We didn’t make it past the hallway before his shirt was off, and mine went next, yanked over my head so fast I heard a seam give near the collar, a small sharp rip that felt like a promise.
His scent had changed the second we crossed his threshold, cedar and a sharpness underneath, ozone maybe, the smell of restraint actively breaking instead of holding, and I inhaled so deep my head spun from it, let it coat the inside of my throat like I could drink him straight from the air.
He backed me into the wall outside what I assumed was his bedroom door, both hands braced either side of my head, and for a second he just looked at me, his eyes moving over my face like he was trying to memorize it before he let himself do anything else with it, like once he started he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.
“You’re shaking,” I said, because his hands were, just slightly, against the wall, fine tremors running through fingers that had held a knife steady through worse than this.
“I— I know.” “Is that a bad thing?” “I don’t know yet.” “Then— then stop thinking about it and kiss me again.” He did, harder this time, his hand finding the back of my head, fingers tangling into my hair, tipping my head back so he could get at my throat, right over the bite mark, mouthing at it until my knees actually buckled and he had to catch me by the hip to keep me standing, his palm hot and heavy through the denim.
I could feel his cock against my thigh through his trousers, thick and half-hard already, and the weight of it made my mouth water, made my own cock twitch where it was trapped against my jeans, aching for friction I wasn’t getting.
He got the door open without breaking the kiss, a small unnecessary feat of coordination from a man who usually moved like every motion was rationed, and walked me backward until my legs hit the bed, the frame shuddering against the wall.
His belt came off in one motion, practiced, but his hands shook again when he got to mine, fumbling the button twice before I just did it myself, because watching him struggle with it made my chest go tight, and I didn’t have time to unpack that.
“Don’t,” he said, when I reached for him after.
“Let me.” His hands were steady the second time, the one earlier failure apparently all he’d needed to find his footing, and he took his time getting my jeans off, mouth following the path his hands made down my hip, my thigh, the inside of my knee, until I was naked and shaking myself and he hadn’t even gotten his own trousers off yet, still fully dressed above me while I lay there spread open and already wrecked from nothing but his mouth on my skin.
“Tell me if I need to stop,” he said, against my hip, and I could hear how much that cost him to say.
“You’re not gonna hurt me, Damjan.” “You don’t know that.” “No.
But I trust you anyway.
That’s kind of the whole point.” He made a sound against my skin that was almost a laugh, almost a groan, something between the two, and then his mouth was on me properly, and every thought I had about reassuring him left my head entirely.
He took his time, slow and deliberate, which didn’t match anything he’d said about not knowing how to go slow, maybe because this was the one part of himself he still trusted.
His tongue traced down my stomach, dipping into my navel, lower, lower, until I felt his breath hot against my cock, and then his mouth closed over the tip and I swear my vision went white at the edges.
He sucked slow, deliberate, his tongue circling the tip before he took me deeper, his throat working around me, and I had a hand fisted in his hair and the other gripping the sheet hard enough to tear it a little at the corner, because he was good at this, better than he had any right to be, and the sounds he was making, low and hungry, told me he was enjoying it as much as I was.
But then he pulled off, and I made a sound of protest that turned into a moan when his hands found my thighs, pushed them up and apart, and his mouth moved lower, lower still, until I felt his tongue against my hole, a broad flat stripe of it that made my whole body jerk like I’d been electrocuted.
“Fuck,” I gasped, and he did it again, slower, his tongue pressing against the tight ring of muscle until it gave, just slightly, just enough for him to push inside.
He ate me out like he was starving for it, his tongue fucking into me while his thumb pressed against my perineum, and I was so gone, so wrecked, that I heard myself begging before I even knew what I was asking for, please, please, his name cracked in the middle like a bone.
His nose pressed against my balls while his tongue worked deeper, and the sound of it, the wet obscene sound of his mouth against my hole, filled the room along with my moans and the creak of the bed frame under my desperate grip.
He pulled back just enough to breathe, and then his mouth was on my cock again, taking me to the root in one swallow, and that was when I came, hard and sudden, my whole body bowing off the mattress, my come spilling down his throat while he swallowed around me, kept sucking, worked me through every pulse until I was oversensitive and twitching and still he didn’t stop, drawing it out until I was begging him for more, for anything, just please, please, Damjan, please.
“Good,” he said, against my thigh, voice wrecked, his mouth slick with my own release.
“You’re so good for me, you know that?” My chest cracked wide open at the word, the same word, and my whole body clenched around nothing, a full-body shiver I hadn’t asked for and couldn’t have stopped if I’d tried, because he was looking at me like I was precious and I didn’t know what to do with that, didn’t know where to put it.
“Say that again,” I managed, “and I’m gonna come a 2nd time before you’ve even touched me.” “Good,” he said again, deliberate, watching my face for exactly the reaction he got, and I hated him for it and loved him for it and couldn’t breathe through either one.