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“Fucking amazing,” Fal’ran breathed before swaying forward and capturing those teasingly quirked lips.
Patrick stiffened before swaying back into him, kissing him languidly and easily. A give and take and sweetness. No fight for dominance, not with this simple bliss running through Fal’ran’s veins.
Fal’ran pressed kisses to the corner of Patrick’s mouth, then up his cheekbone to his ear. “We should have done that sooner.”
Patrick snorted. “I don’t know about that.”
“It was good, though, wasn’t it?” Fal’ran wrapped an arm around Patrick’s waist and pulled him closer to enjoy the sensation of his body against his. The touch of a blush lingered on Patrick’s collarbone that might have been the remaining flush of arousal.
“Of course, it was.” Patrick laid his clean hand lightly over Fal’ran’s chest as though not sure where it was supposed to go and held the hand still covered in Fal’ran’s cum awkwardly in front of him, definitely not sure where that one was supposed to go.
“You don’t sound convinced.” Fal’ran plucked Patrick’s hesitating hand out of the air and sucked one of his long fingers into his mouth. Now the red crawling up his throat was definitely a blush.
“It was good, Fal’ran.” Patrick pressed his lips together, and Fal’ran smirked as he moved on to clean the next finger. He wasn’t usually into this sort of cleanup, but the look on Patrick’s face—embarrassed but turned on and embarrassed about being turned on—was worth it. So was their mingled taste, which made his cock perk up again.
“Have you had better?” Fal’ran licked a long stripe up the center of Patrick’s palm, tonguing up the last of his cum.
“What?” Patrick’s voice tightened.
“Has anyone ever sucked your cock better than that?” Fal’ran asked as he tangled his fingers with Patrick’s freshly cleaned hand. Because he could do better, if anyone ever had. He had plenty more tricks up his sleeve, or rather, down his throat.
“Fal’ran.” Patrick pursed his lips and pulled away, but Fal’ran tightened his grip around his waist. “That’s not—”
“Did Captain Mal’ik ever suck your cock better than that?” Because if he had, then Fal’ran would get back on his knees right this second to drive the damn man out of Patrick’s mind once and for—
“What?” Patrick’s voice spiked into a new octave. “No! He never—we didn’t—”
His face turned so red Fal’ran threw his head back and laughed, both to see a grown man blush so hard and in relief that he didn’t need to compete with another man’s memory. He trailed his fingers down Patrick’s corded neck, over the flush across his chest, and smeared them through his own spend. “How can you be so shy when you’re covered in my cum?”
“God, you’re ridiculous.” Patrick jabbed him in the ribs and the laugh choked off in Fal’ran’s throat as pain spasmed across his side. “Fuck, shit, sorry.”
Without the lust crisscrossing his nerve signals, the sharp agony registered properly and Fal’ran winced. “It’s fine.”
“Let me see.” Patrick stepped away and lifted his arm to look at Fal’ran's side, Fal’ran wincing again as his muscles pulled. “Shit, are your ribs broken? Fal’ran!” Patrick dropped Fal’ran’s arm and glared at him over it. “Why did you let me throw you around this room? You—”
“They’re not broken.” Fal’ran made a face and tugged his arm free. “They’re just…cracked.” Which was another word for ‘broken’, so he kept speaking as Patrick’s look darkened. “And it’s just one.” Patrick scowled and Fal’ran hated for the soft, playful mood to be ruined already, so he tried to wrap an arm around his waist again. “Besides, I could have every bone in my body broken, and I’d still let you throw me around the room.”
But Patrick backed out of reach and shook his head, a shield descending over his expression and his scent fading from the room. “You almost did get every bone in your body broken.”
“But I didn’t.” Fal’ran zipped his softened cock back behind his pants. It irritated him to be at this point in the conversation again, but mostly it made him feel guilty. That remorse swelled when Patrick grabbed his tank from the floor and Fal’ran’s eye caught on his ruined jacket.
“Not this time.” Patrick wiped Fal’ran’s congealing cum off his stomach with quick, efficient movements and Fal’ran cringed, the sight of Patrick covered in his semen suddenly more stomach-curdling than arousing. What right did he have to mark Patrick like that? He hadn’t even followed his orders.
When Patrick reached for the goddamn jacket on the ground, Fal’ran lunged for it first. “No. Don’t. Fuck this.”
Patrick squeezed his lips together and exhaled through his nose. “Fal’ran.”
“No, fuck this thing.” Fal’ran opened a locker and pulled out another uniform jacket. It was plain, without a name patch or rank, but it was better than the one with Smith’s name on it and a hole screaming across its back. “Wear this at least.”
Patrick stared at the intact jacket in Fal’ran’s. Emotions flickered through his eyes but didn’t escape into his scent. Then he sighed and took it, shrugging it on over his bare torso. “Get back to your tent. It’s past curfew.”
Fal’ran didn’t know when this conversation had derailed. He didn’t understand how they’d gone from kissing and whispering in each other’s ears with the taste of their cum in Fal’ran’s mouth, to standing three feet away and unable to look each other in the eye.
He nodded mutely as Patrick backed away, slowly at first, then all at once, spinning on his heel and flying out the door. Shit. Fal’ran let out a shuddering breath and turned back to the open locker. The foreign feeling of guilt clogged his throat as he looked down at Patrick’s stripeless jacket in his hands.
The next day, the Insects attacked Qesha.
Chapter Twelve
