laugh into a soft smile, on the crinkle of pretty eyes — eyes that were fast to trace his own, at last.
Gawin felt the wreckage of them like an open wound.
Hi, Joss mouthed at him, still smiling, still handsome and flushed on the booth of a bar in Bangkok.
Hi, Gawin mouthed back at him, because how could he not? How could he avoid Joss when he was this sweet, even when he knew Gawin had been avoiding him. And Gawin wondered, watching the stretch of Joss’s smile at his response, if Joss still thought about his bones in his teeth. If he thought of the drum type beat of their hearts, touching, humming.
Joss leant against his seat, stared at Gawin from above his drink, his throat moving with a gulp, two. Gawin felt Joss’s hands everywhere he was touching — his beer, cold and numbing on his fingers. His own thigh, shifting under the table, the memory of a finger on his inner skin, soft lips on his groin, a sharp bite and a blow. Gawin shivered before he could suppress, saw the recognition in Joss’s eyes, the burn and the want, a mirror of his own gaze.
Gawin wondered how much madness he could take, a beast digging its claws on his skin, threatening to ruin him, to slash him to nothing more than his despair, his struggle to befriend where he wished to consume. Again. He wished to swallow Joss whole, to bite his neck and bury his fingers in thick locks. To kiss his chin again.
The flash of the night they kissed came to him with the last sip of his beer. He remembered laughing on Joss’s living room floor. Remembered being warm from a drink Joss had learned how to make. Remembered whispering something about Joss’s pretty lips, about Joss’s cold toes under his arm. Joss straddling his lap, holding his face, leaning down. Heard the whisper, the plea, let me kiss you, baby, can I—
“Stop being quiet, I’m being funny here!” Boom whined by his side, poking him repeatedly.
Gawin laughed, looked at Boom like he was an annoying child, said, “Do you want me to pretend, then?”
Boom gave him a dramatic gasp. Mix and Earth barked a laugh and went back to teasing while Aou hugged him sideways, patting his head in comfort. And it was so late now, closer to dawn than to dusk, and Gawin needed his bed to lie down, needed the comfort of his sheets like a shield against the dagger Joss held at his throat.
Joss was smiling too, his eyes shifting away just for as long as Gawin would look at someone else, just the threat of a storm. He licked his lips, tasting the remains of his drink, wet heat against his soft mouth. The sight was a hand around Gawin’s throat, a reminder of that same wet drag on his jaw, on the side of his neck, sucking. Joss was an echo inside of him, the end of a thread, the tug and the snap of the line holding Gawin’s sanity. And it was so unfair, Gawin thought, drowning in his madness, trembling with the ghost of a hand sliding down his body. So unfair, how Joss sat there and laughed with their friends, while Gawin burned for him, miserable and desperate. Haunted by the memory of their kiss, of a hand on his jaw moving him, making him open his mouth, a whisper telling him to move, love, just like that, just like—
Gawin almost knocked his beer off the table with how fast he got up, saying, “I’m getting another drink,” with a sudden rush of anxiety, a rush of insanity. Wishing more than anything to just—
“I’ll go with you,” Joss said, because of course he would, being followed by requests from their friends to get more vodka, a lime cocktail, a margarita, Joss saying, “Yeah, sure,” because he was fucking nice like that, the fool.
Gawin felt like laughing. So much for running away, for wishing to breathe for a second, far from the exact reason he was running out of air. But Gawin should’ve known by now that Joss Way-ar was nothing but stubborn, nothing but a problem solver. And he was expecting the hand on the nape of his neck on the counter, waiting for the bartender to make their drinks. He was expecting the thumb under his ear, the slide of a finger down his back, crawling underneath his shirt, spreading heat with a thumb on his tailbone.
He was expecting every touch, every caress, and still — still, his body reacted like it was a surprise. A shiver at the press of a thumb close to his jaw. The burn of want on his gut at the fingers on the line of his hair. The slow opening of his mouth, a soft sight, when Joss rested his whole palm on the nape of his neck.
Joss was not looking at Gawin. He was chatting with the bartender, laughing, telling her something Gawin’s brain couldn’t catch up, not with the warmth of a palm going down, down, under his shirt, two fingers between his shoulder blades, rubbing his want against Gawin’s skin, a fresh cut of desire consuming, burning — imprinted right there, where his digits pressed on Gawin’s bones.
Gawin whispered his name, a weak little thing, all hunger and rage, “Joss,” and hoped Joss wouldn’t hear it. But Gawin knew things about Joss now that he didn’t know before. He knew Joss was all teeth against skin, a nip and a bite. He knew how he tasted with alcohol on his tongue, how he kissed the upper lip before the bottom lip. Knew Joss liked the sound of his voice when he whispered his name, soft and breathless.
So when Joss looked at him because he’d heard it, Gawin knew it would happen, too. He said, “Yeah, G?” because he knew things about Gawin, too, things he didn’t know before. Knew, now, how Gawin’s voice sounded when he was confused, when he was aroused. When he just wanted Joss to touch him. He said, “Is something wrong?” leaning in, invading Gawin’s space, so close Gawin could feel the heat of his body like a second skin, an echo of his own flesh.
“You—” Gawin mumbled, lost, wishing Joss would stop touching his back, his waist. Wishing Joss would stop leaving traces of him behind, marking Gawin’s skin with his scent, his taste, his digits. He said, gripping Joss’s wrist, sinking nails on tough skin, “What do you —”
“What do I want?” Joss asked, because he knew Gawin more than he should, more than Gawin ever allowed anyone to know him. Asked, “You want to know what I want, Gawin?”
You, Gawin thought, a plea and a bite. Begged the gods and the skies to hear something else. Wished to hear the truth, more than anything. You, you, you, you.
Instead of answering, Joss took his hand and took him to a dark corner, away from the noise. It was a crowded bar, full of people Gawin saw every day at work. A couple was singing at the karaoke machine. A director Gawin only knew by name was flirting with a man in a dark corner. A girl, flushed and pretty, leaning on another girl, touching her cheek and the loop of her earring.
Joss said, leaning on the wall close to the emergency door, pulling Gawin closer by the waist, looking at him from too short a distance, their breaths close enough to mingle, “I want to know why you vanished for two weeks.”
And what a silly question, Gawin thought, staring at the way Joss’s lips moved when he spoke, staring at the white of his teeth, the pink of his tongue. Gawin wanted to grab him by the hair and make Joss moan for him again. Wanted to sink nails into Joss’s shoulder, to bite high on his throat so everyone could see. Wanted to carve his name on the corner of Joss’s mouth.
“I needed time,” Gawin said instead, swallowing his madness with a sore throat, blinking up to find Joss staring at him, trying to find an answer Gawin would never give him. “To process.”
“To process... what?”
And Gawin knew Joss was only pushing because he wanted to punish Gawin for running away, and because Joss wanted, more than anything, that Gawin admit out loud that what happened between them was as real as the memories that kept haunting Gawin all night.
“You,” Gawin said then, because he was about to lose to their game once again. Couldn’t avoid losing to Joss now, hidden in a corner with nothing but low lights and a breath separating him from what he needed. “You kissed me, Joss.”
“We kiss all the time,” Joss said under the huff of a laugh, touching Gawin’s hip to pull him closer, to press their bodies together. To slide his fingers underneath Gawin’s shirt again, to touch his waist and spread heat against Gawin’s skin, ruthless. “We kiss all the time. We kiss, and we take our clothes off, and we—”
“God, shut up, what the—” Gawin groaned, pushing Joss’s face away, almost choking with the suddenness of a laugh, with the thickness of his desire — growing, consuming. He said, breathless and angry, “You know it’s not the same. There are no cameras, no directors. There’s you and your pleas to make you cum on me. Is that the same?”
Joss shivered, threw his head back against the door with this smirk that told Gawin he was getting exactly what he wanted. Gawin frowned, held Joss’s face to him with a tight grip on his jaw, said, “What are you playing, Joss? What do you want from me, huh?”
Joss gave him just as good — buried his fingers in Gawin’s hair, pulled their mouths together, pressing, a scorching meeting of desire on the place their lips were glued together. He said with his mouth on Gawin’s mouth, “I want you to tell me the truth,” and pecked Gawin on the lips once, twice, thrice, like he couldn’t avoid his need, his want. Pulled Gawin by the hair to make him look at him — fell into another kiss, this brief, maddening thing that never sated any of them. He said, “I want you to tell me you want me too. Tell me you ran away because you want me, not because you hate me. You want me now, and you wanted me before. Tell me you wanted me again, after you left my house in my clothes. After you stained my sheets. Tell me you know what you did to me.”
Gawin did nothing but sigh a little sound at the way Joss was touching him, at the way he was being held—like Joss owned him. Like Joss was going mad about him, too. Like this thing, their push and pull, their fight for control, wasn’t enough to prevent the inevitability of their crash into each other. And what a losing battle, they were. Gawin wanted nothing more than to pull Joss closer, to kiss the taste of ginger and gin from the hell of Joss’s tongue.
“I do,” he whispered, confused about what exactly they were talking about, mad enough to lean in and chase Joss’s mouth with his own, to touch Joss’s bottom lip with his upper lip. Ended up being held by the neck, being denied by Joss with just a tilt of his head, with a huff of a laugh, Gawin’s lips a wet mess along Joss’s jaw. But he was drunk and tired, and Gawin wanted Joss so much, too much, that the denial felt like torture, the hand on his throat holding him back like a blade on his skin — a threat and a flirt, the danger of living or dying.
“Do you?” Joss was smiling. Gawin could hear it in his voice, could see it even with his eyes closed. Felt the smugness in Joss’s tone from having Gawin right where he wanted after so long on radio silence.
“What do you want me to say?”
“That you still remember,” Joss said, kissed the place on his chin just below his lips. Kissed his cheek and his eyelids. Said, “That you feel it too.”
“You’re spoilt,” Gawin laughed, grabbed Joss’s face again to press their lips together, to speak with his mouth on Joss’s mouth, to hiss on his lips, a wave of frustration and insanity consuming him whole. Said, “Brat. I should’ve left you alone for longer.”
And Joss huffed a laugh on his mouth, said, “You’re mean to me,” like he wasn’t melting on the spot, like he wasn’t crushing Gawin’s hips on the palms of his hands. He said, with a peck and a lick on Gawin’s teeth, “I might fall in love.”
“Mm,” Gawin hummed, kissed Joss’s bottom lip, made him moan in an attempt to change the angle, to deepen the contact. Said, “I remember,” and kissed Joss’s upper lip, hissed at the sting of Joss’s bite on his bottom lip. Remembered warm teeth on his ear, on his neck, biting, pulling skin, making it burn. Held Joss by the jaw when their tongues dragged against one another, couldn’t hide his moan in time before tilting away from their kiss again. Joss groaned on his cheek, bit him hard on his jaw, angry. Frustrated and desperate, losing to Gawin on his own game. Gawin grinned, said breathlessly, “I feel it too.”
Of course Gawin remembered. Remembered Joss texting him, calling him over to try this new drink he saw on the internet, claiming he could make it better. Remembered laughing at him on his kitchen counter when Joss spilt everything on his own shirt, when Joss threw the wet piece of clothing on his face. Remembered making a face at the taste of vodka, at the hint of expensive tequila. Remembered lying on Joss’s living room floor later, heated skin and empty-minded. Joss burying his cold toes under Gawin’s arm, and Gawin saying something about Joss having soft lips. Joss asking him if he wanted to kiss him. Kissing Joss on the floor, shivering at cold hands on his warm skin, shivering with the press of a thumb on his navel.
Remembered moaning on Joss’s tongue, desperately lowering their shorts, rutting their cocks against each other, hot and wet, so wet, so good. Remembered being carried to bed, soft sheets against his back, a kiss on his nipple, a tongue on his sensitive dick. Remembered cumming again on Joss’s mouth, and remembered Joss’s moan on his thigh when he came again on his knees for Gawin.
“I want you,” Joss whispered on Gawin’s mouth like the thought itself was painful. Like Gawin was making him suffer just by standing in front of him. Joss let out this small lament, rubbing the tip of his nose against the bridge of Gawin’s. He kissed Gawin’s forehead, the mole on his cheek, the one on his upper lip. Said, “You drive me crazy. You know that, don’t you?”
And Gawin was shivering from the wet sounds of their kisses, from the wait, and from the cold fingers beneath his shirt, cold digits on warm skin. He said, licking Joss’s lips, his teeth, crazy for him, “Am I that good?” because he didn’t want to be gentle with Joss, not right now. Said, “So good you can’t help but touch me again?”
Joss swallowed a sound, slid his palms to the small of his back, right where Gawin’s jeans held his hips. He whispered on Gawin's cheek, nosing on soft skin, “Yes,” and kissed him — this slow, maddening thing just like he’d done before on the floor of his living room. Warm lips sliding on Gawin’s, a hand on his chin telling him to open his mouth, to allow Joss’s tongue to touch his own, to snap the thread of control he still had inside his mind. Joss sucked on his bottom lip to hear Gawin moaning for him, smiled on the corner of his mouth, nosed on his jaw, on his neck. Made his way back to Gawin’s mouth, found their kiss still alive, still hot and wet, liquid heat making Gawin’s head spin, the glide of their lips so good, insanely good for where they were.
Joss pulled back just to press his lips on Gawin’s temple, mumbled, “God, I can’t get enough of you,” pained and tortured, holding the back of Gawin’s neck like it was the only thing anchoring him. Said, “God. This is bad, G.”
Gawin laughed in his ear, savoured the tremble on Joss’s body. Said, “Look at me.”
“No,” Joss groaned, pressing their foreheads together, eyes closed tightly. “No.”
“You fool,” Gawin chuckled, touching the tip of their noses together. Said, “You’ve been looking all night.”
“You were ignoring me.”
“And then you decided to follow me,” Gawin poked his cheek, achingly fond of him. “Stalker.”
“Just for you,” Joss said, finally looking at him — this weird, crossed-eyed thing since he refused to move an inch away from the closeness they found themselves in. Gawin huffed a laugh on his mouth, touched his jaw and his cheek and traced the arch of his upper lip, touched the softness of the bottom lip. Joss kissed the pad of his index finger, said with his lips on Gawin’s finger, “I want you.”
Gawin wanted him just as much. Wanted everything. Wanted the reckless kisses on dangerous places, the soft touches on his face and the bruises on his throat. Wanted every piece of the antithesis of them — a wildfire and a cascade, a roar and a whirr, the sun and the rain. Wanted to grab Joss by the chin and make him try to take the control from him. Wanted to have Joss in the palm of his hand.
“I want you, too,” he said, leaning in to pull his mouth on Joss’s mouth, his finger still between them, still holding them back. He pecked the place above Joss’s mouth, pecked his chin, drunk on his lust, drunk on the beast of madness that begged him to sink his nails on Joss’s neck, to crawl under his skin. To consume Joss entirely. He said, “And it’s not— I want to— have you. For myself. All the time, I want you to— I want you to be mine all the time.”
Joss let out a little whimper, seemingly unconscious of how his body was responding to Gawin’s madness, how hard he was against Gawin’s tight grip. He mumbled, “You have me,” mouth a mess on the corner of Gawin’s mouth, hot breath on Gawin’s lips. He said, “You can— you always have me, Gawin. You always had me.”
Gawin was smiling when Joss tried to kiss him. He laughed at Joss’s annoyed little sound, his lips against Gawin’s teeth, his tongue trying to find space somewhere to kiss Gawin properly. And Gawin kissed him anyway, teeth and all, laughed on the corner of his mouth again when Joss snorted.
“You’re a fool,” Gawin told him, fondness dripping from the tip of his tongue. Joss bit his lip again, punishing him, smiled on Gawin’s mouth at the huff of his laugh. And Gawin welcomed the sting of them, heard the clattering of an armour crashing on the floor, the shatter of something delicate, something Gawin never dared to close his fist on. He said, tracing the bridge of Joss’s nose with the tip of a finger, staring at the smile growing on his lips, “Take me home, Joss.”
Joss hummed, mindlessly chasing his mouth, biting Gawin’s cheek when he turned away and laughed. He said, “You’re mean to me.”
“I thought you might fall in love,” Gawin echoed his words from earlier with a grin, with a finger pressed on the dimple on his cheek.
“Mm,” Joss murmured, taking his hand to bite the tip of his finger, to kiss it gently. To press Gawin’s palm on the place where his heart was beating fast against his chest. “I might.”
When they went back to say their goodbyes, their friends grumbled, called them boring and made them promise to pay for the next round of drinks. Gawin was sure they shouldn’t be drinking anything anymore from the way they were slouching in their seats, but Aou was shaking his head when their eyes found each other. Gawin laughed, nodded, wished his friend good luck in sympathy.
“I’m glad you made up, you two,” Boom was saying with his head on Aou’s shoulder, big eyes looking at Gawin like he knew just as much as his partner. “You look miserable when you’re fighting.”
“Oh, yeah!” Mix slammed a hand on the table, startling Earth and Joss at the same time. “Don’t fight, you are boring when you fight. Just kiss and be happy already.”
“Okay, no more talking or we won’t get any more drinks,” Aou said, and Boom tsked on his shoulder, closed his eyes anyway.
“Get home safe,” Earth said with a gentle smile, catching a swaying Mix when he leaned to wave at them.
Joss was laughing when they went outside to wait for their taxi, still a little flushed, his lips red and swollen from Gawin’s insistence, hair a mess that he tried and failed to put back in place. Gawin hummed in approval, the heat of satisfaction a thick layer on his blood.
“What?” Joss asked, noticing the darkness of his gaze, the heaviness of his stare.
“Nothing,” Gawin murmured, a grin betraying his words. “You look like you had a great time.”
Joss raised an eyebrow at him, eyes searching for something on Gawin’s face. When he found it, he barked a laugh, touched the back of Gawin’s neck with warm fingers, and caressed that place under his ear that was too sensitive for where they were. He said, with this boyish smile, that Gawin had discovered he loved, “My G,” and laughed again, all young and amused, “I never took you for the possessive type.”
The lift was empty when they stepped inside, so Gawin leant on the wall opposite to Joss and stared at him in silence, aching to shorten the distance that kept them apart. But now, a few floors away from Joss’s apartment, Gawin felt the same suffocating feeling he had when he woke up on Joss’s bed, when he saw a cup of tea on the nightstand. The need, the hunger, the desperation to just… stay. To have this. To hold Joss by the back of his neck and—
And Joss was looking at him with his head tilted to the side, eyes dark and hungry, unpeeling the layers of clothes, of skin, from Gawin’s body. Gawin wanted him. Wanted to make Joss never want to take his hands off his waist, his thighs.
“You look like you want to eat me,” Joss told him.
And Gawin huffed a little laugh, thinking you don’t know half of it. Thinking, I could swallow you whole and never have enough.
He said, “I do.”
The lift came to a standstill. The door dinged, opened, the hot breeze of the empty hallway making Gawin’s skin heat up. Joss took a step forward, their eyes stuck on each other, then another. Took Gawin’s hand and kissed each of his fingers, his knuckles, the palm of his hand. Put Gawin’s index inside his mouth, touched the skin with his tongue. Bit his fingertip.
“Come on,” he said, kissing the wetness he left behind, intertwining his fingers with Gawin’s. Said, “Come on, G.”
Joss held him by the waist with a strong arm as soon as Gawin closed the door behind him, brought their bodies together like he’d been burning to do for the longest time. Like he was desperate too. He nosed Gawin’s neck, kissed his cheek. Rubbed their noses together. Kissed Gawin once, twice. Held his chin to make him open his mouth, to slide his tongue inside and kiss Gawin in that way that made them melt against each other, that made Gawin feel like he was going insane from how good it was.
Gawin shivered when Joss pressed a finger on his jaw, let out a little devastated sound when their lips fit like puzzle pieces, Joss’s mouth wet and hot. He let out a low whimper, held Joss by the hair to be able to move his face away, to be able to escape when Joss chased him, dazed by their kiss. By the rightness that they were.
“Please, please, just—” Gawin mumbled, holding Joss by the chin, letting Joss kiss his lips again. He groaned, shook his head, pulling away, saying, “You don’t— you don’t understand, you need to—”
“Yeah?” Joss tried to say, but Gawin cut him off, saying—
“—I can’t be normal about you, I can’t—” and tried to turn his head again, tried not to speak when his mouth was touching Joss’s mouth, when their kiss was still there, a middle waiting for an end. He said, pressing his lips on the place Joss’s dimple pressed on his cheek, “You need to know I can’t be normal about you. I want to— I want you all the time, all the time, Joss—”
“Me too,” Joss said, lost and confused, his mouth warm against Gawin’s temple. Said again, trying to make Gawin look at him, finding brown eyes and a hunted frown on his face, “Me too, G.”
“No, I— I feel sick when I can’t touch you. I feel sick when you touch other people,” Gawin said, trying to make him understand and let Gawin go before they crossed a line they could never come back from. “I want to— I want you to smell like me, and taste like me, and wear my clothes so no one else will ever doubt,” he said, aching with his madness. “So they’ll know.”
“Know?” Joss breathed on the space between them, trembling all over, staring at Gawin’s lips like he needed to see his lips move to confirm he wasn’t imagining things. He asked, head unconsciously tilting to kiss Gawin again, to close their unnecessary distance, “Know what?”
“That you’re mine,” Gawin whispered, leaning in, pulling back, unsure of what to do, his lips tingling with his need. He said, “That I own you. That you own me, too.”
Joss moaned on his mouth when they kissed again, unbuttoned Gawin’s jeans with clumsy hands just to slide his fingers inside, just to hold a handful of Gawin’s ass. He made Gawin grin on him like this, handling Gawin’s body like he knew he could, like he knew Gawin was his. Gawin let his head fall back against the door, his eyes closed, his mouth open on a soundless moan.
“Jesus, Gawin,” Joss mumbled on his neck, biting, biting so much. Said, “Fuck, you— let me fuck you, love, let me—”
Gawin pulled his hair, made Joss moan from the force of it, made him shiver and grind harder, hard and desperate against Gawin’s hip. Gawin thought he would die. He would faint and disintegrate into his desire, into the desperation that Joss made of him. He said, “Yes,” and shivered again when Joss bit his wrist, when he licked the sting away. Said, “Yes, god, fuck me, fuck me, fuck—”
And Joss was pulling down Gawin’s jeans, kicking his own joggers away, his hands sliding down to Gawin’s thighs, trying to carry him, trying to make their way to the bedroom easier. Failed completely when Gawin didn’t grab his shoulders on time, making them almost stumble together. Gawin laughed on his mouth, grinned when Joss chuckled on his tongue, when they started to move just like this, kissing and knocking their hips on the sofa, on a chair, their shirts leaving their bodies on the way.
Gawin felt silky sheets on his back and sighed on Joss’s lips, reminiscing.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he said, watching Joss get rid of his boxers, getting rid of his own, standing there naked and hard on his knees for Gawin. “About lying again on your silky sheets.”
Joss huffed a laugh, looking at him from head to toe, eyes lingering on his dick. Said, “I like you on my silky sheets.”
“Mm,” Gawin hummed, pulling his legs apart, one foot on either side of Joss’s knees. He touched himself, gave his dick a painfully slow stroke, his back arching off the bed, putting on a show for Joss. He moaned long and low, rubbed a thumb on his slit, spread the wetness there. Said, “Open me up, baby.”
“Jesus,” Joss breathed out, a violent shiver making him sway a little, making his dick twitch on his thigh. He grabbed the sheets by his side to avoid touching himself, gathered his sanity long enough to search for the lube on his nightstand. “No funny business if you don’t want me to cum on the spot.”
Gawin laughed softly, buried his fingers in thick locks when Joss lay on his stomach and pressed his nose on Gawin’s thighs, lips leaving a trail of wet kisses behind. Asked under a sigh, “Should I buy you a ring, then?”
Joss bit him in response, made him moan with a lick on his groin, with a kiss on the head of his dick. Then Joss was pushing a finger inside at the same time he swallowed his dick, and Gawin was gripping the hair between his fingers, head thrown back, moaning. Joss knew what to do, and Gawin was conflicted between enjoying and hating it — the easy slide of two fingers inside of him, the thumb pressing behind his balls, his mouth hot and wet bobbing up and down, up and down. Gawin didn’t know what to do with himself, didn’t know how to do anything but grip Joss’s hair and roll his eyes, his hips moving on slow strokes, savouring everything.
On the third finger, Joss pressed on his prostate and had Gawin trashing on the sheets, desperately pulling him off his dick by the hair, desperately grabbing his wrist, his cock twitching on his belly. “Fuck, ah—” he moaned, closing his legs, locking Joss’s head between them. And Joss moaned on his skin, licked his navel and his inner thigh, bit the soft skin, gripped his left thigh with his free hand.
“Good god,” Gawin breathed out, letting go of Joss’s wrist, trembling all over when Joss went back to fingering him. He laughed, feeling insane, wondering when was the last time he felt this horny, saying, “God, just fuck me. Fuck me, baby, don’t you want to— get inside, come on, come—”
And he hated the space Joss put between them to get between his legs, to make Gawin press his thighs around his waist, to position his dick on Gawin’s twitching entrance, the wet tip of his dick rubbing, rubbing, driving Gawin insane. They locked eyes when Joss pushed the head inside, Gawin’s eyes wet with how much he wanted Joss inside him, Joss’ heavy-lidded stare baring his soul, tracing the edge of his mind, slipping inside — planting a seed and watching the spread of its roots.
Gawin let out a heavy breath when Joss bottomed out, kissed his upper lip slowly, sucked his bottom lip gently, bit the plump skin. Joss let out a soft sigh, a little whimper, opened his mouth to kiss Gawin properly, to give both a second to adjust.
“Love,” Joss whispered in Gawin’s tongue, kissed him again, never knowing how to stop kissing him. Moved his hips just a little, just enough to change the angle, to make Gawin keen in the space between their lips. He said, “Love,” and held Gawin gently on his chin, kissed his cheek and his nose, said, “Open up for me. Let me fuck you, baby, just like this.”
And Gawin felt like his world was crumbling down behind his closed eyelids when he loosened his legs, when Joss pulled back, when he slid back inside in the easiest glide. It was an unfathomable feeling, having Joss inside of him, a hand on the small of his back, the other touching Gawin everywhere — his face, his chest, the head of his dick. Marking him with his touch. Making Gawin his. And this dance, the way Joss was moving his hips, testing things, watching Gawin like a hawk, learning what felt good and what made Gawin roll his eyes to the back of his head.
He couldn’t be this good, not on their first time. They couldn’t fit this well, this nice.
“So good, you feel so good,” Gawin babbled between a thrust and a roll of his own hips, his legs tightening around Joss’s hips again. Joss lost his rhythm for a second, threw his head back with a heavy moan, hands gripping Gawin’s thighs like he needed the touch to keep going, to keep fucking him good. “My Joss. My, so mine, you’re—”
Joss whimpered on his next thrust, his dick throbbing where he was buried inside Gawin. He said, breathlessly, “Yours,” and pulled out, made Gawin lie on his stomach, made him raise his hips with a single hand. Gawin had to grab the sheets to avoid cumming immediately. Joss fucked him like that, a hand on Gawin’s neck, another on his hip, the change on the angle making him nail Gawin’s prostate with every single thrust. He whimpered again when he spoke on Gawin’s neck, said, “I’m yours, G. Only yours, I’m— fuck, ah, fuck, so— yours. I’m—"
It was too good. Gawin was drooling on the sheets, his face half hidden by the pillows, a moaning mess. He slid a hand to his dick when he thought he was going crazy from too much pleasure, touched the head and trembled all over, heard Joss crying out behind him when he clenched on his dick. He stroked himself once, twice, and came all over the sheets, mind whitening out with every spurt, every thrust Joss kept on giving him.
“Gawin,” Joss mumbled, lost, sliding his hand down Gawin’s back, holding his hips while grinding inside of him. “Gawin, love, tell me— tell me you’re mine, too.”
Gawin felt like he was melting under Joss, his blood turning into lava with every new touch on his skin, with Joss’s chest pressing on his back, with Joss’s lips on his ear, on his cheek. He held Joss by the hair, made him kiss the corner of his mouth. Said, “I’m yours,” and met Joss in the middle of a thrust, clenched around him, made him cum with a shout and a whimper, body trembling above Gawin. Said, still on the high of their sex, still buzzing with his orgasm, with Joss’s mindless little grinds, riding out his own tidal wave inside of Gawin, “And you’re mine.”
Joss had his eyes closed later, when they cleaned their mess. After he got up from the bed and filled the same cup Gawin had left on his nightstand with water. Gawin was tracing a finger down the bridge of his nose, staring, bewildered by his beauty. Wondering, between a breath and another, how much of him Joss could feel with his eyes closed. Wondering how much of himself he could stain Joss’s skin with.
“You’re staring,” Joss murmured, boneless and beautiful, lying on his stomach, his face turned to Gawin. Sun-kissed piece of heaven, he was — a piece Gawin would rip off from the hands of time whenever he could.
“Mm,” Gawin hummed to him, sprawled a hand on his cheek, pressed his thumb on his bottom lip. Said, “I am,” and smiled at the huff of Joss’s laugh, at the kiss he pressed on the pad of his finger. Said, “I’m trying to read your mind.”
“Did you hear your name yet?” Joss asked, the fool, and Gawin ached for him even now, when they were lying in bed, naked and sated from a good fuck. Joss said, sliding closer to Gawin, pressing their forehead together, rubbing the tip of his nose on Gawin’s nose, “You’re echoing mine to me.”
“Joss,” Gawin whispered to him, kissed the laugh from Joss’s lips. Whispered, “Joss, Joss, Joss—”
“Gawin,” Joss breathed to him, a hand on Gawin’s waist, on the curve of his hip. He found Gawin’s thigh and made him press it around him, made Gawin pull him closer with his heel on his tailbone. Said, “Gawin. My Gawin.”
And Gawin hummed on his mouth, licked his lips open when their dicks touched again, half hard and still sensitive from their earlier orgasm. He asked, “And you?” rutting on Joss’s stomach, holding him by the hair, by the back of his neck, kissing his mouth and his chin, licking the back of his teeth. Asked, “Are you mine?”
Joss moaned a soft little thing, fingers tightening on Gawin’s thigh, said, “Yours, love,” and made Gawin move the way he wanted, made Gawin throw his head back, his mouth open by how good it was. Said, “I’ve always been yours.”