red and swollen and gross and so were his eyes and his cheeks but Nikolai was still smiling at him like he was the most beautiful thing Nikolai had ever seen.
Dougie didn’t bother with words, partly because he didn’t really think he needed them—Nikolai knows everything, Nikolai always knows—but mostly because he was afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d just screw everything up, ruin this like he’d ruined everything else that’d ever mattered. No, he just tipped his chin up, leaned forward, put gentle pressure on Nikolai’s neck until Nikolai leaned forward too and their lips met, soft and hesitant at first and then hungry and hard and this was right, this felt right, and bit by bit as Nikolai kissed him the chasm in his chest filled, one piece after another, gratitude upon relief upon need upon, yes, even affection. He realized in that moment that he could love this man if he really tried, that he had it inside him, that the anger was gone and only need was left behind, need Nikolai could—wanted to—fill, and Dougie wanted so badly to trust him with that, to show Nikolai that Dougie could trust him, that he did.
“Please, sir,” he begged, and he was crying again, when had he started crying again? He pulled back, down, onto his elbows and knees, hands clutching fistfuls of Nikolai’s shirt, Nikolai’s boxers, nose nuzzling Nikolai’s crotch and Nikolai was hard for him, always hard for him because he wanted him, because he loved him, and this Dougie knew how to do, knew for certain he wouldn’t ruin because Nikolai had taught him so very patiently to do it right. “Please,” he moaned, mouthing Nikolai’s erection through the silk of his boxers. “I want . . .” No. Honesty. He wants you as you are. He wants your truth. “I need . . .”
And Nikolai understood, of course he did. He lifted his hips from the bed, let Dougie slide his boxers down and off, threaded gentle fingers into Dougie’s hair as Dougie cupped his balls in one hand and his shaft in the other and swallowed him down, sucked and licked and hummed just the way he knew Nikolai loved, and Nikolai petted his hair and moaned his name and Dougie swallowed every drop as Nikolai shot down his throat crying “Yes, yes Douglas, oh yes!” every word an affirmation, every word a declaration, every word saying Welcome home.
to be continued in the
flesh
#7: h o meco min g
heidi belleau
With Violetta Vane:
Mark of the Gladiator
Galway Bound
The Druid Stone
The War at the End of the World
Hawaiian Gothic
“Salting the Earth,” a short story in the anthology Like It or Not Cruce de Caminos
Harm Reduction
The Saturnalia Effect
Rear Entrance Video #1 (Coming Soon)
also by
rachel haimowitz
Power Play: Resistance, with Cat Grant Power Play: Awakening, with Cat Grant Master Class (Master Class, #1) Sublime: Collected Shorts (Master Class, #2) Counterpoint (Song of the Fallen, #1) Crescendo (Song of the Fallen, #2) Anchored (Belonging, #1)
Where He Belongs (Belonging, #2) Break and Enter, with Aleksandr Voinov
about the
Dougie didn’t bother with words, partly because he didn’t really think he needed them—Nikolai knows everything, Nikolai always knows—but mostly because he was afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d just screw everything up, ruin this like he’d ruined everything else that’d ever mattered. No, he just tipped his chin up, leaned forward, put gentle pressure on Nikolai’s neck until Nikolai leaned forward too and their lips met, soft and hesitant at first and then hungry and hard and this was right, this felt right, and bit by bit as Nikolai kissed him the chasm in his chest filled, one piece after another, gratitude upon relief upon need upon, yes, even affection. He realized in that moment that he could love this man if he really tried, that he had it inside him, that the anger was gone and only need was left behind, need Nikolai could—wanted to—fill, and Dougie wanted so badly to trust him with that, to show Nikolai that Dougie could trust him, that he did.
“Please, sir,” he begged, and he was crying again, when had he started crying again? He pulled back, down, onto his elbows and knees, hands clutching fistfuls of Nikolai’s shirt, Nikolai’s boxers, nose nuzzling Nikolai’s crotch and Nikolai was hard for him, always hard for him because he wanted him, because he loved him, and this Dougie knew how to do, knew for certain he wouldn’t ruin because Nikolai had taught him so very patiently to do it right. “Please,” he moaned, mouthing Nikolai’s erection through the silk of his boxers. “I want . . .” No. Honesty. He wants you as you are. He wants your truth. “I need . . .”
And Nikolai understood, of course he did. He lifted his hips from the bed, let Dougie slide his boxers down and off, threaded gentle fingers into Dougie’s hair as Dougie cupped his balls in one hand and his shaft in the other and swallowed him down, sucked and licked and hummed just the way he knew Nikolai loved, and Nikolai petted his hair and moaned his name and Dougie swallowed every drop as Nikolai shot down his throat crying “Yes, yes Douglas, oh yes!” every word an affirmation, every word a declaration, every word saying Welcome home.
to be continued in the
flesh
#7: h o meco min g
heidi belleau
With Violetta Vane:
Mark of the Gladiator
Galway Bound
The Druid Stone
The War at the End of the World
Hawaiian Gothic
“Salting the Earth,” a short story in the anthology Like It or Not Cruce de Caminos
Harm Reduction
The Saturnalia Effect
Rear Entrance Video #1 (Coming Soon)
also by
rachel haimowitz
Power Play: Resistance, with Cat Grant Power Play: Awakening, with Cat Grant Master Class (Master Class, #1) Sublime: Collected Shorts (Master Class, #2) Counterpoint (Song of the Fallen, #1) Crescendo (Song of the Fallen, #2) Anchored (Belonging, #1)
Where He Belongs (Belonging, #2) Break and Enter, with Aleksandr Voinov
about the
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