Affinity flowed between them, undefined but shiny. And fleeting. Benito ripped his gaze away and bent over, searching for his socks. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to go deep. Tell me to go fuck myself if I do it again.”
“I don’t want you to fuck yourself, mate. I’m here for that.”
Benito smirked and retrieved his socks from the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on, close to Mickey’s legs. “Sweet. I’m going to take you up on it as long as the offer’s still open.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Benito finished dressing and laid a scorching palm on Mickey’s bare ankle. “Might not be around for a while, though. I’ve got some shit to do.”
“Work?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you do?”
Benito squeezed Mickey’s ankle, then pulled his hand back, leaving Mickey reeling from the simple touch. “This and that. You know how it is.”
Not anymore. The words bubbled in Mickey’s throat, but he swallowed them down.Idiot.He’s probably a personal trainer. Or a bodyguard. Or a—
Benito stood before Mickey’s brain could generate any other occupations Benito’s ridiculous body would come in useful for. His immaculate Yeezy trainers were abandoned on the landing. He padded to the doorway and stamped into them.
Mickey forced himself upright and grabbed his drawstring trousers from the floor, but Benito shook his head. “Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out unless you’re worried about me rinsing your yard on my way out.”
“I’m not, but you should know I don’t have jack shit, so you’d be disappointed.”
“Hasn’t happened yet.”
Benito turned away, the low light casting his face in shadow. He moved across the landing towards the stairs.
Mickey watched him go, still clutching his trousers. It made sense to stay where he was. The front door would lock behind Benito. There was no need to follow him, dressed or otherwise. But his nerves jangled. It felt wrong.
Unfinished.
Mickey scrambled off the bed and yanked his pyjamas on as Benito’s footsteps faded on the stairs. He dashed after him, skidding to a stop on the ancient floorboards in the hallway.
Benito turned, thick brows raised. “You really did think I was gonna nick something?”
“Fuck no. Why have you decided I think you’re scum? You havewaybetter clothes than me. And—” Mickey pushed past Benito and opened the front door. A black SUV was parked on the kerb next to Mickey’s Ford Focus. “Yup. Better car too. Trust me, mate. It’s me that’s scum.”
Benito blinked as the humour in Mickey’s rant expired before he was done.
Mickey shook his head, clearing the fog that remained from the firepit they’d left upstairs. “That came out wrong.”
Benito stepped towards him until he was close enough to pry the door from Mickey’s hand and push it shut, trapping them both inside. He backed Mickey against it, caging him like Mickey had done to him more than once. “You’re intense,” he said. “I like that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s real. We don’t have to know everything about each other to get off on that.”
Mickey’s heart hammered as much as it had when he’d had his dick buried deep inside Benito. “You think we know enough to justify that I want to kiss the fuck out of you, then push you to your knees and shove my dick in your mouth?”
Benito pressed closer, his rough lips an inch from Mickey’s. “I wanted all that the moment I saw you. We don’t have to know shit to make it a reality.”
“No?”
“No.” Benito punctuated the single syllable with the hard kisses they’d perfected already. But with their clothes on, it felt different.
The desperation was harsher.
Sharper.
Mickey let it skewer him, surrendering to it as Benito took what he wanted. Maybe he’d suck Mickey’s dick; maybe he wouldn’t.
Right now, his kiss was enough.