“That’s it, sweetheart.” Sullivan’s other hand was stroking the tormented skin of his ass, the sensations immense and awful and wonderful all at once. “Give it up for me.”
He was on the verge of coming, Tobias realized. He was rocking into the bed, dick dragging against the fabric, and he wanted nothing more than to have Sullivan closer for when he came, close enough to touch and hold on to.
“You!” he cried.
Sullivan’s hands paused. “What about me?”
“Want you.”
“You have me. I’m right here.”
“No—” His mouth wouldn’t work. Words seemed to take years to make it from his brain to his lips. “Want you. Here. Inside me.”
“Tobias...”
“Fuck me,” he managed, and that, that was what he wanted. “Please, please fuck me. Please?”
“All right,” Sullivan soothed, pressing his forehead against Tobias’s shoulder. “Shh, all right. Give me a moment. I’ll be out of sight, but I’m not leaving you.”
Tobias knew that on some level that he didn’t question. Sullivan knew he didn’t like being left, and Sullivan wouldn’t leave. Tobias could be angry, he could shove and yell and curse at Sullivan, he could push back and be...be bad and mean and immature, and Sullivan wouldn’t leave. Sullivan would listen and understand and when Tobias needed to push, Sullivan would push back and push harder, he’d double down and take Tobias in hand and break down any wall between them until Tobias was here and small and safe and quiet and—
And Sullivan still wouldn’t leave.
Tobias buried his face in the bed, the fabric damp against his skin, and at the sound of Sullivan coming back, the crinkle of a condom wrapper being opened a second later, he said into the blankets, “Please, Sullivan,” all over again.
“Shh, sweetheart. I’m here. I’ll give you what you need.” Sullivan’s strong thighs pushed his own wider apart, and the head of his dick, hard and hot, pressed against his rim. “Anything you need.”
Sullivan slid in on a single stroke, balls deep, coming to rest against Tobias’s impossibly sore buttocks. He gave Tobias time to adjust to the thickness, and his eventual thrusts were slow, small rocking pulses of his hips. They drove his dick directly into Tobias’s prostate, ground his pelvis against Tobias’s burning skin, and it was excruciatingly good, the pleasure and pain mixing, warm and heady and filling him up. He couldn’t move or think. He could only lie there, open and willing, and let Sullivan use him, trust Sullivan to take care of him in turn.
He felt Sullivan’s fingers trembling against his skin, felt Sullivan’s lips brush against his ear and shoulders and neck, heard Sullivan whisper his name in a shaking voice, and thought, he feels it too.
* * *
“You don’t have to be what they want,” Sullivan said, much, much later into the darkness. “You know that, don’t you? You don’t have to be what I want, either. There’s nothing wrong with being what you want.”
Tobias was cuddled up beside him, sleepy and spent and boneless. Even after the cooling gel applied to the welts on his ass and thighs and an hour of cuddling and The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, the world still felt muted and dull compared to where he’d been, in that silence where he didn’t have to do anything or be anything. The whole world apart from Sullivan, that was, whose voice and hands and smell were the sun in the center of a cold universe.
“Isn’t there?” Tobias asked, because he’d spent the past two weeks coming to that realization, but it’d gone so wrong today that he couldn’t help doubting.
Sullivan’s arm tightened around him. “No.”
Tobias closed his eyes briefly at the certainty in that single word. “The last time I broke down like this was in high school. They sent me away. They sent me to Woodbury. I know why they’re scared. This looks the same way to them.”
“Maybe it does look the same,” Sullivan said quietly. “But there’s a difference between breaking down and breaking out. You can be happy without losing them. You just have to find the middle ground between getting your needs met and being a dick. You’ll figure it out.”
A car drove down the street, the headlamps casting orange boxes of light along the wall as it passed.
I love you, Tobias almost said, but he was so tired that he couldn’t decide if he meant it for right now or for always. That itch was gone, and he was alone in his head for the first time in what seemed like months, and it’d been an emotional night. They’d known each other for two weeks. No one fell in love in only two weeks. Tomorrow the feeling might be gone, and then where would that leave Sullivan? So Tobias didn’t say it.
But he wanted to.
Part Two
Chapter Eighteen
If only the boy would fall into place, things would be moving along nicely.
Benjamin Spratt drove past the gate and into the underground parking garage. He parked in one of his two spots—the other he reserved for guests—and took the stairs up to the street level. He exchanged pleasantries when he caught his next-door neighbor leaving to walk her prize show poodle. The animal didn’t attempt to sniff at his crotch or whine for treats as they spoke, which he appreciated. He didn’t mind pets when they were civilized. A well-trained creature was a thing of beauty.
He let himself into his townhome and locked the door behind him before resetting the alarm. He believed it was important for the chief of the Denver Police—interim now, but permanently in a matter of weeks—to live in the heartbeat of the city. And you didn’t get more Denver than Capitol Hill, which meant there was the occasional bout of crime as the rougher element mingled with the wealthy.
Spratt didn’t consider himself wealthy, despite the gleaming hardwood floors, fireplace, high ceilings or luxurious cream carpets. Those were perks, and unimportant ones at that. He
