Page 62 of Gunpowder

As if he could read Blair’s mind, Wren said, “There’s a certain blood alcohol content at which you no longer care about anything, and I think Reymond surpassed that awhile ago.”

Blair wasn’t complaining. His attention was already being demanded (not as if he wouldn’t give it willingly) by the almost six feet of inebriated, touchy-feely Wren Masters that was adhered to him at the moment. He only spared one sliver of that attention to look over and ask, “Hey, Spencer, we can talk plans for Phantom tomorrow, right? I know the boss said three days but he doesn’t look like he’s in any shape to hear Wren’s rundown of the security system tonight.” And he’s about to leave with Reymond and I wouldn’t stop him if my life depended on it.

“Yeah, he was already here when I showed the video to Wren, he knows we might have an alternative to his… plan.” Spencer trailed off and sighed. Blair heard glasses clattering so there was no telling what kind of drunken mayhem was going on behind him.

“I want to go home,” Wren said, the light touch of his lips leaving behind goosebumps.

Blair thought that was a good idea, people were really starting to stare, but, “I don’t think you should be driving.”

“I rode with Reymond. Take me home,” he breathed into Blair’s ear.

Who the fuck was Blair to say no to that?

He actually had to drop a hand on the bar next to them in fear that he was going to melt right into a puddle and Wren was going to be taking his remains home in a bucket. “You don’t want to ha—ah, hang out or anything?” he asked, grip tightening when Wren’s teeth closed on his earlobe.

Wren pushed him back far enough to stand up—though Blair noticed he wobbled on his feet a bit—and looked all the more demanding at his full height as he loomed over Blair to say, “I just want you.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, we can, um… do that.” He looked around to tell someone he was leaving but the boss was already gone with Reymond in tow and Spencer was cleaning up the mess Blair had heard being made earlier.

Nimble fingers went into Blair’s belt loops and began pulling him forward. They walked outside together and made the journey to Blair’s motorcycle, which was greatly lengthened by how many times Wren stopped to kiss him. Blair was thinking about building a shrine to vodka.

Wren pushed him against his bike and kissed him hard, holding his hips to steady him. Blair’s shoe slid backward on the sidewalk from the force and he partially sat down to keep from falling. His hands went to Wren’s hair, the outdoor lighting for the bar dim enough that he didn’t feel quite as bad about kissing outside. Wren moaned against him when Blair grasped his hair just a little too hard and, knowing Wren, not nearly hard enough.

“Blair,” he gasped, pulling their hips together.

A shrine. Definitely a shrine.

Blair had to use more strength than he really wanted to in pushing Wren off—trying not to get derailed by the excited little sound Wren made at being manhandled—but if they didn’t get somewhere private soon he was going to lose it. “My place is closer,” he said.

“I’m on call in the morning, I don’t have a change of clothes,” Wren said, already throwing a leg over the back of Blair’s bike.

Damn. Thirty minute ride it is. He sat in front of Wren on the motorcycle and sped off toward Wren’s apartment. The high speed was even more exhilarating than usual with the night air on his skin and the warm arms around his waist. Wren traced distracting patterns on his abdomen but Blair was glad, because at least it let him know Wren hadn’t passed out and wasn’t at a risk of falling off the back.

The spiraling ride up the parking garage and the walk to the apartment that was made way longer than it had to be, since just like when they left Harlowe’s, the presence of any flat surface seemed to mandate Blair being pushed into it and kissed stupid. It was hard to complain with Wren’s tongue against the roof of his mouth and their bodies pressed flush together, but he needed to get somewhere that they wouldn’t have to stop.

He couldn’t have been more relieved when the final thing he got shoved against was Wren’s door. It opened behind him and he stumbled backward into the foyer but Wren’s arm was around his waist, holding him up and forcing him inside faster at the same time. The motion sensors picked them up as soon as the door shut and lights came on above them as they stumbled, interlocked across the apartment.

Wren snatched the jacket off his waist and then Blair’s back was connecting with something hard, he thought it might have been the kitchen island. He started working Wren’s shirt open. Or more to the point, he fucking tried. Blair growled in frustration as the button slipped from between his fingers. He yanked Wren’s shirt back into his hands and heard a couple threads pop, which gave him a better idea than wrestling with the damn thing any longer.

Blair grabbed the fabric at both shoulders and yanked it apart. He was met with a loud rip and a gasp from Wren as Blair jerked the torn remains of his shirt off. Wren made sure Blair’s shirt joined it immediately, though it slid up Blair’s body with ease and didn’t meet such a violent end. Blair shivered as the cold marble pressed into his back.

The rest of their clothes were shed quickly on the way to the bedroom and Blair didn’t even mind how roughly Wren threw him onto the bed, because the fingers that opened him up were slow to the point they could have even been called gentle. Blair wrapped his legs around Wren’s waist as Wren pushed into him. He couldn’t see much in the dark room, so he settled for feeling. For pressing them together as tightly as he could, running his hands down Wren’s back, heaving labored breaths against Wren’s neck.

“Mine,” Wren said, in barely more than a whisper. “My Blair.”

“Wren,” Blair choked out pleadingly. Wren couldn’t just say that. He didn’t know which he was pleading for—for Wren not to say it, or for him to mean it.

Blair’s body was having no such dilemma. It was all pleasure, building in his core and bursting from him in sharp moans as Wren hit the spot inside him that made him see stars. He was glad for the darkness to hide how wet he already was, his cock leaking precome where it was trapped between them. Fuck, who was he kidding. There was no way Wren couldn’t feel it.

Wren curled his fingers around Blair’s hip to keep him from being pushed any further up the bed. Held in place, it felt like Wren’s cock was driving into him even deeper. Maybe it was. Blair tilted his head until he could press his lips against Wren’s and muffle the increasingly loud sounds spilling from them. Wren kissed him deeply, desperately, and Blair came. His cock pulsed and spilled between them. Blair came so hard he struggled to breathe through it.

He tasted blood when he finally started to come down and then he felt Wren come inside him, gasping against Blair’s mouth. Blair realized he’d bitten down on Wren’s lip when he came—and just as Wren’s kiss had done to him, the pain sent Wren over the edge. Blair let out a low moan at the sensation of Wren’s come filling him, still oversensitive and twitching from the aftershocks.

Blair clung to Wren for longer than he needed to and not nearly as long as he wanted to.

But Wren didn’t let go of him right away either, his thumb circling Blair’s hip before lowering Blair’s legs down from his waist. “We need to clean up,” Wren said.

Blair was pleased to hear him out of breath, to know he wasn’t the only one still reeling. He wasn’t as happy, though, when Wren disengaged from him and started to get off the bed. “Just stay put, I got it,” he said, throwing an arm across Wren’s chest to keep him down. He was a little surprised Wren hadn’t passed out yet, as much as he’d had to drink. Blair still didn’t have much confidence in Wren’s equilibrium if he tried to stand.

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