Love & Loyalty (9 page)

He rubbed his hands against the backs of Jim's thighs, his head bobbing up and down as he sucked his dick with a lazy effort that nonetheless had Jim biting his bottom lip.

Jim wanted to tell him to hurry, but all that happened when he opened his mouth was a string of shaky moans with a few curse words thrown in.

He looked down again, and Griffin managed to grin around his mouthful of Jim's erection. After a second he pulled off, the popping sound loud and obscene enough to echo across the loft.

Griffin didn't let go of Jim's thighs, and that wicked look didn't appear to be going anywhere either.

“How anal are you exactly?” he asked, all smirk and dimples—how did Jim miss the dimples?

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“Uh.” Jim moaned—really, he was going to protest, because that was disgusting and they hardly knew each other and who the ever-loving hell was he kidding with this line of bullshit dancing between his ears?

“I knew it,” Griffin muttered; he turned his head just enough to nip at the inside of Jim's knee.

Then he went down lower, and Jim's breath hiccupped.

His arms went straight out, flexing his shoulders as he grabbed hold of the comforter. If anyone hovered above him, they'd have thought that Jim was in pain, that he was about to be tortured.

But the first tentative flick of Griffin's tongue against his ass was anything but torture.

Christ, did he remember the last time he let anyone get this close? He made a promise to blame the wine and the beer and the day when morning came.

* * * * *

Griffin was a tease. He gave Jim a few licks, just enough to leave him shaking and babbling, then hummed his way back up, still holding Jim in that vulnerable, open position.

“What are you…?”

“Shut up,” Griffin said, still smirking but now a little more out of breath. A little more needy.

“Need a hand?” Jim tried for cheeky but just sounded desperate.

“Need a condom and about four gallons of lube,” Griffin mumbled, his mouth roaming randomly over Jim's dick and stomach and inner thighs.

“Let go of me…”

“No, not yet. Need that eventually. Really need to fuck you, but for now…” And then he was gone, back to flick and circle and preview what was (hopefully) coming very, very soon. Before Jim came quickly and had to 66

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apologize and oh—everything flew sideways out of his head as Griffin stopped playing and pushed the tip of his tongue into Jim's body.

“Oh God.” Jim moaned, letting go entirely. It had been so long since he'd let anyone fuck him that this prelude to the act was his undoing. He knew what was going to happen, exactly what he was going to let this guy do, and while a fleeting part of him panicked, the rest of him—locked up for so long—

felt relief and burning anticipation.

Griffin Drake, of course, had no idea about any of this; he was tongue fucking Jim, his hands gripping his thighs, and no doubt trying to remember where Jim said the condom and lube was.

“Please.” The word finally leaked from Jim's mouth.

Griffin heard him—maybe he was just as anxious to move on as Jim. The last press of his tongue was a slow push in and quick twist out. Jim grasped the bottom of his dick in a desperate attempt not to come. Mumbling something about “hot,” Griffin gently let Jim's legs down and swarmed over him with more of those openmouthed kisses. His dick, his hand, his stomach, up to Jim's mouth.

There was a moment's pause, a request for permission, and Jim nodded, arching his neck up and opening his mouth for a kiss.

* * * * *

“Come on, roll over,” Griffin murmured when he came up for air. Jim liked the husky growl of his voice and the way his messed-up hair now fell over his forehead. He looked younger in the dim light—but there was nothing immature about the way he was moving his hands over Jim's body. He knew what he wanted—what they both wanted.

“Top drawer,” he said as a reminder, sitting up for one last kiss before he rolled out from under Griffin's body and onto his stomach.

His ego got a nice stroke from the moan that followed his motion.

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Griffin mumbled to himself as he leaned over Jim's body and yanked the drawer open. Jim folded his arms and laid his face down in the gap, just enough air to breathe, but plenty of cool pillow to tune down the hot flush of his cheeks.

The pressure of mattress against his dick? Very helpful.

“What? No flavored lube? No neon-colored condoms? Stunned, Jim, stunned,” Griffin said, making noises and then dropping the unflavored lube and regular condom-colored condoms on the small of Jim's back.

“Shut up.” Jim laughed. That felt as good as the mattress. Almost as good as the sound of a tearing condom packet and Griffin's mutterings. Or the warm hand that Griffin laid against the space between Jim's shoulder blades, as if letting him know he hadn't forgotten him.

Best birthday ever, Jim thought. Better than twenty-one and Vegas.

* * * * *

Griffin didn't rush the next bit, no matter how much Jim threatened or begged.

He pushed Jim onto his knees, kissing and stroking his body, talking so quietly that Jim only heard a comforting hum into his ears.

Just a drop too much lube. Two fingers. A brush of tongue and really—

Jim's cursing wound out of control at that point. He'd wanted it since Griffin had ambushed him with a kiss and touched him when they left the restaurant.

But now the thought of
this
moment in his life exploded into his bloodstream.

He wanted it now, and he couldn't wait.

“Gimme a sec, okay?” Griffin was breathing heavily now, words slurred with lust. He pushed Jim down a little, leveraged his legs farther apart. Jim felt the other man's breath midway down his back. He moved higher and higher until Griffin fit snuggly against him, curling over his body, one hand fumbling between them.

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“Can't wait,” Jim moaned and pushed back, catching the blunted head of Griffin's dick as he did.

“Ohfuckinggod.” Griffin didn't waste another second, pressing into Jim with a blessed sigh of relief.

Jim put his head down against the pillow; he bit down on the soft fabric as Griffin pushed and rocked and worked his cock into Jim's body. There was a hellacious pause as Griffin squeezed his fingers tight into his hips—sparks of pain and pleasure mixed with Jim's blessed sense of fullness.

Nothing was said, no sounds emitted by either one of them. The squeak of the bed seemed ridiculously loud as Griffin leaned back, then forward.

One stroke, and Jim shook with the sheer pleasure of it. He tensed every muscle in his body so he could feel everything Griffin gave. Two strokes. Three.

Griffin thrusting against him, damp with sweat and digging his fingers deeper and deeper into Jim's flesh.

Four strokes. Five. Jim started to lose count, began to lose control over his muscles. Griffin seemed to be growing stronger and rougher as Jim lost his ability to stay upright.

Six. Ten? Jim's arms gave out, and he was just held up by his knees now and Griffin's firm grip on his body, inside and out.

Lost now, Jim moaned into the pillow, fingers digging into the material until darts of pain began to form as they cramped. The bed shrieked and panted under Griffin's forceful strokes, and Jim begged along, completely caught in the rhythm.

There was almost no warning when Jim came, no shout or even an attempt at words. Griffin caught him with a sharp downward stroke and hit something deep inside him, more than a bit of anatomy. It pulled the trigger, and he let it go, catching his cock on the edge of the rucked-up sheets as he came.

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Griffin followed him down as his knees slid open, and he was flat on the bed, still absorbing the impact of Griffin's sharp thrusts. Hands laid on his shoulders, the strength of being held down setting Jim's body aflame again.

Griffin sped up, muttering and moaning as he rushed to his own completion.

He fell down onto Jim's back.

“Hmmmph,” he murmured against Jim's shoulder.

“Huh?” His brain didn't seem to have engaged just yet.

“Happy fucking birthday.” Griffin laughed, rubbing his forehead against the sweaty skin on the back of Jim's neck.

“You're not getting a thank-you note.”

“Rude.”

Jim settled into the bed. He thought about the stickiness on the sheets and on his body. He thought about the clothes scattered around. He was very much aware of Griffin sprawled over him, only moving enough to pull out and take care of the condom.

“Garbage?”

“Next to the nightstand.”

Griffin didn't get up. Jim heard the tossed condom hit the empty garbage can, followed by a few clicks of plastic. The nightstand drawer opened and closed…and Jim realized that Griffin was cleaning up.

“Stop—I'll do that later,” Jim said, finally moving his head from the pillow and turning to the other man.

“Yeah, I know. When you get the vacuum out.” Griffin lay on his side, running his hand over Jim's back. His smile was dorky, his hair now completely rumpled and sideways on his head. He squinted, then rubbed at his eyes carefully.

“Contacts bugging you?”

“Yeah. I'm gonna run down to the bathroom. You need something?” 70

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“No, I got it.” Jim still didn't move, however. That blissful, fucked-out feeling gave him no immediacy at all.

“No, you lie here. I'll be right back.” Griffin rolled off the bed and fumbled for a second for his jeans, throwing them over his shoulder as he jogged down the stairs. He whistled, and Jim could see he was clearly pleased with himself.

His face got warm as he smiled into the pillow.

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Chapter Eleven

“You need help down there?” Jim called, listening carefully to get a hint of what Griffin was doing. Definitely in the kitchen and rooting around. Well, it wasn't like he was going to find much beyond some crackers, protein bars, and leftover pad thai.

The trip to the bathroom had produced Griffin in jeans, his glasses, and bearing a warm, wet washcloth. He'd tidied their clothes up as Jim cleaned up, then stripped off the top coverlet and sheet, quickly replacing them with

“military efficiency,” as Griffin named it. Then he'd snapped his fingers and declared he had another surprise.

“Nope. And no peeking!”

“Not peeking! Mostly because if I lean over the railing, I might end up on my head. Emergency room isn't how I want to spend the rest of the night.” From down below, Griffin cackled.

“Okay, coming up. Close your eyes.”

“This isn't a weird food kinky thing, because…you know, crumbs and stuff on the bed…” Jim shivered at the thought.

Griffin didn't say anything, but Jim could hear him coming up the stairs.

Then he saw the little light.

A candle, coming up the stairs, and Jim didn't quite understand until he heard the off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” He sat up, tenting the sheet under his knees, trying to form an expression and a response.

He was…touched. Embarrassed. Overwhelmed.

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His face formed into a smile as he watched Griffin approach with two Hostess cupcakes on a plate, a small emergency tea light candle on each.

“Make a wish,” Griffin said shyly, sitting on the bed and offering the plate to Jim.

Jim took a deep breath and thought—I really can't think of anything at the moment except maybe for this moment to last—and blew the two little candles out.

“I hope this is okay…” Griffin's voice sounded pleased, but the note of uncertainty was something Jim understood quite well. It was a gesture, a big one. He wanted it to go over well.

“Thank you,” Jim broke in, reaching to run his hand over Griffin's bare arm. “This might be the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a few dozen years.”

That
pleased Griffin immensely. He waved the cupcakes under Jim's nose, that look of goofy swagger reappearing.

“Eat your cupcakes.”

“Don't you get one?”

“Nah, I'm just gonna watch and be all pleased with myself, and then I'm going to lick the chocolate off your mouth.” Jim blinked; his hand stopped midway to the chocolate treat.

“I'm a very neat eater.” He smirked, taking the cupcake in hand. Bits of chocolate on his white sheets gave him a twitch normally, but he might just make the exception tonight.

“Then maybe I'll bounce on the bed to create smears.” Griffin stripped out of his unbuttoned jeans and got back into bed—with an extra bit of effort to try and dislodge the cupcake.

“Smears is not a sexy word.”

“Neither is crumbs, but admit it—the licking of the chocolate line, that was hot.”

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“Mmmph.” Jim bit the cupcake in half, the taste of artificial sugar exploding on his tongue. Heaven. And a good call. Most people would take a look at him and think all soy and no play, but nothing beat a chocolate treat made in a chemical plant sometimes.

He gave Griffin a sideways look and offered him a bite as he chewed.

“Okay, maybe just a taste.” Griffin smiled, leaning in to lick the bits of chocolate crumbs off Jim's fingers before biting into the moist cake.

Jim smirked as Griffin chewed with a blissful smile of his own. “Okay, the French food was nice, but damn if these cupcakes aren't good.”

“Little did you know, I'm a cheap date.” Jim broke the second cupcake in half and handed the other piece to Griffin, who didn't even protest.