“A fault? Where?”
“Somewhere in the lift mechanisms. They’re not sure where yet. Only thing we’re sure of is that the fire breaks did their job, and if we hadn’t installed them, people would’ve died.”
Mickey felt sick, and the pull to return to Benito was so strong he could hardly breathe.
Dom seemed to know it. He rang off after extracting a promise from Mickey that he’d take a few days for self-care, and Mickey went back inside.
Benito was nowhere to be seen.
Mickey followed the sound of running water upstairs and into the bathroom.
Benito was beneath the hot spray, leaning against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed.
Mickey brushed his teeth, then stripped his clothes, dumping them on top of Benito’s folded pile.
He stepped into the shower and right into Benito’s personal space.
Benito opened his eyes. “Hey there.”
“Hey.” Mickey pushed wet hair off Benito’s face. “I was worried you’d gone to sleep in here.”
“That’s why you got in?”
Mickey answered him with a kiss, slow and deep, the first they’d shared since the night of the fire. Benito’s lips felt like home, and he lost himself for as long as he dared before he pulled back.
He kept his hands on Benito’s face. “I got in because I needed to be close to you. Is that okay?”
Benito flexed his hips, digging his hard length against Mickey’s. “Is that a real question?”
Mickey laughed and kissed Benito again. They didn’t need words. Despite the heaviness of the last few days, the air between them was featherlight. He let his hands roam Benito’s body, exploring his heated skin as if it was the first time, until it occurred to him that the first time he’d had Benito naked had been nothing like this. That night, he’d consumed all Benito had offered with a violence that seemed out of place as Benito trembled now from his gentle touch. One day he’d want to get rough and dirty with Benito again. Soon, even. But right now, he needed something else far more.
He turned the shower off and tugged Benito to the bedroom.
Still dripping wet, they fell onto the bed, and Benito let it happen, sprawling on his back, letting Mickey take what he wanted. Andfuck, Mickey wanted him. He kissed Benito until they ran out of breath, then he moved down his body, worshipping every inch of skin in his path. He sucked Benito’s cock, sliding him whole down his throat.
Benito cried out and cursed, body tense with need.
But Mickey didn’t let him come. He took him to the edge, then drew back and reached for the drawer in the bedside table.
He waved condoms and lube at Benito. “You okay with this?”
Benito nodded. “I want it.”
Mickey dropped down for a kiss and pressed lubed fingers inside Benito, opening him up so slowly he thought he’d combust before they got round to fucking. Or die a fiery death watching Benito shudder beneath him, his chest flushed, skin shiny with sweat as his hot palms roamed Mickey’s back, his kiss desperate, moans ragged.
Hands shaking, Mickey rolled a condom on and bent Benito’s legs to his chest. He eased inside, swallowing Benito’s sharp groan with another kiss. Then he pulled back to watch it happen. They’d never fucked like this—face to face, so caught up in each other there was nothing else in the world.
Mickey fucked Benito gently, gripping his face with one hand, his strong thigh with the other. His body curled around Benito like they were two halves of the same man. They fit together in a heated mess of limbs and skin. An alchemy Mickey had never found before with anyone, not even Benito.
A slow crescendo took hold, building in volume. Benito shook his head from side to side, eyes wild. “So fucking good. I can’t. Fuck.”
Mickey fucked him a tiny bit harder, lifting his hips and driving deep inside him, carving out the pleasure.
Benito’s groans grew louder and rose in pitch. He clung to Mickey’s shoulders, digging his fingers in, and his eyes widened. “Shit. Fuck. That feels amazing. I’ve never—fuck.”
He came, shattering in Mickey’s arms as wet warmth splashed between them, smearing messily as Mickey pumped his hips a little faster, chasing his own release.
And he didn’t have to run far. It was there, on the precipice, and it came crashing down, blinding Mickey with the impact, barrelling into him like a runaway train. A deep groan escaped him. He buried himself inside Benito and stayed there, emptying his body, his soul, his heart—whatever. Benito could have it all. He’d come too close to losing him for anything less.