Page 77 of Gunpowder

The sensation of Blair sitting on his cock made Wren instantly more complacent, a low moan slipping out. “Fine.”

Blair reached over and took the lube out of the nightstand drawer. He poured it over his fingers with more confidence than he felt, since he hadn’t previously considered that Wren would be watching him do all this if Blair wasn’t allowing him to help. His face burned as he reached behind himself. The lube was cold against his entrance, but it quickly warmed as he slid a finger inside. He braced his other hand on Wren’s chest and worked another finger in.

Wren stroked his thighs, from his hips down to the bend of his knees and back again. The touch uncoiled the last of the tension in Blair’s body. He looked down at Wren, who was watching him like he was some ineffable thing of beauty rather than a panting mess in his lap. Blair let out a shaky breath as he added a third finger and twisted and curled them until he felt ready.

It deepened the flush on his face, finding Wren’s cock already leaking precome on his stomach, just from watching him. Blair withdrew his hand and slicked it with more lube. He wrapped it around Wren’s cock and finally jarred the other man from his enraptured silence, Wren gasping and pushing up into Blair’s grasp. His hands tightened on Blair’s hips and Blair knew he was resisting the urge to take over. He rewarded Wren’s efforts by lining himself up with Wren’s cock and slowly, slowly sinking down.

Wren tried to watch but his head fell back against the pillows with a moan, and Blair admired the pale arch of his neck, interrupted only by the chain of his necklace. Fuck, he was beautiful. Blair let out a ragged breath as he sat fully on Wren’s cock. He didn’t know if it had ever felt this deep before, if he’d ever felt every inch of Wren stretching him quite so thoroughly. Wren panted underneath him, almost twitching with the need to move, staring at Blair through half-lidded eyes. Blair forced himself to hold that gaze as he raised his hips and lowered them back down, slowly fucking himself on Wren’s cock, breath catching on a moan.

“Blair,” Wren gasped, fingers flexing around Blair’s hips.

Blair leaned forward, laying himself over Wren’s body and holding himself up on Wren’s shoulders. He was close enough to feel Wren’s labored exhalations on his face. Contrary to the assurances he gave Wren, his thigh was aching, but this position shifted some of the strain to his hips and core instead. One of Wren’s hands curled around the back of his head. Blair sunk back down and cried out as Wren’s cock nudged his prostate. He found a rhythm, moving at a steady, tortuously slow pace, his cock trapped hard and leaking between their bodies.

Wren’s hand trembled on the back of his head and Blair smiled. “Feel good?”

Blair wasn’t just asking for the sake of dirty talk. He needed to know.

“Yes, fuck yes,” Wren breathed.

Blair kissed him. It was a kiss constantly broken by the need to breathe but he didn’t care, catching Wren’s lips between every stuttering gasp and muffled curse. He could feel the persistent heat of orgasm trying to engulf him and ignored it. Instead he put his hand on Wren’s neck, grinned when he felt Wren tense with anticipation, but he only traced the shape of the pendant resting in the dip of Wren’s throat, shifting back and forth as they moved. Wren made a soft sound that Blair would be willing to label as pleading—and he knew what Wren wanted.

Not this time.

For all that they bickered, it brought him no real joy to deny Wren anything; Blair was horrifyingly whipped for this man. At the moment, though, he was making an exception; touching without taking, letting his teeth skim over Wren’s lip but not biting, carefully withholding the pain Wren wanted so badly for Blair to bestow on him. Because Wren thought he needed it. But Blair had seen the worry and frustration in Wren’s eyes when they were planning the assault on the warehouse, had found fleeting evidence of affection in the way Wren now reached willingly for Blair’s hand while he was driving.

Wren thought he needed the pain because it was the only thing he could feel, but lately Blair had started to think otherwise, and now he knew it for a fact.

Wren could feel things just fucking fine. Even if he didn’t realize it yet.

It was clear in the dissonance of confusion and pleasure on Wren’s face as Blair looked down at him. His chest nearly touched Wren’s, he was laid so low across him, but Blair didn’t think far away was the best place to be when he was taking a sledgehammer to a load-bearing coping mechanism.

Wren had given up on trying to kiss him in favor of breathing heavily against his mouth, his muscles drawn taut under Blair like a tightrope. Wren’s sounds became louder, more erratic, with an almost panicked edge to them. Blair kept moving even as his muscles burned for relief. The veil of sweat between their bodies caused his cock to glide easily against Wren’s stomach, and it felt so fucking good, but Blair staved off the climax it tried to bring.

I wasn’t even supposed to like you, Blair lamented, gasping against Wren’s mouth. Let alone...

He felt Wren swell inside him, and his toes curled against the bed.

Wren tried to push himself up but Blair pushed him right back down with a hand to his chest. Under Blair’s palm, Wren’s heart raced wildly.

“Blair,” Wren choked, pressing his forehead up into Blair’s shoulder, and came undone.

Blair didn’t realize just how much he’d been holding himself back until the feeling of Wren coming inside him finally pushed him over the edge. It was a long drop. Blair’s cock spilled between them, his orgasm sapping the last of his strength, until he could only ride it out with small twitches of his hips that rubbed his slick head against Wren’s flat stomach. Having Wren’s cock situated so firmly against his prostate made him feel like he was never going to draw another full breath that didn’t seize in his throat from pleasure and overstimulation.

Heedless of the mess between them, he held Wren against him as they trembled through the aftershocks.

He exhaled against Wren’s neck until his own breathing was back to normal and every lungful of air didn’t feel like his last.

At some point, Wren slipped out of him. Blair shifted to the side so he wasn’t crushing Wren, but he kept a leg and an arm thrown over him, feeling Wren’s chest heave. He stared at the side of Wren’s face and didn’t know if he should feel worried or satisfied, with the way Wren’s eyes were open but seemingly sightless, blinking up at the ceiling like he had no fucking idea what just happened. Then again, he probably didn’t.

Blair reached up to tuck a sweat-slicked lock of Wren’s bangs behind his ear. “Felt good?”

Wren rolled his head to the side and looked at him. His brows pulled together, lips parting to answer, then closing. Blair smiled; he wasn’t going to make Wren answer him out loud, but he knew by the confusion written all over Wren’s face that he’d answered it to himself, and it was leaving Wren at a total loss. If Wren wasn’t in such a vulnerable state—and god, he was, if the look in his eyes was anything to go on—Blair might have taken some outward satisfaction in finally finding something that Wren couldn’t understand.

Blair laid his head on the pillow next to Wren’s, fingers curling loosely around the silver pendant around Wren’s neck. Wren brought a shaking hand up to cover Blair’s. Wren wasn’t looking at him from the safe distance he usually tried to keep, or from behind the walls he had spent years building so high that no one could see over them.

If pain was the only way he could feel anything during sex before, what is he feeling now? Blair wondered, once more straying dangerously close to the line he had drawn for himself. He had put it in place to keep from getting too invested when Wren may not ever be able to feel the same way, but Wren pushed him closer to it with everything he did; the way Wren touched him, the way he spoke, the stilted way he laughed—and what was the point of the stupid line, anyway, because Blair loved him.

Goddammit.

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