Page 78 of Darkness

Of course he knew. He’d shown up in a van to move Morrisey to the gray abyss, hadn’t he?

Morrisey scarcely got the door open when Farren attacked, pushing Morrisey back against the wall with a loud thud, rising on his toes to meld their mouths.

Morrisey could do nothing but answer tongue stroke for tongue stroke, adding his moans to Farren’s. His skin prickled with the need to be touched, and his cock ached for release. Thrusting against Farren’s leg didn’t provide enough friction. “Off!” Morrisey commanded. He snagged the hem of Farren’s FBI polo shirt, whipping it over his head.

Their hands met on Farren’s fly, both fumbling until they got the stubborn zipper open. Morrisey cupped Farren’s cock through soft cotton underwear, letting out a hum of appreciation for how well it fit his palm.

Their clothing came off in a blur, and they stumbled to the couch, their mouths joined. Morrisey had a mere moment to say a silent thank you for Jessa ensuring he didn’t impale himself on broken bottles before he found himself naked, lying on his back on the couch, Farren straddling his hips.

A light dusting of golden curls covered Farren’s pecs, with slightly darker hair from his navel down to his groin. His flushed cock rose from a bed of neatly trimmed pubes, a drop of fluid clinging to the tip, in perfect proportion to the remainder of his body. Not too long or thick, but a beautiful handful.

Long, lean muscles rippled beneath Farren’s skin as he writhed, rubbing their cocks together. Oh, damn. So fucking good. Morrisey longed to slam Farren to the floor, hike the man’s calves over his shoulders, and drive home.

Only that would mean getting up, finding lube and condoms, and possibly losing the mood.

Instead, Morrisey gripped both of their erections in one hand, thrusting into his fist, reveling at the silken feel of another man’s cock against his own after so long with nothing but his own hand.

Farren wove his deft fingers into Morrisey’s hair, anchoring him for a plundering kiss. Damn, but the man could kiss. Nothing practiced or studied, just full-on hunger.

Still, Morrisey stroked them. Nothing else existed within the universe but Farren, Morrisey, and the fast-burning inferno of passion. He needed to cum, needed to make the time last, lose himself in a place of intense feeling with no thinking.

Electricity pulsed through him, from his groin and outward. Oh, fuck. His brain engaged again. Should he fight the oncoming climax and enjoy the journey for as much time as possible, or give in to the inevitable and let himself be rolled under its heated wave? Would this be their only time, a few moments they’d later call a mistake?

If so, he’d take full advantage of this encounter. Thrusting harder, groaning into Farren’s mouth, Morrisey shot, pulse after pulse firing from his groin, nerve endings overloading.

Farren’s chanted “Oh, fuck! Oh, fuuuuuck!” He jerked one, twice, three times, then crumpled onto Morrisey’s chest.

Farren twitched several times, goosebumps on his arms rough against Morrisey’s caress. Chest to chest, they lay in a tangle, soaked in sweat and cum, panting like marathon runners.

Morrisey lazily brushed his hand against Farren's ass while his mind floated back to earth. Damn, he’d needed the release and the connection. A warm glow surrounded them. He didn’t have the energy to question now.

Farren nuzzled Morrisey’s neck, his breath warm against Morrisey’s slick skin.

What time was it? Morrisey should get up, shower, dress, and get back to the gray abyss. Since his latest case was now someone else’s, maybe he could find more time to cross reference Jessa’s ill-fated friends with his cases.

Work. Fuck. He flinched as memories of the last few hours returned. What was he doing here in post-orgasmic bliss when he should be out catching killers?

Farren placed a reassuring hand on Morrisey’s shoulder. “Shhh… You needed to recharge and get your bearings. There’s nothing we can do right now, anyway. Rest. You need it.”

Morrisey relaxed, soothed by the sound of Farren’s voice.

In a gentle tenor, Farren sang words Morrisey couldn’t make out. A lullaby? They seemed familiar somehow.

Morrisey’s eyelids grew heavy. Maybe he should close them for a minute. A minute wouldn’t hurt.

He woke, still naked, covered by a blanket, alone.

Aside from the woman singing in the kitchen.

The same song Farren had sung. Steak aroma made Morrisey’s stomach rumble.

But… “Jessa?”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?” Morrisey’s voice sounded creaky.

“Fixing your dinner. Or breakfast. Whatever you prefer to call food at four a.m.”

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