Page 7 of Ascendent
Suction. Heat. Sasha’s lips closed over him, all the way down, swallowing his length in one go. He felt the back of Sasha’s throat, felt his muscles swallow him deep. Sergey jerked, his body folding in half around Sasha, arms wrapping around Sasha’s broad shoulders, his pale back. Aside from their frantic fumble under the ice, he hadn’t had anything even remotely sexual in years. A one night stand after Natalia had finally left him, a drunken night out with Ilya at a bar in Omsk.
Nothing like this. God, nothing at all like this.
Sasha sucked him like Sergey had the secret to life trapped within him, like Sasha was determined to pull every particle of Sergey’s sanity from him through his cock. Thoughts fled. He couldn’t speak. He gasped, stuttering syllables of Sasha’s name and pleas in a jumbled, inchoate mess.
Moaning. Sasha’s moans, deep and throaty, like he was feasting after a famine. His cries choked off as he took Sergey deep into his throat, strangling his voice. He sucked deeper. Harder.
Sergey heard Sasha fumble at his fly, unzip his jeans. Saw him shimmy on the bed, shove the front of his pants down. One hand disappeared into his crotch. He groaned, his eyes closing. Sergey’s body went electric, every nerve firing at once, over and over again. Sasha ground his hips against the bed, swallowed around the head of Sergey’s cock. He opened sex-drunk eyes and gazed up at Sergey, lips buried in the curls of Sergey’s crotch.
He’d never seen a sexier sight: Sasha, blitzed out on passion, stroking himself, writhing as he humped his hand and the mattress. His lips were Russian red, as red as their flag and the hot blood in Sergey’s veins, a brilliant patch of color set against the miles of snow-pale skin. Only a hint of iceberg blue ringed his pupils. His dilated eyes held Sergey’s stare, scorching his bones.
And all because he had Sergey’s cock in his throat. Because he was allowing himself the joy of his own desires. Because he’d let himself go, let himself take what he wanted.Whohe wanted. Somehow, that was him.
It was the last thought he had before he crested. He tried to hold back, tried to stave off the rush with procedural protocol and imagining the faces of the legislators of the Duma. But he was racing too fast, and his passion roared, grabbing him in the center of his soul and splitting him in two. His vision whited out, lightning scrawling across his eyes as he curled around Sasha and screamed. His cock jerked. He tried to grab Sasha, warn him, pull him off––
Sasha buried his face in Sergey’s crotch, eyes closed, rapture streaking across his expression. He kept sucking, kept going, greedy, it seemed, for Sergey. It was too much, much too much, and Sergey swore, cursed, grunted. His hands wouldn’t unclench from Sasha’s hair as he bucked, as he exploded.
A new noise, a squeal, a groan, a gasp, emerged from Sasha. His hand, buried in his own crotch, sped up, jerking himself faster, harder. His lips popped off Sergey’s cock and he buried his face in Sergey’s thigh, pressing his nose, his mouth, into the fold of his leg and his crotch, gritting his teeth, gasping, roaring––
Sasha’s release branded Sergey’s leg, sprayed across the duvet and the sheets. He stroked himself through the aftershocks and buried his face in the crook of Sergey’s thigh, breathing hard.
Sergey stared, his jaw hanging open.
Sasha peeked up, his timid cobalt eyes appearing from between Sergey’s legs.Was that okay? they seemed to ask. There was an openness there, a vulnerability, that Sergey had never seen before.
He reached for Sasha and pulled him up, grabbed his face in both hands, held him as he kissed him, as he tasted himself on Sasha’s mouth, his lips, his tongue. He groaned. Kissed him deeper.
Sasha settled on top of him, boneless as they kept kissing, and one hand carded through Sergey’s hair, the gentlest touch Sasha had ever given him.
“I love you.” Sasha spoke into their kiss, in the fractional space between one meeting of their lips and the next. His whisper, his breath of sound, quivered.
Sergey kissed his trembles away.
* * *
Sergey floated halfin and half out of sleep as the afternoon wore on, strung out on lassitude and love and the feel of Sasha’s fingers ghosting over his skin. They lay in bed, side by side, naked. Sasha’s hands were everywhere, stroking him as if he wanted to memorize Sergey by touch alone. Over his cheek, down to his jaw, into his hair, and then down his arm, his hip, his thigh. It was enough to build that heat inside Sergey again.
Still, the edges of panic clung to Sasha, a tension that tasted sour, hit the back of Sergey’s throat at odd seconds. The air in the room seemed ready to pounce, as if waiting for the moment to shred.
“What can I do for you?” Sergey kept his voice to a whisper, trying not to break the spell that seemed to wreathe them both. “Sashunya, I will do anything for you. Anything that you need.”
“I don’t know what I need. I’m trying not to think. I shouldn’t be here.”
Sergey tangled their fingers together. It hadn’t even been one day. Not even one single day. He’d shouted down the Kremlin with his release earlier, had spilled himself into Sasha’s mouth. He’d been at peace, blissfully indolent. Couldn’t they haveoneday? Couldn’t their happiness last past this moment?
“Sashunya, please…”
Sasha prickled like a cat, every part and piece of him twitching as his eyes closed. He squeezed Sergey’s fingers. “I shouldn’t be here, but Iwantto be.”
Yobaniy nasos, finally. Sergey exhaled, and his heart started to beat again. “I told you, we will make this work. I promise. I will do whatever it takes. We will figure it out,zvezda moya.”
Scowling, Sasha said nothing.
“Don’t run. Please, don’t run again.” His heart couldn’t take another of Sasha’s flights. He’d have to turn away if it happened, forget about Sasha and the supernova that existed between their souls.
“Let me protect you?”
“What?” It was Sergey’s turn to frown.
