Page 43 of Gunpowder

His hands reversed their path and wandered back down Blair’s body. Blair leaned up and kissed him when he couldn’t handle the eye contact any longer. He was glad he didn’t have to keep them open as Wren opened his slacks, and he was even more glad to have their kiss to muffle the sound he made when Wren lightly stroked him through his boxers. Even through the barrier of his underwear and Wren’s gloves, the feeling of Wren’s hand against his cock had him using all of his restraint not to push desperately into his hand.

Wren broke the kiss to sit back on his knees, hooking a finger into the bottom of one of his gloves.

“Leave them,” Blair said before his brain caught up to what his mouth was saying.

Wren raised an eyebrow, letting go of his glove.

Blair flushed. “They feel good.”

Thankfully, Wren seemed to want to touch him more than he wanted to torment him, since his smirk was the only response he gave before he took hold of Blair’s waistband. Blair nodded again and Wren worked his pants and underwear down his legs as one, freeing his cock. Precome already beaded at the tip. Wren looked down at him, his hair fucked up from Blair’s fingers and jacket open far enough for Blair to see his suspenders. His hands glided up Blair’s thighs but stopped short of where Blair needed them. Blair’s eyes fluttered shut when Wren’s fingers skimmed over his healing gunshot wound. He felt so fucking exposed, mostly naked while Wren was still dressed and just staring.

“Wren,” he said, though it came out as more of a whine.

Wren reached over to the nightstand and picked something up, fingers circling Blair’s hip. “I’m going to have to start dressing you up more often. It’s not fair to hide all this under those baggy clothes you wear.”

“Shut up,” Blair said weakly.

Wren leaned down, his face hovering over Blair’s. “Why? Your body is perfect, and it’s mine.”

He punctuated the end of his sentence by wrapping his hand around Blair’s cock. Wren’s long fingers encircled his thick length with ease. “Fuck,” Blair choked out, hips snapping up into the touch. Wren’s glove was slick with something, gliding easily on his cock as he started to stroke, tight and slow. Blair twisted a hand into the ivory duvet underneath him, contorting the gold filigree design around his fingers.

Wren kissed his neck, sucking the tender flesh over his racing pulse. Blair let his head fall to the side. There was just enough teeth to sting, which meant there would be a hickey that he would probably be pissed about later, but in the moment the extra jolt of sensation just had him reaching for Wren to hold him closer. His hand ended up under Wren’s jacket, fingers wrapped around the straps of his suspenders where they crossed over the middle of his back. Wren made a quiet sound of approval, running his tongue over the mark he’d left on Blair’s neck.

Heat coiled low in Blair’s stomach. It wasn’t the comfortable warmth he’d come to expect from pleasuring himself; it was thermite in his veins, melting through every misgiving and doubt, turning him molten and pliant in Wren’s hands.

“Perfect,” Wren said into his ear.

Blair didn’t know when he’d started shaking, only that hearing Wren’s voice made it worse. “Fuck, you need to stop talking.”

“No,” Wren said, quickening his strokes. “How could I, when you look so good like this?”

“Wren.”

Wren’s teeth grazed his ear and a chill raced down Blair’s back. “Don’t hold it back.”

Blair thrashed against him. He didn’t want Wren to stop but he also felt like Wren was going to reduce him to a pile of cinders. Everything was too hot, too much and not enough. He turned his face into the bed, panting against the rumpled blankets as Wren worked the head of his cock, and god the gloves felt good. That coil of heat threatened to snap and Blair’s fragile hold on it was slipping.

He felt long fingers capture his nape and his head was picked up, forcing him to meet Wren’s eyes. Wren’s grip was too strong for Blair to even think about being able to turn away. A distant part of Blair’s mind (the rational part, which had been the first to go when clothes started coming off) thought there was no reason for a college student to be that strong, but it was drowned out by the wildfire of sensation burning through him.

Warm, slick leather moved quickly over Blair’s cock, smearing the steady drip of his precome. Blair shook uncontrollably. It had been years since anyone else touched him, though if he was being honest, no one had ever touched him like this. He hoped he didn’t look as vulnerable as he felt, with their eyes locked together while he trembled and leaked and clung to Wren like he was the only real thing in the world.

“That’s it. Come for me, Blair,” Wren said, his fingers flexing around the back of Blair’s neck.

Blair tried to speak but he was stricken mute except for the unintelligible gasps that came out whenever he tried to draw a breath. He registered that he’d lost his grip on the back of Wren’s suspenders, then he fell apart. Words formed in his throat and fell apart as a moan. He found his nails in Wren’s back, digging in through his shirt, every muscle in Blair’s body contracting as he came. Wren talked him through it and Blair couldn’t understand a word of it, but he heard Wren’s voice—that voice that drove him fucking crazy and dragged his orgasm out until he didn’t think he’d ever come back down.

Wren didn’t stop until the last drops of Blair’s come had painted his stomach, and even then, he stroked him one more time before he let go. Blair’s hand fell from Wren’s back. He would have kept it there, but apparently none of his muscles were functioning anymore. Tremors crept over his body as Wren lowered his head back down to the bed.

“Come here,” Blair said, catching the front of Wren’s shirt when he tried to sit up. “I want to touch you, too. Like you did for me.” And he did, but he also didn’t want Wren to leave him. Not yet, while Blair still felt torn open. Laid bare in more ways than one.

Wren flicked a lock of Blair’s hair off his face, his hands bare, gloves presumably discarded. “You should rest your leg after tensing up so much.”

Blair pushed, and Wren may have a good grip but he wasn’t going to win a contest of strength against Blair, so Wren moved back until he ran out of bed and had to get to his feet. Blair sat up on the edge and grinned. “See? No weight on my leg, doctor. So come here,” he repeated, grabbing Wren’s belt loops.

“You don’t have to do this,” Wren said, but his voice hitched as Blair hauled him closer.

“I want to. I’ve never done this before, but I want to.” Blair tentatively palmed the front of Wren’s slacks, lightly stroking the outline of his cock through the thin material.

Wren gasped, one of his hands coming up to hold the side of Blair’s face, but he didn’t stop him. “Okay.”

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