Dance Wars: Encounter
Sophia Titheniel
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2008
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Dance Wars: Encounter
The lights flicker in the darkness of the room, drawing
dancing shadows on the bare walls, orange glow bouncing off miles of tangled,
sweaty limbs. Lachlan groans, turning his head to the side, tongue darting out
to lick at the soft stubble on the line of Adair’s jaw as he presses his chin
in the groove of his shoulder. Adair’s hands are splayed wide on Lachlan’s
hips, possessive. They burn brands into his pale skin, holding, guiding.
Mine, Adair says as his mouth drags down on the side
of Lachlan’s face, his nails scraping lightly over the dip of flesh and bone. Mine,
all mine.
Lachlan wants to answer, he does, wants to say yes
and yours and more, but he can’t even find his voice, throat
scraped raw with each shattered moan Adair’s wrung out of him with his fingers,
his lips, his cock. Like he never wanted to stop, never let him catch a God damn
breath, all his intent driven to make him scream, have him beg.
And Lachlan had begged. Begged to let him come, begged for again
and do it, do it, just do it, lost in a haze of pleasure that he’d come
to grow dependant on, more than any drug, any liquor, anything.
There was no rush, no thrill that could be even remotely
compared to this.
“Adair,” he begs again, and he doesn’t even know what for
this time. Adair’s name rolls off his tongue like a plea, a curse, a blessing,
and he twists up, arching against the solid body behind him, his teeth sinking
in the tendons of his neck. He wants to mark him, too, wants to leave his
imprint all over him, have him remember, see, feel his presence for days, even
after he’s gone.
Adair’s hands tighten on his hips, and he drags him down,
the thick head of his cock pushing past the slick, swollen ring of muscle, his
teeth pulling, twisting the tender skin of Lachlan’s shoulder until blood
floods to the surface, leaving a bite-shaped bruise to match the one on his
breastbone.
“Please,” Lachlan groans, a needy, ragged sound that heaves
out of his chest as if he’s in pain. He’s never been one to break, but then
again, he’s never been one to fall either.
Looks like Adair’s succeeding at both.
It had been a neat idea when it first crossed his mind. He
didn’t believe in Christmas, didn’t think it was worth all the hassle it
brought about, especially given the world they were living in, but a part of
him knew he said it only because he never had anyone to celebrate it with.
This time he has, and he wanted to. He’d wanted to, even
though it was nothing more than a can of soup and a chicken he doesn’t really
know how to cook, and when he’d walked in Adair’s cabin trying to be as quiet
and stealthy as he could to set up his surprise, he’d found him sorting through
a pack of candles, several of them already lit around the single-roomed hut, a
can of soup standing proud in the middle of the rickety round table. Set for
two.
Adair had looked up at him in shock, and it had brought a
laugh out of Lachlan to see his bad, scary werewolf looking all
deer-in-headlights, much like a child caught in a wrongdoing, and then scowling
at him for sneaking up on him.
Neither of them had admitted to wanting to celebrate
Christmas, and both of them claimed it was all coincidence, but they still had
their ‘fancy’ dinner, the light of the candles playing with the silver of Adair’s
eyes, making them shine as though it was close to full moon already.
Somehow Lachlan will get back to Washington by then. He’d see the light of the wolf’s irises, feel his thick fur under his fingertips as he held him, the shadow of the moon slowly waning and painting his body back to human in Lachlan’s arms.
He tosses his head back now, finds those eyes staring at
him, heavy lidded and hued with lust. He lifts his arms sluggishly, as though
underwater, and wraps them around Adair’s neck, fingers tangling in messy dark
curls, mouth searching, covering Adair’s for a sloppy, hard kiss.
One of Adair’s hands shift from his hip, travels up his
side, robbing him of breath as he pinches the hard, sensitive nub of his
nipple, and he grins, the bastard, lips pulling up against Lachlan’s before
sliding down his jawline, peppering it with nibs and licks. “So fucking
sensitive,” Adair whispers as he does it again, twirling it between thumb and
forefinger, tearing another moan from Lachlan’s throat. “Could wait all night
just to hear the sounds you make. Could come just like this.”
Lachlan whimpers and tries to rock back on the huge dick
splitting him apart, his own cock leaking hard and heavy on his belly, long
sticky ropes of precome that Adair rubs into his abs with the tips of his
fingers.
“Adair,” he begs again, eyes filled with exhausted tears,
the stretch and burn not enough to get him off, not nearly enough, desperate
for Adair’s hard, thick shaft to slam home inside of him, to fuck him until he
can’t even mount his bike. “Please, Adair --”
“Soon,” is Adair’s rough answer, and Lachlan’s thighs quiver
with strain and anticipation. He watches, dazedly, as Adair reaches around to
grab the nearest candle, the flickering flame threatening to go out as he
brings it closer, lets it hover for a split second above Lachlan’s chest before
tipping it a fraction of an inch as he cants his hips up, filling Lachlan up to
the core in one fluid thrust.
“Oh God, oh God, fuck, more,” Lachlan babbles wantonly, arms
reaching around Adair’s waist to grab hold of his thighs and force him closer,
deeper, the shock of being finally full coupled with the impact of the
scorching droplets on his perspiration-slick skin flooding through him like
electricity.
Adair smiles again, licks a figure eight on Lachlan’s neck
as he murmurs unintelligibly in his skin. He draws back, his fingers leaving
Adair’s hip to smear the wax into his skin, up his abs, over his nipples, his
groan echoing Lachlan’s own.
“So hot, so fucking hot, Lachlan,” he draws lines over his
chest, the exquisite burn going straight to Lachlan’s groin, and he can’t
speak, can’t think, can barely breathe, rolling back on Adair’s cock, matching
his short, hard thrusts as best he can. His neglected dick aches and leaks
copiously with every fat, blazing drop that falls down the symmetry line of his
torso, in torturing counterpoint to the merciless pounding of his prostrate.
Sweat trickles down his hairline into his eyes and he blinks it away, looking
up in Adair’s smoldering gray eyes, hair plastered damp on his forehead. “Adair,”
he breathes out, flexing his fingers on Adair’s ass as he fights to get him
deeper, melting against him. “Please -- gotta -- please!”
Mine! Lachlan could read it in Adair’s eyes, and when
the first droplet of wax hit his pounding dick, his world blacked out with a
yell. His whole body convulsed violently in Adair’s hold, back rigid and taut
like a bowstring as he came without an hand on his dick, white, pearly spurts covering
his chest and blending with the cooling wax in a sticky, flaring mess.
“Mine,” Adair growled in his ear as he rammed into him
erratically, both hands firm on Lachlan’s hips now as he draws him back in
every thrust, balls slapping wetly against the back of his ass. “Lachlan -- God
-- Godfuckingdamnit, Lachlan!”
Lachlan clenches down hard on him, nails raking down Adair’s
thighs, and that’s all it takes for Adair to lose it, smothering a howl in the
reddened skin of Lachlan’s throat as he fills him up with his spunk.
They collapse sideways like a castle of cards, legs and arms
askew, Adair’s nose buried in the soft blond hair on Lachlan’s nape, Lachlan’s
fingers resting above Adair’s forearms. Neither of them speak for a moment, too
occupied trying to regain their breath, listen to the drumming beat of their
hearts.
“Yours,” Lachlan whispers, thinking he could blame it on
post-orgasmic-bliss come harsh morning light. “Yours.”
Adair doesn’t answer, but Lachlan feels his lips move between his shoulder blades, painting the same word over and over, until Lachlan feels it tattooed under his skin. “Merry Christmas,” he then says out loud, softly sliding out of Lachlan’s body before turning him over to face him.
Lachlan smiles this time, doesn’t scoff and pretend. “Merry
Christmas.”