Bansi held me pinned, the wall at my back and his chest pressing against my front. I kept my legs banded about his hips and gripped his shoulders to take up some of my weight while his hands roamed over my sides. He pulled my shirt out from my trousers with a sharp tug, then slid his hands underneath and scraped his callused fingers over my skin. I shivered and arched beneath his touch, but there was nowhere to go but forward, pressing in harder against him.
"Gods. Fuck." He held me up with one hand curved under my thigh, and with the other he fumbled at the front of his trousers.
With my hands freed now, I reached for the front of my own trousers, worked them open and then worked a hand inside. Bansi stared down into the shadowed space between our bodies. When I groaned at the feel of my fingers on my cock, he sucked air through his teeth and shoved my legs off his hips.
As soon as my feet were under me, Bansi had his hands on my hips, pushing my trousers and underclothes down. He dropped to his knees as he swept them to the floor.
I let out an unsteady breath at the sight of him kneeling before me. Before I'd had a chance to reach for him, he leaned in and dragged his tongue along the underside of my cock.
I shut my eyes and dropped my head back against the wall, whispering a string of breathless profanity. Gods, I'd missed this. And I hated that I'd grown to depend upon it enough to miss it when it was gone, but not wanting it to be true didn't make it any less so.
He closed one hand around my shaft and stroked with a steady, driving rhythm as he worked his mouth over the head of my cock. He had always been good at this. Even the very first time, when we'd both been fumbling and awkward and new enough to each other that we still didn't know quite how to make our bodies work together in sync. Even then, he had pushed me down onto my back and taken me into his mouth and it had been incredible, right from the start. Time and familiarity had only increased his skill.
I pressed my hands flat to the wall behind me and curled them into slow fists, fingers scraping across the paneling at my back. He had already taken over half my length into his mouth, his hand twisting at the base of my cock as his tongue slid over tender skin. His cheeks hollowed out as he drew back to suck at the head, his tongue tracing maddening lines across my skin, and I pulled one hand from the wall to reach for him.
I felt as though I were swimming through treacle syrup, everything gone slow and heavy with the weight of my desire. He turned his face into my touch like a cat when I grazed my hand across his cheek, closed his lips on me and hummed around the head of my cock when I slid my fingers into his hair and grabbed onto it.
I swallowed back a cry and thrust up, pulling his mouth down onto my in the same motion, giving him more than he'd already taken on his own. He choked a little, pulled back a few inches and was moaning before I could even start to be concerned. And then he was swallowing me down, working to take more of me, to take it all, as though to make up for his initial failure. I moaned and slid my other hand along his jaw, too, pressed my thumb against his cheek until I could feel my own hardness through it.
And when Bansi had swallowed all of me, nose pressed low on my stomach and his lips stretched tight around the base of my cock, I tightened my fingers in his hair and fucked up against his mouth, forcing him to take just that little bit more. This time, he didn't choke at all, he just moaned like he loved it, and stared up at me with eyes gone glassy and dark with lust.
He pulled off of me, and coughed as I slid out but pressed his face against my skin straightaway and mouthed at my cock and my stomach and the skin stretched over my hip bones. "Renad. God, I love your cock." He returned to it as though drawn, lapped at it like it were a delicacy he hadn't the strength of will to resist and moaned happily. "I want you to fuck me."
I ran my tongue over my lip and loosened my fingers in his hair. "No. I liked what we were doing before." I hooked a hand under his arm and pulled him up to his feet. I hooked one leg around his, grabbed onto his shoulders and hitched myself up as much as I could manage. He grabbed onto me as he had before, fingers curving to slide up and up my thigh, but this time there was no fabric between us, just the heat of his skin on mine. I twisted, dragging my cock against his until he gasped and leaned me back against the wall for support. "I can't fuck you like this."
He pressed his open mouth to the side of my throat and groaned against my skin as he shifted his hands. He hitched me up even higher, pulled one of my legs around his waist to hold me there so he could press his fingers into the cleft of my ass.
I gasped out more profanity when he found my entrance. His fingertips pressed, blunt and dry and just a little too broad to be taken easily. Usually Bansi was the one who liked it too hard, too fast, too dry. But today, the ache of it made me want to loosen my legs around him and let my weight settle down until he'd filled me properly. He was holding back. Trying not to hurt me, I was sure.
"All right," Bansi groaned, muffled by my skin and my hair. "All right, I'll-- Gods and devils."
He held me up with one arm while he brought his other hand up and spat in it. When his fingers returned, they were slick and warm. I pressed down against the pressure of one broad fingertip at my entrance and this time, he slid into me up to the first knuckle.
It had been six months. It wasn't easy. But I wanted him fiercely, and I wanted him in me, because this was a nicer way to feel than furious, and I didn't seem to have room in me for anything other than the two.
"Fuck me, Ban," I growled in between biting kisses left along the sharp angle of his jaw. "I want you to fuck me."
He groaned, and his lips moved on a silent oath, or prayer. "Wait. Just wait. I will."
"Now." I tightened my legs around him. The movement forced me down, lower, pressing against his hand. He choked back a desperate sound and moved with me so that, in the end, he wasn't any deeper in me than he had been before. I bit him harder in protest and dragged my cock against his instead.
"Wait, Ren. Just one minute. Let me..."
I knew what he meant. He wanted the smooth, liquid glide of our bodies together. He wanted me to stand here and wait while he slicked me up and worked me open with an attention to detail that I'd have appreciated, in any other context. He'd drive me mad with desire and delayed pleasure if he had his way, but that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted a fast, hard burn that lit me up from the inside out.
"Let me." I held my hand up, fingers cupped. He spat into it, watching me through heavy, half-lidded eyes. It made me shiver, hard enough to wonder if it had been a mistake. It was intimate, the sort of thing we'd have done without a thought when we'd still been together, but now...
I shook off the discomfort and worked my hand in between our bodies. He held me back, hips pressed flush against the wall and just enough space between us that I could grasp his cock and slick it with his own saliva.
He flexed his hips, sliding through my grip. I batted away the hands that held me pinned against the wall, looped my arms around his neck and hitched myself up. He steadied me with a hand on the small of my back, the other on his cock, guiding it so that when I lowered myself, he pressed into me.
The finger he'd started with had done little to prepare me for his true girth. The ache as my body stretched to accommodate him was ferocious, but the feeling of being filled, being slowly opened, was even better. I dropped my head back against the wall, gasping as the intensity of it made sweat break out across my skin.
"Ren." Bansi covered my face in desperate kisses. "Ren? Are you all right? Am I--"
"I'm fine." I dug my heels into his lower back, urging him in closer, deeper. "I'm-- Gods."
He pressed his mouth to the soft spot behind my jaw. His tongue flicked over my skin, making me shiver and grip him tighter. His hips flexed into mine with rapid, shallow nudges, driving him deeper by fractions of degrees. I was gasping, crying out at the ornate ceiling overhead, too overcome to care. When Bansi dragged his mouth across my cheek, leaving hungry, open-mouthed kisses as he went, I could do no more than bury a hand in his hair and hold him against me so he wouldn't stop.
I couldn't even say that I didn't realize what he was about. His mouth inched closer to mine like he thought that if he went slow enough, I wouldn't notice. I feebly tried to turn my face from his, to prevent it. But his hands were chasing over my skin, stroking my nipples and sliding down to grip my cock, and he was so close to burying himself in me completely that I couldn't breathe for wanting it, so when he tangled his fingers in my hair and guided my mouth to his, I didn't do anything but groan into the kiss and grab onto him tighter.
He made a tortured sound against my lips. His fingers closed on the back of my neck, thumbs braced against my jaw to tilt my face up to him. And with a sound like a man who had died and found grace, he swept his tongue into my mouth and plundered it, devoured it.
I moaned brokenly. His hips continued to nudge into mine, and he was so close, so close. I ached where I stretched around him and it still wasn't enough. I wanted all of him, wanted everything. I wanted him to burn me up until all I could think of was the pleasure singing through my body.
He loosened one hand on my neck and trailed it down, fingers tracing over my throat, my collarbone, kneading across my chest and sweeping a thumb across my nipple. "Gods, Ren," he moaned into my mouth, broken and undone.
"Fuck me." I grabbed handfuls of his hair and wrenched at them. He gasped and drove his hips into me a little deeper, a little sharper. "Bansi, fuck me."
He moved his hand down to my hip. The other still gripped the back of my neck, like he thought -- knew -- that if he let me end this kiss, I'd never give him the chance for another. The hand on my hip grabbed on hard enough to bruise and jerked me forward, onto his cock. I gasped, my back bowing at the suddenness of it, and he lapped the shocked cry from my tongue before I could give voice it.
When he drew back, he had to hold me away to keep me from following after him, forcing him deep and holding him there. The muscles in his arms strained, shaking just as hard as I was. The emptiness he left as he withdrew was all the more bittersweet because I knew he meant to fill it up again, and it was going to be amazing when he did.
He drew out, out and out and out, until a spike of panic went through me and I started to wonder if he meant to slide out of me entirely.
When only the head of his cock remained inside me and I was clawing at him in a panic, Bansi stilled. He shifted his grip on my hips and drew a breath. I tensed in anticipation.
He thrust into me, a slow stroke but one that didn't end until he was buried as deep in me as he could go. I panted against his mouth and bit at his lips and didn't care at all that we were kissing like drowning men, like the only way we could breathe was through each other.
The next stroke was harder. It slammed my hips back and rocked me against the wall. I whimpered and twisted, frantic for more, but I was caught between Bansi's broad strength in front of me and the unmoving solidity of the wall behind me. I was pinned, and it drove me mad. I wanted to throw him on the floor, brace my knees on either side of his hips, and ride him until neither of us had the strength to move a muscle. I wanted more. I bit down on the fleshy part of Bansi's lip and growled, "Come on, Ban. Make me feel it."
He choked off a sound that might have been laughter, or a groan, or something caught somewhere in between. His fingers bit into me even deeper. I was going to be bruised in the morning, and that was just as I wanted it. I wanted to feel it, not just now but later. I wanted to stagger out of here, sore and breathless and a little dazed. Maybe if he fucked me that well, and I came that hard, I'd be able to resist him a bit longer, later. Maybe I wouldn't find myself dragging him down behind my counter in the middle of the day because I was too hot to wait until we'd found somewhere more decorous.
With his next stroke, Bansi's hips slammed into mine. I cried out at the jolt of sensation. My fingers scrambled at him, digging for purchase. He was going to be bruised in the morning, too, and I was pleased by that as well. I grabbed him, hands splayed on either side of his head, and dragged him back into a messy, desperate kiss. "Yes," I growled against his mouth. "That. More."
More was exactly what he gave me. With one arm a solid band behind my back and the other buried in my hair, he tipped us both back against the wall and fucked into me with solid, powerful thrusts of his hips. Each one knocked the breath out of me, and every time I drew new air into my lungs to replace it, it tasted like Bansi.
I loosed one hand from where it had grabbed on to him and worked it down between our bodies. I had to cant my hips to make room for me between us, but that just made the angle sharper, better. I grasped my cock, stroked it with a frantic rhythm, and moaned wildly against Bansi's mouth.
I came in half a dozen strokes, maybe less. It gripped me like a fist, wrung me out and left me boneless, shaking. I had to tear my mouth from Bansi's, gasping for breath. He still moved in me, driving into me, and mouthed along my throat in the absence of my kiss.
I tilted my head back to rest against the wall. A lethargic ease washed over me that made it hard to hold on to him, hard to remain tight and tense when the rest of me felt liquid and soft.
Bansi hitched me up against him, the muscles in his arms straining to keep me up. His hips pistoned into me, and it was flirting with my limits, teasing along the edge of too much. But this was what I had wanted. I had wanted to feel it, so I looped my arms around his neck, held on as hard as I could manage, and bit down on his shoulder until he came, with a hoarse shout and a shudder that went all through him.
The air burned through my lungs as I drew great, gasping breaths. Bansi leaned in heavily against me, pressing me flat between him and the wall. That only made it more difficult to breathe, made my ribs creak and ache at the pressure, but it seemed a fitting end to what had come before. I felt as though, if I closed my eyes, I could drift off in any number of directions at once, but the weight of Bansi against me kept me grounded, kept me stable. I pushed my fingers through his hair and took a simple, visceral pleasure in the way the strands were damp with sweat, and sticky from it. They clung and wrapped around my fingers like even that part of Bansi didn't want to let me go.
When I let my legs slide down from around his hips, he made a low noise that might have been protest or regret. He had his head bent, his hair tumbling forward so I couldn't see his face, and I was enjoying this moment of sated ease too well to chase after that sound and identify it.
He withdrew from me, when I braced my hands on his hips and pressed him back. I shivered at the feel of him sliding out, at the sudden emptiness and the slight sting. He made that same sound, and moved in as soon as we were parted to crowd me back against the wall once more. He pressed his brow to the middle of my chest, so all I could see was the crown of his head, and made that same sound again.
I sighed, and tipped my head up to stare at the ceiling above us, and wondered how long I would have to enjoy this before he made things unpleasant.
"Ren," he murmured. His lips brushed the skin above my breastbone, half caress and half tickle.
I shut my eyes. So not even a moment, then. "What is it?"
He lifted his head. I'd thought he was getting emotional and overwrought, but his eyes shone, and a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "It isn't even the week's end."
I laughed weakly, helplessly, and hated him a little for it. "Gods." I pushed at his shoulders until he moved back, allowing me room to slip out from where he had pinned me. "Shut up. I hate you."
"No, you don't."
The plain, quiet way he said it made me stop and look back at him. Something twisted beneath my breastbone, hard enough to hurt. He wasn't right, I told myself. But though I didn't say it, didn't even dare to think it, I knew he wasn't wrong either. I didn't hate him, not the way I had before. I didn't know what I felt, and I disliked that uncertainty more than anything else.
I snatched up my clothes and dressed with brisk, efficient motions. Bansi pulled his trousers up and belted them, then leaned back against the wall and watched me bare-chested. I frowned at the scraps of his shirt that littered the floor and wished I hadn't been so thoughtless. How was I supposed to walk through the city beside him now and not combust from the embarrassment?
"I have to go," I said, short and sharp with my back to him so I didn't have to look at his bare chest or the easy way he lounged against the wall, like he already owned it.
"No, you don't."
I stiffened, sucked air through my teeth. Suddenly it was easier to identify what I felt for him, and it was much closer to hate than it had been a few moments before. "You don't get to decide that."
I turned, shoulders squared and hands curled tight, ready for a battle. But he was still lounging, shoulders against the paneling where I'd left him like he didn't have the strength or the will to move, like he was perfectly happy just leaning against someone else's wall and watching me with that enigmatic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"I cleared your schedule," he said. "And you haven't told me what you think of the house."
"I have. You weren't listening."
He raised his brows at me and just waited.
I blew my breath out just as sharply as I'd sucked it in a moment ago. "It's too big. What do you need all this space for? It's a waste of money. You could find a nice place in the lower city for a fraction of what this'll cost you, if you were willing to forego your gilt trim and wainscoting. It's just ego, is what it is. You want to be able to look about and see all this finery and smile to yourself that you have what others aspire to." I broke off. He was smiling now, just the way I was talking about. Small and secretly pleased. "What?"
"You want me to live in the lower city?"
The realization of what I'd said, what I'd inadvertently suggested, settled over me like a lead mantle. I drew a careful breath and willing my hands not to clench into fists. "No," I said slowly, distinctly, so I would be clear. "You know what I want."
His smile spread, turned sharp and flashed teeth. "I have an idea," he said. "Do you?"
He was just baiting me. Of course I knew my own desires. I gave the question the response it deserved, which was none at all. "It's a fine house, if that's the sort of thing you like. I'm sure it will suit you quite nicely. I don't know what else you might want from me, Bansi. There are other people you could ask for advice, if that's what you want. People you could hire, whose job it is to know these things, who can look at a home like this and judge its worth."
He scoffed. His gaze pinned me like a needle from across the room. "Those people aren't you, Ren."
I turned my back to him. "I have to go," I said again.
The rustle of cloth and scuff of his shoes on the floor meant he was moving. I stiffened in the instant before he ran an easy caress across my waist, a slight squeeze, like we were friends. "I'll walk you home."
"That isn't necessary." Please don't, I wanted to say, but the words stuck in my throat like sugar syrup.
His smile flashed, just on the edge of my vision, but it wasn't his usual bright, overconfident sort. It seemed gentler, more sincere. I turned my gaze away, so I couldn't see it. "I don't do it out of obligation." His arm slid more securely around my waist. His skin was a brand against my back, scalding even with the barrier of my shirt between us. His fingers hooked around my waist and pressed into the skin of my stomach. I felt like a fish caught on a line. It took everything in me not to thrash like one.
It was easier, just to let him do as he liked. To allow him to walk me home, to suffer his hand at my waist and his idle chatter, to endure the implication that we were lovers still, as we'd been before. This was always what he did, wore me down by slow degrees until it was easier just to let him have or do what he wanted. It made nausea push at my throat, but I endured that, too, and kept my gaze down on the street passing beneath my boots as we walked, and he chattered on.
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