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“It’ll get you killed.” Smith bared his teeth and stopped pulling on Fal’ran’s hands. He drove the heels of his palms against Fal’ran’s chest, but Fal’ran didn’t budge.
“I know.” Fal’ran surged forward and trapped Smith’s hands between them, before he could strike at Fal’ran again. “Me or someone else, I know.”
Smith dug his fingernails into Fal’ran’s skin and Fal’ran shuddered at the pinpricks of pain coupled with the worked-leather scent of Smith’s aggression. “You pull that shit again and I’ll kill you myself.”
Fal’ran dropped his lips to the shell of Smith’s ear. “Deal.”
But Smith’s body still shivered with pent up energy and his scent still swirled with violence. He smelled like he needed a fight. Or a fuck.
Or both.
Smith’s weight shifted left and Fal’ran raised his leg in time to knock Smith’s knee wide before it made devastating contact with his groin. He slotted his thigh between Smith’s, pinning his hips, but missed Smith’s left arm sliding free to uppercut him. Turning his face at the last moment, he let the blow glance off his jaw, then twisted and captured Smith’s fist in his larger hand.
Smith tried to yank it free. “Fucking—”
Fal’ran kissed him.
He crushed his mouth to Smith’s in a full-frontal assault, catching Smith’s lower lip with the tip of his tusk. He used his hand on the man’s jaw to pull him closer and open his mouth to lick into him and fuck, Smith tasted even better than he smelled.
Smith’s body slackened and Fal’ran felt his shock in the way he let Fal’ran plunge his tongue between his lips. Fal’ran groaned and pushed the hand that wasn’t trapping Smith’s fist into his hair, gripping it tightly. He wouldn’t have long to enjoy this. Smith’s body tensed—
“Fuck!” Fal’ran jerked back when Smith bit down hard on his tongue.
“Bastard,” Smith panted as he yanked his fist free of Fal’ran’s grip and cocked it back. Fal’ran flinched when it flew towards him, but it bypassed his face and wrapped around the back of his neck. Smith hauled him forward and slotted their mouths together and… God, kissing Smith was even better when he participated. His hot tongue twined around Fal’ran’s, soothing it from the sting of his teeth.
Smith ran his hand up the back of Fal’ran’s neck and pulled his hair, and Fal’ran broke the kiss with a groan. “Smith—”
“Patrick.”
Fal’ran’s belly lurched, and he twisted to get a look at those blue eyes. “Wh—”
“I told you.” Smith—Patrick—tightened his grip in Fal’ran’s tangled locks, his voice rough as gravel. “I’m not your fucking captain anymore.”
S—Patrick’s words knocked the breath from Fal’ran’s chest. Had he cost Patrick his stripes? Had he gotten Patrick stripped of his rank? Fuck, he had. Decades of work and Fal’ran’s fuck up had cost him everything.
Patrick bit Fal’ran’s slack lower lip and Fal’ran yelped but didn’t fall for the distraction. He grabbed Patrick’s hips and jerked them against his thigh before Patrick flipped them around.
Rain after a hot day filled Fal’ran’s nostrils as he rubbed against the length of Patrick’s cock. Oh fuck, Patrick was hard, a hot iron bar against the muscle of Fal’ran’s thigh, and they’d barely started. Patrick tightened his grip around Fal’ran’s neck and buried his face in it with a whine that engraved itself on Fal’ran’s soul. He sounded ragged and desperate and almost confused, as though he couldn’t understand why it all felt so good.
It made Fal’ran want to show him what good really felt like. He rolled his leg up against Patrick’s groin and Patrick shouted into his throat and bucked his hips.
He didn’t want to lose Patrick as his captain. He didn’t want Patrick taken away from him. He didn’t want to follow anyone else. But if Patrick not being Fal’ran’s captain meant he got to make Patrick smell like rain, if it meant he could make Patrick pant into his skin as his cock throbbed, then fuck, Fal’ran would make the most of it.
“If you’re not my captain—” Fal’ran dropped both hands to Patrick’s ass and yanked their hips together. “—then there’s no reason I can’t finally fucking have you.”
“Fal’ran,” Patrick gasped and rocked his hips against Fal’ran’s, sloppy and stuttering and so much better than any practiced roll. His lust had conquered his higher thinking. His need to do the ‘right’ thing had crumbled. And thank fuck, because the only right thing was Patrick whining when Fal’ran gripped him tighter and worked their hips together. “Oh fuck.”
“Say my name again.” Fal’ran nipped the tip of Patrick’s ear and dug his fingertips into the firm flesh of Patrick’s ass. The man was all muscle. Hard, functional muscle for swinging gatlungs and running through jungles. He’d put Fal’ran on his back, a man half his age and half his weight heavier, and, goddamn, that made Fal’ran’s cock leak.
Patrick growled and ripped his ear from Fal’ran’s teeth. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Fal’ran’s balls pulled up at the fight in Patrick’s tone, and his lower belly swooped. Not fight or fuck, but both. Definitely both. He smelled it on Patrick’s skin. Patrick sank his teeth into the tendon of Fal’ran’s neck, and Fal’ran’s cock spasmed at the assault, too primed for pleasure to interpret the pain in any other way.
“Pat—”
Patrick wrapped an arm around Fal’ran’s, locked out his elbow, and spun out of his grasp. Fal’ran turned his head as Patrick threw him into the lockers and took the blow on his cheek instead of his nose, the impact knocking a bark of laughter out of him. Patrick crowded in behind him, filling Fal’ran’s nose with the same heady excitement from that morning.
Before Fal’ran pushed himself off the wall, Patrick wrapped an arm around his throat and pressed so closely his cock nestled into Fal’ran’s crack. Fal’ran groaned at the evidence of Patrick’s arousal tangled with the scent of rain and leather, and he dropped his head back onto Patrick’s shoulder. His cock twitched, and he considered shoving his hand down the front of his pants while Patrick choked him out.
