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Then Mal’ik grabbed Oliver’s hips, and Oliver let out a surprised yelp as Mal’ik flipped him onto his stomach. Then Mal’ik yanked him back and pulled his ass up into the air, with his knees braced under him. Oliver’s balls tightened as a surprising shudder of arousal went through him.
“What are you doing?” Oliver demanded, as though having his chest pressed into the mattress and his thighs spread wide wasn’t making him drip onto the comforter below. He squirmed, confused by his own reaction.
Mal’ik pressed a kiss to the very base of Oliver’s spine, right above the cleft of his ass. “I think you know.”
And suddenly Oliver did know, and it hit him like a bolt of lightning and punched the air out of his chest. Twin jolts of fear and desire shot through him. No one had ever done that to him. He had never even thought of anyone doing that to him.
“No-no-no, Mal’ik, you don’t—oh!” Oliver cut off with a gasp and jerk as Mal’ik licked along his cleft, just above his hole. Mal’ik spread Oliver with his thumbs—one soft skin, the other hard metal—and Oliver’s breath came in heaving gasps. He fisted his hands in the comforter. “I don’t—you don’t—please—”
Oliver’s words dissolved into a whimper when Mal’ik swirled his tongue over his entrance. His nerve endings lit up, and his breath hiccuped out of him as Mal’ik did it again, firm and insistent. It felt so much better than anything like that should ever feel.
“Oh fuck,” he whined, and Mal’ik dragged his hips back and buried his face into Oliver’s center, licking and sucking and kissing. Fuck, it felt so good; it was fucking mind-blowing. Oliver’s hips twitched of their own accord, little abortive thrusts that bounced his hanging cock around in the air.
Mal’ik laughed lowly, and the vibrations sent a shock of pleasure up Oliver’s spine. Then Mal’ik dug his thumbs in deeper, spread Oliver wider, and speared his tongue into Oliver’s tight pucker. Oliver yowled. He dragged at the bed below him, his fists tangling in sheets. God, that was filthy. Filthy and hot and pulling a continuous string of pleasured whines and moans out of Oliver’s throat.
Mal’ik’s tongue was up Oliver’s ass. His brain circled around the thought, over and over. Mal’ik’s tongue was up Oliver’s ass, and he was pretty sure he was going to come from that alone.
“Fuck, Mal’ik, I can’t, I can’t,” he babbled as his balls drew up tight to the base of his cock.
He wasn’t going to come. He couldn’t possibly come. But the pleasure tightened his lower back almost painfully, and he was on some sort of edge, making him nervous and anxious. The feel of Mal’ik’s tongue thrusting at his entrance overtook his mind.
Mal’ik pulled away, gave one last broad lick up Oliver’s taint and over his quivering hole, and then flipped him onto his back.
Oliver let out a shuddery, relieved sob and dragged the heels of his palm over his face as the edge of his impending orgasm retreated. He felt Mal’ik’s tusks against his inner thigh and looked down to see Mal’ik on his knees at the foot of his bed, nuzzling him.
“I knew you’d be fussy in bed,” Mal’ik said against the sensitive skin of Oliver’s inner thigh and then pressed a gentle kiss to it.
Oliver’s breath hitched at the incongruous soft feel of the kiss, with the electrifying vision of Mal’ik’s scarred face between his thighs, so close to his dripping cock.
“So you thought about it?” Oliver licked his lips. “What I’d be like in bed?”
Mal’ik bared his teeth and then buried his nose into the crease of Oliver’s hips, his tusk brushing against Oliver’s sac, making Oliver jerk. “I had to.” Mal’ik tightened his grip on Oliver’s thigh and inhaled deeply. “With you smelling like this, I couldn’t not think about what you’d be like.”
Oliver flushed and wondered just how strongly he was pumping his desire out into the air. But if it got him this—spread out in bed with Mal’ik between his legs, nuzzling at the base of his cock—he couldn’t be sorry.
Oliver sucked in a breath when the rough pad of Mal’ik’s finger rubbed over his entrance.
“Where’s your lube?” Mal’ik asked, pressing and circling slowly. Not pressing inside, just teasing him.
Oliver bit his lip as his flush deepened, realizing his oversight. “I don’t have any,” he admitted.
Mal’ik frowned and then got up from his knees, his joints creaking. He crawled over Oliver’s body, bracketing him into the bed, and looked down into his face with his too-shrewd orange eyes.
“You don’t have any?” he repeated.
“No, I don’t. I don’t normally—that is, I never—” Oliver scowled up at Mal’ik, frustrated to be falling over his own words. “I never have occasion to use it.”
Mal’ik trailed one hand down the center of Oliver’s chest and caressed his fingers lightly up Oliver’s cock. It was the first real touch it had gotten, and it twitched in response.
“Not even on yourself?”
That was too far. “I asked you to fuck me, not analyze my sex life,” Oliver snapped.
He felt bad when Mal’ik’s eyes shuttered slightly but didn’t take it back. He didn’t want to tell Mal’ik that he hadn’t been with anyone in years. That he hadn’t wanted to ever since that day. That even the thought of his own hand—the slick lube, the clinging sweat, the sticky spend—made his gorge rise.
He just wanted Mal’ik, and he didn’t want to think about why or what was different with him or any of it.
But fuck, maybe he’d just ruined that too. He reached up and grabbed Mal’ik’s metal wrist where it was braced on the bed beside his ear, certain the klah’eel was about to pull away.
