“Is this all right?” Jory asked, and Mal really wished he hadn’t, because he’d been quite happy ignoring the question and enjoying the moment.
But, shit, it was just a fucking cuddle. Not even with both arms. Tash gave him cuddles that were more full-on than this, and there’d been nothing dodgy going on there cos Mal liked his balls where they were, ta very much. “’S fine,” he said, relaxing into it a bit.
Jory let out a breath and squeezed him tighter.
“Fuck, I want you.” It sort of slipped out without Mal meaning it to, and when he saw the look on Jory’s face, there was no way he was going to take it back. And, well, he liked Jory. A fuck of a lot.
One little shag wasn’t going to hurt, was it? Him and Dev had screwed around back when both of them were single, and it hadn’t ruined anything. They were still best mates. Tash was right. Life was too short.
Yeah. One little shag would be fine. Mal closed the last bit of remaining distance between them, pulling Jory fully into his arms. He felt great there—warm and solid. And he smelled fucking awesome, a hint of fresh sweat from scrambling down the tunnel all mingled in with the briny sea smell that got into everything round here. Mal nuzzled into his neck, wanting more of it, and Jory tightened his grip round Mal’s waist before lying back in the sand, taking Mal with him.
Oh yeah. Mal was half-hard already, and when he felt the thick, hot ridge digging into his hip, he was all the way there quicker than you could say, Fuck me, those tights don’t hide nothing. He ground down on it, and Jory groaned, which turned Mal on even more, like a feedback loop which was going to end up busting the eardrums of the world. He kissed Jory roughly, biting his lip and shoving in some tongue. Jory tasted wicked, like cider and pickle and pirates. Mal wanted to eat him whole.
Strong hands were kneading Mal’s arse like it was made of dough. Fuck, he wanted those fingers inside him. He scrabbled at his zip, desperate to get his jeans undone.
Jory breathed a word or two that could have been, Oh God, and then the world flipped, and Mal was on his back, Jory looming over him like the hottest fantasy he’d ever had. And seriously, all that education was definitely good for something, cos Jory had Mal’s jeans open and shoved down his hips in about 0.3 seconds flat. And, and he’d somehow got his own dick out, fuck knew how, magic maybe, and they were pressed together with Jory’s big hand wrapped around them both, and Jesus, Mal was gonna die.
It was all going to be over way too soon, so Mal summoned up the dregs of his willpower and pushed Jory a few inches away. “Wanna suck you.”
Jory took a deep, deep breath, then rolled off Mal and onto his back on the sand.
Mal raised himself up onto his elbow and drank in the sight. Christ, he was amazing. But not nearly naked enough.
Jory narrowed his eyes. “Need directions?”
“Nope. Just waiting for you to get that shirt off.” Mal stripped his own T-shirt off, in case Jory needed a visual cue, and yeah, that seemed to work cos seconds later he was gazing in lust at the glory that was Jory’s chest. It was, like, all muscle, except for a healthy amount of hair that Mal had the weirdest idea he wanted to floss his teeth with.
Maybe he wouldn’t mention that bit out loud.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed instead, and fuck him if Jory’s nipples didn’t tighten as he said it. Mal wanted to kiss them and grope them and rub his dick on them all at the same time. He settled for lying down on Jory, chests together and dicks— Fuck, yeah. “Wanna come all over you,” he heard himself say, and judging from how Jory’s hands clamped on his arse like a vice, there wouldn’t be too many objections coming.
Heh. Coming.
Christ. Mal was drunk, but not on cider. He was drunk on Jory. Totally gone, off his head, nuts in the bonce, and away with the fairies. And they weren’t touching enough, so Mal pushed his jeans all the way off any old how, and then he peeled Jory’s tights down a bit further, and yeah, that was better.
“You’re beautiful,” Jory said softly, and it made Mal’s heart hurt, so he kissed Jory silent, ate his words and was still hungry for more.
Lips were good, yeah, were fucking fantastic, but there were many other parts of Jory he needed to taste, so Mal swirled his tongue one last time around Jory’s mouth and then moved down to bite at his neck. Jory bucked up, groaning. And that was, fuck, that had to be the best positive reinforcement in the world, so Mal switched to sucking, right down low by Jory’s collarbone, where Jory would be able to hide the mark for work. He was considerate that way, Mal was.
Then he moved straight on down to Jory’s chest, because he could be a selfish bastard too, and he’d been gagging to taste one of those rosy red nipples. And jeez, that was good, all hard under his tongue, just asking to be bitten, like the little tart it was. So Mal bit it, just a gentle nip, then he moved on to the other one. And Jory was gasping and groaning, and his hands were all over Mal, stroking and squeezing, as if Mal was a juicy piece of fruit on a market stall. It was so fucking awesome, and he’d known it—he’d known him and Jory would be perfect together—so why the fuck hadn’t they done this before?
And okay, maybe he skimped a bit on the rest of Jory as he kissed his way down the treasure trail, but Christ, who could blame him? The first taste of Jory’s dick was . . . It was like being plunged into the sea, held underwater until you turned half fish and learned how to breathe down there. It was like seeing colour for the first time, or the piercing bright dawn after working a night shift underground. Too much, far too much—but you still wanted it. Needed it. Mal swirled his tongue around the head because, God, he had to taste it all.
Jory swore, the words all choked up in a sob, and it went straight to Mal’s dick, which was just hanging in midair, untouched. And that was a fucking tragedy. Mal shifted position until he was lying on Jory, humping his leg like a husky in heat, his mouth still on that gorgeous cock. Jory’s balls fit in his hand as if they’d been made to measure, and he rolled them and tugged on them as he carried on sucking.
“Oh God,” Jory gasped. “Going to—” He tried to push Mal’s head off his dick, but fuck that for a game of soldiers. Mal held on tight as jet after jet of hot spunk hit the back of his throat, making him gag and swallow. Christ, that was magic.
Mal’s eyes were watering by the time he finally let Jory push him away with shaking hands.
Jory’s chest was heaving, his eyes glazed. “God . . . That. You.”
Sitting back up on his knees, still straddling Jory’s legs, Mal grinned and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Oh yeah.” He grabbed hold of his dick and started stroking it, slower than he needed, just enough to keep himself on the edge. “You ready for this? Gonna paint you all over.”
Jory actually, honest to God, shuddered. And, like, not in a bad way, at least not judging from how his hands tightened on Mal’s knees, which were the only bits of him Jory could reach.
Mal sped up his hand, jerking himself off for real now, drinking in the sight of Jory laid out beneath him, all sweat-slick and sex-drunk. He was so beautiful it hurt. “Gonna mess you up, make you so fucking filthy . . .” It ended in a drawn-out groan as he shot his load, streams of jizz jetting out and landing in streaks on Jory’s chest and, fuck, yeah, on his face too. Christ, that made an awesome picture. Mal was going to remember that till the day he died. Like Jory was Mal’s, all his, marked up so no one else would dare to touch him.
He collapsed down by Jory’s side, breathing hard, then grabbed Jory and pulled him in for a quick, hard kiss that smeared spunk from Jory’s beard all over Mal’s chin.
If he hadn’t just had sex, he’d think that was well gross . . .
Shit. He’d just had sex. With Jory.
Mal scrambled to his feet and pulled on his jeans, his fingers clumsy. That had been . . . And Jory’s face . . .
Sitting up and wiping himself down with one of the paper napkins he’d brought with the sandwiches, Jory was smiling like he’d won the bloody lottery. “That was amazing. I knew we’d . . . Listen, I want you to come back to Roscarrock House with me. Meet Bran and Bea. Once they know we’re together—”
“Whoa, hey, hold on, mate.” Mal’s mouth was dry, but he had to shut Jory up, he had to, cos every word was like a knife between his ribs. He wished so fucking hard he could be like Jory, could believe this would all end up in happy-ever-after land, but he couldn’t.
His stomach was twisted up in knots, and his chest felt bruised inside, like he’d eaten a dodgy curry and come down with pneumonia all at once. Or like that time the dickhead who’d picked on him all through primary school had seen Mal in the park holding hands with another lad, and barged in with his mates to give them both a kicking.
It was all going wrong. It was only supposed to be a shag. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
He hadn’t wanted things to change between them. Being mates with Jory, that was good—but he couldn’t let himself hope for more. He couldn’t. “Look, it was great, but it’s just . . . I mean, I’m only here for a holiday, so . . . It was only a bit of fun, yeah? No need to bother your family and all that.”
Christ, Jory’s face. Mal couldn’t look at him, so he turned away and grabbed up the hard hat that was lying upturned on the sand. “We’d better get back, yeah?”