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Mathieu pressed his face to Win’s hip, fingers tight, almost painful where they gripped his thighs. But Win had no complaints. He cupped the back of Mathieu’s head, staring down at him, allowing the sounds in the back of his throat to make themselves known. And when Mathieu gazed up at him, Win’s heart picked up even more speed as a sense of déjà vu washed over him.
All the time they’d lost, all the mistakes and the heartbreak, and he was back here, under Mathieu, while the most delicious pleasure worked its way through his veins. If this was bad for him, he’d gladly deal with the fallout. If this was a mistake, he’d put it on repeat. He willingly drowned in the bottomless depths of Mathieu’s eyes, releasing his nape to cup his jaw, to flick his thumb over Mathieu’s lips.
And then Win coaxed him downward, gently pushing his face exactly where he wanted it. Mathieu held his gaze for one last heartbeat, lips curving into a knowing smirk before he dipped his head, tongue gliding over Win’s cock head where it lay throbbing against his lower belly.
“Mathieu.” Oh, he found his words then. “Fuck.” He panted, his entire body jerking when Mathieu tasted him again and again, stiffened tongue journeying the length of Win’s shaft, stopping at the base to lave his balls one at a time. Then Mathieu traveled back up the way he’d come.
Win clutched the sheets, eyes falling closed, head thrown back as he arched into the heat, into the wetness of Mathieu’s mouth. “Been so long.” Reverence and prayer and pleading, all in those three words. He was too raw to hide it, to hide the mess that he was, or ignore the burning behind his closed eyelids as Mathieu took him into his mouth, sucking Win down while saliva dripped and Win throbbed, shoving helplessly into the cavern of Mathieu’s hungry mouth.
The other man’s moans and groans reverberated along Win’s dick, another level of pleasure he was once familiar with. Now, he reacquainted himself with Mathieu’s mouth, his moans, his touch.
Like coming home.
It was like coming home and Win wanted to weep, but he couldn’t because Mathieu was killing him with his throat game and the tight grip he settled on Win’s shaft, stroking and sucking in tandem.
“Fuck!” There was no resistance, Win couldn’t fight, not when the orgasm tore through him, so fierce and sharp. He came, crying out Mathieu’s name, shaking from head to toe. And Mathieu stayed on him, sucking him down, sucking him dry, taking everything Win had.
Until he was depleted, empty, and his cheeks were wet.
Mathieu climbed up his body, lying next to him, clutching Win’s face in his hands. Kissing him. Win parted for him, taking Mathieu into his mouth, tasting himself, his cum, on Mathieu’s tongue.
He moaned, deepening the kiss, his hands on Mathieu’s shoulders, rolling so Mathieu was on his back with Win straddling him. They moved together, bodies sticky, Mathieu hard and eager and Win still so empty, needing something more. He flicked his tongue over Mathieu’s lips and nose before sinking back into his mouth as he reached between them, wrapping a palm around Matthieu’s dick. Relearning the curves and textures, tracing his crown and the pulsing veins while Mathieu twitched under him, body practically vibrating with the same need rolling down Win’s spine.
Pre-cum slicked his hand and Win released Mathieu just long enough to lick him off his fingers, holding Mathieu’s heavy-lidded gaze, moaning around the three fingers in his mouth as he sucked.
Mathieu’s throat worked. “Win.” His expression was almost painful in its intensity. Win liked that look on him, liked it even more knowing that he was the reason.
He removed his fingers from his mouth and smeared his saliva on Mathieu’s dick, reveling in Mathieu’s sharp inhale, in the contracting of his stomach and the way he held himself still as if afraid Win would stop.
But he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Nothing and nobody was going to stop him. Not even Mathieu. He grabbed a condom from the nightstand, tearing the packet with his teeth and putting it on Mathieu with fumbling fingers. He slicked up first Mathieu then himself with the lube Mathieu had tossed onto the bed when they’d first come in, and grasped Mathieu’s shaft, angling it to where he wanted it, against his ass, pressing into his hole.
Mathieu grunted, hands fisted. “Win. Fuck!”
Win ignored him, lost to the pleasure, to instinct, rocking back on Mathieu’s hardness as he let it slide up his taint then down, nudging his hole only to slide away again.
Mathieu clamped a hand onto his hip. “Put it in,” he begged. “Please.”
Win widened his knees, tilting forward just enough until Mathieu was there…right there at his hole.
Then he bore down.
“Ah, God!” Win screamed it to the ceiling. Heat threatened to consume him, burn him up and spit him out like ash, but he welcomed it, wanting nothing more than Mathieu sinking into him inch by inch, dragging whimpers from his trembling lips. “So good.”
Mathieu sat up, an arm around Win’s waist and the other at his nape. Chest to chest, mouth to mouth, and inside Win he sank deeper still, hitting places, bottoming out after what felt like forever.
“Fuck. Ma-Mathieu.” His voice was deserting him, reason too. It had been years since he’d had anything like this inside him. Anyone inside him. His body struggled to accept the intrusion, but Win wanted it. Wanted it so badly. He closed his eyes, allowing the fever to take him while Mathieu whispered to him, the low rumble of his voice rolling over Win’s sensitive skin and dredging up another orgasm from the depths.
“Ride it.” Hot breath on Win’s lips, teeth nipping his jaw. “Remind me how good you ride.”
When they were like this, there was nothing Mathieu couldn’t get him to do.
So even as far gone as he was, Win obeyed those instructions, rising just the tiniest bit. Then dropping back on it. Then again. Faster and faster. He clung to Mathieu’s shoulders, sinking onto his cock, taking him deep as Mathieu thrust up. They established a rhythm, one Win knew by heart, a knowledge that had never left him. He rode Mathieu while the other man whispered to him.
“So fucking tight. That’s it. Shit.” Mathieu released a deep groan that reverberated in Win’s chest. “Fuck, let me feel that grip. Gimme that…unngh.”
Win had long lost the ability to verbalize words. All that was left were the groans that forced their way out of his throat with every thrust, every roll of Mathieu’s hips as he hit something vital that sent ripples of fire through Win’s body.
“Gonna come.” Mathieu’s hold on him turned painful, likely bruising. “Make me come for you. Make me—”
