Patrick could feel Jono’s breath against the skin of his stomach, and he moaned when Jono swallowed. The tight constriction around his cock that came and went had him tightening his hold on Jono’s hair. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to yank Jono off or drag him closer, and settled for just holding on as Jono took him apart with embarrassing ease.
“Is this because we didn’t get a lie-in today and now I’m leaving?” Patrick gasped out, hips circling to push his cock deeper into the wet, willing heat of Jono’s mouth.
Jono pulled off him, which wasn’t what Patrick wanted at all, and he tugged pointedly at Jono’s hair. Jono huffed out a laugh, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of Patrick’s cock.
“I want the god pack in Chicago to know who you belong to when you go before them.”
Patrick shivered at those words, moaning loudly when Jono dragged his tongue up the length of his cock before sucking at the tip. “Pretty sure that won’t be a problem.”
Jono didn’t respond, choosing instead to swallow Patrick back down. Patrick pressed his shoulders against the door, fingers tightening on Jono’s hair and shoulder. He swore when Jono tugged on his balls, playing with them. Warmth pooled in his belly as everything narrowed down to his cock and Jono’s mouth and how badly he wanted to come.
The apartment felt almost too warm, but Patrick figured it was just him. He tried to thrust deeper into Jono’s mouth, but Jono pressed his hips against the door, pinning him in place. Patrick whimpered, half curling over Jono as his cock throbbed between Jono’s lips.
It was easy to let go like this, to let Jono draw out his pleasure with lips and tongue and the knowing touch of his hands. Jono knew what Patrick liked, what made him come apart at the seams, and it wasn’t long before he was coming down Jono’s throat, shivering through his orgasm.
“Jono.”
Moments like this—safe in Jono’s hands—felt like a prayer when Patrick didn’t believe in them.
Jono pulled off and rose to his feet, still holding Patrick’s softening cock in one hand. At some point he’d undone his own jeans, and his hard cock pressed against Patrick’s stomach, making a mess on his skin. Patrick let his forehead fall against Jono’s shoulder as Jono started to jerk himself off, breathing in the smell of them.
Jono shifted against him, and Patrick lifted his head, breath catching in his throat when Jono’s teeth scraped against the side of his neck. The pressure sharpened but didn’t break skin when Jono came, hot cum falling over Patrick’s spent cock. He hissed when Jono rubbed it into his sensitive skin, smearing it over his balls.
“I’m not flying with your dried cum on me,” Patrick muttered.
Jono licked at his throat, the touch making Patrick wish they had more time to get undressed and mess up the bed.
“You can shower. My scent will still be on you.”
Patrick tugged Jono down for a kiss that tasted like a mix of both of them. When they broke apart, Patrick gently scratched at the back of Jono’s neck. “Pack my suitcase?”
“Of course.” Jono pressed a kiss against his temple. “Love you.”
Life was easier these days with someone else to lean on. Patrick didn’t know what he’d find in Chicago, but he knew home would be waiting for him when he came back.
Patrick shoved the TSA badge, a set of janitor keys, someone’s paper boarding pass, and a lanyard with LaGuardia printed on it into his jacket pocket, fingertips glowing from a look-away ward. Sparks of his magic twisted through the air in their immediate area as the ward directed everyone’s attention away from them.
“I told you to keep your hands to yourself when we went through security,” Patrick hissed.
“Maybe people shouldn’t leave stuff lying around waiting for someone to take it,” Wade muttered.
“They were wearing the damn things!”
Wade shrugged, gaze darting around as they walked through O’Hare, apparently unrepentant of his thieving ways. “I want a hot dog.”
Patrick rolled his eyes and kept walking. “I spent fifty dollars on the plane feeding you. Can we get out of O’Hare first?”
“But Chicago Style Hot Dogs is right there.”
Wade’s wheedling was the tone of a starving, dramatic teenager who wouldn’t be deterred. Patrick didn’t want to deal with a long ride into downtown Chicago listening to Wade whine about how hungry he was.
“Fine. Get your hot dog. I’ll be waiting right here.”
Wade ran off like the hounds of hell were after him, backpack bouncing on his shoulders. Patrick grabbed the handle of Wade’s carry-on and dragged it with him out of the way of people rushing back and forth. It was late, and while Patrick was hungry, he wanted to get to the hotel first. He hated airport food. Room service wasn’t much better, but he could at least order delivery at a hotel.
Patrick rubbed at his chest, frowning as the knit of his sweater scraped over his scars. The soulbond was muted in his soul the way it always was when he traveled, only it seemed stretched thinner and tighter this trip. He figured it was the distance—almost half a country was farther than half a state. He just hoped it wouldn’t be a problem.
Ten minutes later, Wade returned, holding a paper bag that already had bright yellow mustard staining the sides. He had a half-eaten hot dog in one hand and looked pleased with himself as he took another bite, losing a bit of neon green relish off the side. Luckily, it fell into the paper wrapper the hot dog rested on and not the floor.
“Happy now?” Patrick asked as he grabbed the handles of both their carry-ons and started walking.
“I got six, so yeah.”
“Consider that your dinner.”
“What? No! I’m still getting room service.”
“The government won’t pay for it.”
“You can pay for it.”
Patrick snorted. “No, I won’t.”
“So does that mean I’m getting my own room?”
“No. You’re staying
