body.
His lover’s slick skin slipped over his, hot, and the quick current arced sweet pleasure. It couldn’t be long. Already the thick ache in his balls promised a fast release. And Frost, Frost had controlled himself for too long. His loss of control was there in the tremor rippling through the muscles in his arms and his low moans.
His stroke changed. Harder. Faster. Mason broke his mouth free, his hand working his dick, wanting to share his release with Frost. He watched him, held his gaze. More intimate than the tangle of their bodies, the rub of sweat or him buried so hard inside.
Mason saw the building desire reflected in Frost’s eyes. The taut line of his body, the erratic strokes... So close. They were both so very close...
Frost buried his face against Mason’s neck, teeth catching his skin, and stroked deep. The pleasure-pain of it charged Mason’s bones, his flesh, chasing blistering heat and intense joy. Fire and white-hot light flashed and melted every thought in his skull, and he clung to Frost’s damp body.
Mason held him as he trembled in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He pressed a kiss to his hot shoulder, the salt taste of his skin delicious on his tongue. “Frost...”
His lover shivered and let out a long sigh, running a tingle under Mason’s skin. “I have to move, don’t I?”
“You have me wrapped in a knot.”
Frost’s low laughter followed and slowly he eased himself free. Mason stretched out his body, surprised to find no cramps, no aches, simply the pleasurable hum lingering in his flesh.
Frost brushed back the sweaty tangles of Mason’s hair, his thumb stroking over his cheek. Mason wanted to see something more in his eyes, but he found unfamiliar hesitation. It dug a new pain into his heart. “Was it enough?”
A dark smile pulled at Frost’s mouth and the familiar hint of wickedness shone in his gaze. “No.” His lover’s lips ghosted his, and the fresh stir of want moved through Mason’s body. Frost pushed him into the mattress, pinning him there with sure strength. His face fell into shadow. “And we are, as yet, far from dead.”
* * *
Mason stared into the grey-lit darkness, his altered sight picking out the hands on the clock. Just before five in the morning. Frost’s arms were tight around him, his breath stirring the hair at the nape of his neck, his thigh pushed hard between Mason’s own. The even thud of his heart, slow and precise, beat in time with his. It was comforting and at the same time painful.
They had lost the night in a haze of passion, their alien-made bodies never tiring and so sensitive to the slightest stir of breath or the play of fingers...
Mason closed his eyes, denying a fresh wave of want. It was the morning. The day they died. He eased himself free of Frost’s fierce hold, unable to hold back a smile as the man tugged at Mason’s still-warm pillow and pressed his face into it.
The smile faded. He still hadn’t told Frost he loved him. He doubted now he ever would. Turning away, he padded into the narrow bathroom and closed the door.
Mason twisted the spoked tap on the ceramic surround of the bath. Water gushed in and he climbed over the edge. Hot, cold, it made little difference to his skin at that moment. Now he’d wash Frost from him, his scent, his touch, disappearing down the gurgling plughole.
He ran the hard cake of amber soap over his skin, the familiar scent of thyme rising in the damp air. It did little to ease the ache in his gut. He washed quickly and dried his too-clean skin.
Frost had admitted nothing, nothing more than an obvious desire. Mason had caught the shadow of hesitation more than once, and his instincts, so sharp, had screamed it was all to do with his promise to Theodora.
Wishing he could shiver in the cold room, he lathered his shaving brush, sweeping it over his face with practiced strokes. A moment later, he stretched the skin on his jaw and scraped the razor over the bristles. The sound of
His lover’s slick skin slipped over his, hot, and the quick current arced sweet pleasure. It couldn’t be long. Already the thick ache in his balls promised a fast release. And Frost, Frost had controlled himself for too long. His loss of control was there in the tremor rippling through the muscles in his arms and his low moans.
His stroke changed. Harder. Faster. Mason broke his mouth free, his hand working his dick, wanting to share his release with Frost. He watched him, held his gaze. More intimate than the tangle of their bodies, the rub of sweat or him buried so hard inside.
Mason saw the building desire reflected in Frost’s eyes. The taut line of his body, the erratic strokes... So close. They were both so very close...
Frost buried his face against Mason’s neck, teeth catching his skin, and stroked deep. The pleasure-pain of it charged Mason’s bones, his flesh, chasing blistering heat and intense joy. Fire and white-hot light flashed and melted every thought in his skull, and he clung to Frost’s damp body.
Mason held him as he trembled in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He pressed a kiss to his hot shoulder, the salt taste of his skin delicious on his tongue. “Frost...”
His lover shivered and let out a long sigh, running a tingle under Mason’s skin. “I have to move, don’t I?”
“You have me wrapped in a knot.”
Frost’s low laughter followed and slowly he eased himself free. Mason stretched out his body, surprised to find no cramps, no aches, simply the pleasurable hum lingering in his flesh.
Frost brushed back the sweaty tangles of Mason’s hair, his thumb stroking over his cheek. Mason wanted to see something more in his eyes, but he found unfamiliar hesitation. It dug a new pain into his heart. “Was it enough?”
A dark smile pulled at Frost’s mouth and the familiar hint of wickedness shone in his gaze. “No.” His lover’s lips ghosted his, and the fresh stir of want moved through Mason’s body. Frost pushed him into the mattress, pinning him there with sure strength. His face fell into shadow. “And we are, as yet, far from dead.”
* * *
Mason stared into the grey-lit darkness, his altered sight picking out the hands on the clock. Just before five in the morning. Frost’s arms were tight around him, his breath stirring the hair at the nape of his neck, his thigh pushed hard between Mason’s own. The even thud of his heart, slow and precise, beat in time with his. It was comforting and at the same time painful.
They had lost the night in a haze of passion, their alien-made bodies never tiring and so sensitive to the slightest stir of breath or the play of fingers...
Mason closed his eyes, denying a fresh wave of want. It was the morning. The day they died. He eased himself free of Frost’s fierce hold, unable to hold back a smile as the man tugged at Mason’s still-warm pillow and pressed his face into it.
The smile faded. He still hadn’t told Frost he loved him. He doubted now he ever would. Turning away, he padded into the narrow bathroom and closed the door.
Mason twisted the spoked tap on the ceramic surround of the bath. Water gushed in and he climbed over the edge. Hot, cold, it made little difference to his skin at that moment. Now he’d wash Frost from him, his scent, his touch, disappearing down the gurgling plughole.
He ran the hard cake of amber soap over his skin, the familiar scent of thyme rising in the damp air. It did little to ease the ache in his gut. He washed quickly and dried his too-clean skin.
Frost had admitted nothing, nothing more than an obvious desire. Mason had caught the shadow of hesitation more than once, and his instincts, so sharp, had screamed it was all to do with his promise to Theodora.
Wishing he could shiver in the cold room, he lathered his shaving brush, sweeping it over his face with practiced strokes. A moment later, he stretched the skin on his jaw and scraped the razor over the bristles. The sound of
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