Page 79 of Breakout Year
Akiva ran a soothing hand up his back. “You’re here now.”
Eitan’s smile widened. “I am. We are. Kiss me again.”
Akiva did, another kiss, and another, until people really were looking at them, until he heard the word he most feared from the crowd: Rivkin. “We’ve been spotted.”
“Sure have.”
“You gonna buy everyone a drink to distract them?”
“The champagne is included with the tickets.” Eitan smiled, bright and challenging. “But I have a different idea.”
The second time through the train, Akiva didn’t notice the hardware, the anachronistic costumes, the refraction of light through glass. No, this time, the only thing he noticed was the frantic beat of his heart against his ribs. Eitan’s fingers circled his wrist, the cool metal of his sensor ring against Akiva’s quickening pulse. Up through the cars they went—past more patrons milling around the bar, diners whose forks hovered mid-bite, some of whom whispered Was that…? as they sped past. Eitan got to the end of the dining car and tugged open the door connecting it to the sleepers. Hustled Akiva through, then shut it with only a glance back to see if someone was going to stop them.
Halfway down the sleeper car, Eitan wrenched open the door to one of the rooms. “Inside, hurry,” he said a little breathlessly, and so Akiva hurried.
The room was identical to the first one they’d seen: a narrow bed clad in an olive bedspread, a narrow window through which the world outside rushed by. A narrow door Eitan closed and flipped the lock on and promptly pressed Akiva against.
“They might find us,” Akiva said.
Eitan smiled. “They might.” Then he kissed Akiva, deeper than he had when they were dancing, deep enough that Akiva forgot about the consequences of anything other than Eitan’s thigh between his and the solidity of his shoulders and the way he could feel Eitan’s smile in his kiss.
They didn’t have much time—not before train personnel came looking for them, not before Eitan said his goodbyes to New York. Eitan kissed like he did everything: with a certain insatiable curiosity, and Akiva sucked his tongue and dug his shirt hem from his waistband and groped the thick muscles of Eitan’s lower back.
“Fuck, I want to…” Eitan shook his head like he was out of words, then promptly dropped to his knees. He rubbed his face over the front of Akiva’s pants and looked up at him, and Akiva had spent years meting out pleasures to make the unending pit of debt he was in a little more bearable, but in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through the thick field of Eitan’s hair, to seize him by the back of his neck, and pull.
Eitan let out a noise that emanated from his chest. His eyes slid half shut. “Let me take care of you.” What he’d said earlier, more than once, but never with this kind of desperation. Who was Akiva to deny him?
Akiva unbuttoned his pants, unzipped his fly. Released Eitan’s hair and let Eitan stroke his fingers up the front of Akiva’s briefs. He licked the line of his stomach, lips against his waistband, cheek brushing where Akiva was hard.
“I want you to show me what you like,” Eitan said. “I want this to be good for you.”
In Akiva’s experience, even bad head was still pretty good, and head from someone who wanted to do a good job was hardly ever bad, but he shoved his pants and briefs down just enough, circled his cock with one hand and caught Eitan by the back of his hair. Eitan went, lips around the head of Akiva’s cock, open-mouthed and sloppy. He was looking up at Akiva, eyes drunk with it, and when Akiva said, “Put your hands behind your back,” Eitan did as he was told, left fingers around his right wrist.
There wasn’t time for finesse, just the instruction of his hand in Eitan’s hair and Eitan’s answering groans as Akiva thrust a few times into his mouth, hand around his own cock to keep Eitan from choking, as careful as he could be, as rough as Eitan was asking for. Akiva wondered what this might have been like had they started months ago: if Eitan wanted to be tied to a bedframe or simply held down, if every time they were together would have revealed something new.
Eitan’s face was wet with spit, his eyelashes a little stuck together. He was humming, something pleased and possibly involuntary and almost perfectly designed to make Akiva come right at that moment. Eitan hadn’t moved his hands from behind his back, but he was close enough to Akiva’s leg to rub himself against his shin like he was desperate for relief.
Eitan pulled back. “I want to taste you. I want you to come in my mouth.” He looked surprised that he’d said it but not embarrassed that he had.
“Sometimes that’s better in the abstract.” Still, Akiva reached out to trace the swollen rim of Eitan’s lower lip. He remembered that feeling—the same one he’d had right after he’d quit baseball, that he could go anywhere, fuck anyone, and not care about who knew. Mostly, he’d gone to night classes and spent the rest of his time worrying about how he’d fucked up his life.
He didn’t reassure Eitan that he didn’t have to do this. By now, he knew Eitan threw himself into the things he wanted with a kind of certainty that Akiva both admired and was entirely too cautious to emulate. Yet, somehow, in a lifetime of not quite getting what he wanted, he’d wound up here, with Eitan eagerly on his knees.
“You’re sure about this.” Akiva didn’t say it as a question, and Eitan didn’t treat it as one. Just closed his mouth around Akiva’s thumb and gave an illustrative suck. Akiva withdrew his hand, slid his fingers back into Eitan’s hair. Lolled his head against the cabin door and sank himself back into Eitan’s mouth.
Eitan sucked him with more confidence than he’d had before, body acclimating easily to a new physical task. He used his tongue, mostly covered his teeth. Looked up at Akiva and that was the most devastating part of this whole thing—how slowly this had happened and how quickly it’d soon be done. Pressure built along Akiva’s spine, up his thighs, in his balls, in the webbing between his fingers, something uncontrollable and uncontained, until his hips jerked once, and all he managed was an inarticulate gasp before he flooded Eitan’s tongue.
He was met by a cough—fuck—and Eitan rose, wiping his hand across his own lips. Pulled him into a long slow kiss that objectively didn’t taste that great and subjectively was one of the best of Akiva’s life. Eitan gripped his shoulders, pinned him to the door like Akiva might slip down it, which he might, from the way his knees were somehow liquid, and his heart felt strangely the same.
“Thank you,” Akiva said hoarsely, and Eitan grinned at that and held him closer, Eitan’s body warm as Akiva shivered, Eitan’s erection nudging his hip. He was hard enough that he whimpered slightly at the barest contact. Akiva managed to get himself more or less situated—pants and underwear back up though he didn’t bother fastening anything—then backed Eitan onto the narrow little bed.
Eitan went willingly, sprawling himself out. “Think anyone’s going to catch us?”
Akiva didn’t think they’d be heard over the rattle of the train and the rush of wind or even the beat of blood in his own head, but that didn’t stop him from giving a smug little shh as he unzipped Eitan’s pants and got Eitan’s answering groan.
The bed was lower than a normal one, so Akiva sat on his heels. He took Eitan’s cock in his mouth, rolled his balls in his hand. Reached behind them and nudged the skin there and relished Eitan’s answering shudder. He spread the bar of his other arm across Eitan’s hips, pinning him and letting him feel his weight.
Eitan’s feet scrabbled against the thinly carpeted floor. The noises he made pitched up, loud enough someone passing in the hall might actually hear them, and Akiva tried to commit each one to memory—all his pants and gasps and thready implorations.
