The Tomorrow Trilogy Fanfiction - Forgiveness: Chapter 10
This chapter is so very NSFW because it's Savin and Mitchel and really, once they've already kissed? It's over. Sex is imminent.
Previous chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9
“Bates, if you have something you wish to say to me, please just say it instead of giving me furtive glances,” Mitchel murmurs after a few minutes of silence. “It’s not as though I can’t see you.”
My face burns as I bury my nose further in my textbook, and I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose in response. “I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, Mitchel,” I mutter, turning the page.
“Bates.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mitchel sound so exasperated before, not even with me. I don’t look up at him -- not until he gets up and pulls my textbook out of my hands and closes it, his fingers holding my place. “Don’t you think we need to discuss something?”
I sigh, glancing at him over the edge of my glasses before shaking my head. “Like what? The Resistance contacting you? You warning me about the trap?”
“Our kiss?” he offers instead, placing my book down on the floor on top of the others. He sits back down on my couch, crossing one leg over the other. He gives me a pointed look and folds his hands on top of his knee.
“I thought we were just going to pretend that never happened,” I tell him, mimicking his body language. I lick my lips and look away from him, ignoring the faint warmth building up on my cheeks. “I mean, what the hell was that about?”
“If I recall correctly -- and I can assure you that I do -- you returned my affections rather enthusiastically,” he says, and there’s a hint of annoyance to his voice. His eyes never leave mine, though, and he frowns to himself. “One doesn’t simply deepen a kiss like that when they mean to reject the other.”
“I was -- just confused,” I stammer, still avoiding his eyes. Seriously? Could the bastard look away from me, for just a second? “I mean -- it’s not like you’ve ever expressed an interest in me, before. I didn’t know what to fucking make of it.”
“So you kissed me back -- because you felt as though you had no other choice?” Mitchel asks, raising an eyebrow. Even just the way he talks grates my nerves, now, as he continues to give me an incredulous look. “Savin, even you can’t assume I’m so stupid as to believe something like that. You deepened that kiss for a reason. Why?”
“Why are you even questioning it?” I shoot back, resting one of my arms along the edge of my chair. I give him a half-hearted shrug of my shoulders. “I just -- did, okay? There’s no reason for you to read into it so damn much. Just -- be happy I didn’t punch you in the fucking face.”
“So -- hypothetically speaking, of course -- if I were to kiss you again, you wouldn’t stop me?” This time, his words are once again chosen with the utmost care. He even runs his fingers through his graying hair, his eyes focusing on some point beyond me.
I can’t hold back my laugh. “Are you serious?” I ask, giving him an incredulous look in return. “The Resistance is in my Palace right this very second, looking to -- to dispose of me, and all you can think about is kissing me, again?”
Mitchel continues to avoid my eyes, but the slightest of guilty looks crosses his features. He even fidgets in his seat, pulling his hands closer to his lap. “You know everything there is to know about the Resistance’s plan. The Palace is on lockdown as the Guard searches for any sign of them as we speak. Why not discuss trivial matters, in a time like this? We’re alone, we have some modicum of privacy -- and for once, I would like to discuss something other than work.”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Look -- I don’t know why I kissed back anymore than you do, okay?” I tell him, hoping the answer will satisfy him for now. “I just -- did.” I leave out the part where it felt right to, that I was on autopilot and wanted to take it further.
Mitchel nods, pursing his lips together in thought as he picks up another one of my books and thumbs through it. “So my statement about where my loyalty lies --”
“Was very much appreciated -- even if I have a hard as hell time believing it,” I say, cutting him off. I get up from my chair and turn my back on him. “Look, I haven’t slept in almost a day -- I’m tired, and I need to get some rest. If you could entertain yourself for a little while so I could at least get a nap while we’re still on lockdown...?”
When I glance at him over my shoulder, I notice that he has his eyebrow raised. “You’re going to sleep now, at a time like this?” he asks, pushing himself onto his own feet.
“It’s not like I have anything else better to do,” I say with a shrug. The baser part of my brain insists I have plenty of other things I could do with Mitchel, but I try to ignore that as I turn to face him entirely. “You can watch whatever you want -- if you’re going to read my books, just be careful with them, okay?”
“I don’t suppose I could join you, instead?” Mitchel asks, trying -- and somehow failing -- to appear nonchalant as he picks up one of my medical textbooks. “I haven’t slept much, either, and could use the rest, as well.”
I furrow my brow, taking a moment to study him. He doesn’t look like his usual put-together self, now that I think about it. There are deep bags under his eyes, and his eyes themselves seem to lack their usual focus. I thought, maybe, that was just a side effect of him receiving that message from the Resistance, but... “You can always sleep on the couch,” I offer, tugging my tie loose from around my neck.
“I’d much prefer to sleep in a bed,” Mitchel says, his tone much colder than it was a moment ago. I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes and instead shake my head.
“Of course you would,” I mutter, turning on my heel. I give him a half-hearted wave to follow me, continuing to remove parts of my suit as I walk back towards my bedroom. I’m honestly too tired to argue with him, and I think he knows that. Still, when we walk into my room together, I try to strip down to my boxers as quickly as possible. I leave my undershirt on, too, to keep my scar hidden.
As I slip under the covers, Mitchel steps into my room and gives me one, quick glance before placing his tie on my dresser. The second he starts removing his own clothing, I turn away from him and take my glasses off my face, settling them on the nightstand beside my edge of the bed. I keep my back to him, even when I feel the bed shift underneath his weight.
I haven’t shared a bed with anyone in months. I didn’t even get to share one with Jazz, after he came back. I don’t even know what to expect -- the kiss from earlier replays itself in my mind, the look on Mitchel’s face just before he closed the distance between us most prominent of all. Not to mention the way he felt, pressed against me, his tongue playing against my own, and --
Definitely not turning around to face Mitchel, now. I try and will my erection away as I pull my pillow under my head and close my eyes.
“How will we know when the Guard has completed its search?” he asks, his voice far too loud in my ears.
“My phone should go off when the lockdown’s been lifted,” I explain to him, glancing at him over my shoulder.
“The Guard wouldn’t come to you personally with a report?” Mitchel asks. And there’s another shifting of weight on the bed.
“The Guard isn’t allowed to approach my private living space without express permission,” I answer with a shrug, rolling onto my back. Mitchel’s on his side, facing me, one hand propping up his head as he studies me. “They will report to me when I tell them to.”
Mitchel nods and lies down on his back, his eyes turned towards the ceiling. Our hands brush against each other’s, and I have to resist the urge to move away from him. To my surprise, Mitchel turns his face towards me again, his fingers lacing themselves through my own. “How long do you think you’ll have before the lockdown is lifted?” he asks, and the bastard moves closer to me, his eyes half-lidded. If he thinks for one fucking second he’s gonna kiss me again --
Except he pauses, our faces barely inches apart as he waits for my answer. I swallow thickly, wanting to disentangle my fingers from his but instead remaining exactly where I am. Because the warmth of his hand in mine is actually comforting, though I’m not sure how much I want him to know that. “It should take them about four, maybe five hours?” I say, frowning slightly to myself. “I dunno. Last lockdown was when Jazz died, and --” I cut myself off, feeling my eyes sting with tears. “It -- took them a while.”
He looks away from me, then, putting more distance between us. But the bastard squeezes my fingers in reassurance. Or maybe it’s solidarity. I remember how screwed up he was after he had pulled the trigger on Jazz. The flash of panic on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes after a few moments of tense silence. His eyes close and he rubs his forehead with his other hand, his jaw clenching for a moment. “I had a choice, then, and I made the wrong one.”
I snort, pulling my fingers away from his and rolling onto my side, my back towards him. “You can fucking say that again,” I grumble, wiping my tears away before they can finish forming.
“You do realize I truly regret what I’ve done, don’t you?” he asks, and I can feel the bed shift as he turns -- whether it’s to face my back, I don’t know. But there’s this tremble to his voice -- one I’m pretty sure he was trying to hide. “I loved him, and I thought -- it doesn’t matter what I thought, really. Just that I thought incorrectly, and that I’m trying to do what I can to atone.”
I sigh, closing my eyes as I pinch the bridge of his nose. I don’t know if I believe him. But here he is, in bed with me, after warning me about a trap he apparently wasn’t so willing to lead me into. The bastard kissed me, for Christ’s sake, and that’s not something I think Mitchel ever does to anyone, ever. “Well, you protected me from the Resistance, this time,” I offer, not knowing if the words would bring him any comfort or not.
“Perhaps,” he sighs. There’s a slight hesitation, and then I feel his breath on the back of my neck as he places an arm over my waist, his whole body pressing against my back. “I hope you can -- forgive me for everything I’ve done....” he mutters against my back, his arm tightening around my waist.
Is the man about to cry? Seriously? I let out another sigh and place my hand on top of his, leaning back a bit and turning so that our eyes can meet. I know what needs to be said -- what I need to admit, to both myself and to him, but part of me doesn’t want to. Says it’s too soon. Clearing my throat, I search his face for any signs of him playing me for a fool before opening my mouth to speak. “Mitchel -- you wouldn’t be alive if I couldn’t.”
His eyes widen, and this time it’s unmistakable that emotion overwhelms him as tears fill his eyes. This time, I reach up and cup his face, just like he had done to me earlier. I don’t think I manage to smile, but I do continue speaking. “And I -- I wouldn’t --” Or I tried to keep talking, anyway, except Mitchel cuts me off again, his lips on top of my own.
I blink in surprise, making a muffled noise against his lips before relaxing and shifting my body so that we face each other. This time, Mitchel deepens the kiss, and I let him as I close my eyes and feel a whimper building at the back of my throat.
We both move our tongues hesitantly, at first, as though we both don’t know what the fuck we’re doing. And maybe we don’t, because for us both, this is fucking weird as hell. But when Mitchel settles his weight on top of me, I find myself pulling him closer to me, moving my legs and letting him between them. Mitchel then breaks the kiss and gives me this confused look.
“You’re already --”
“Doesn’t take me much, asshole,” I murmur, feeling my face burn as he presses himself against me again -- it’s pretty fucking obvious he’s talking about how hard I am, just from a kiss alone.
Mitchel then smirks at me -- that self-satisfied expression that I’ve come to both hate and rely on, so damn much. He leans forward, pressing his lips to my throat. “I’ve noticed you’ve got your legs around me, Bates,” he breathes against my neck. His hands slide along my sides, fingers slipping under the edges of my shirt. “I don’t suppose you want me to take this further, do you?”
“I don’t have to answer that,” I grumble, my voice straining just like I am against my boxers -- against him. This can’t be fucking happening. He can’t possibly be suggesting what I think he is.
Except my imagination’s already one step ahead of us both, and I can’t keep myself from wondering how he’d feel inside of me. What his face looks like when he’s deep inside someone else. While I’m imagining all this, his hands have began to tug my shirt over my head.
And then everything fucking stops. His eyes drop to my chest, his fingers tracing the edges of my scar. Our eyes meet, and he couldn’t look anymore remorseful if he tried. “I’m --”
“Don’t apologize,” I tell him, shaking my head. “It’s -- I forgive you, okay?”
Mitchel nods and dips his head towards my chest, his lips brushing against my scar before moving towards one of my nipples. Don’t have the heart to tell him mine aren’t as sensitive as Jazz’s were, but as his tongue traces the edge of one, I moan, despite myself.
It’s not long before I feel him press against my leg. And not much longer after that, his fingers hook themselves under the elastic edge of my boxers, tugging them off my hips in one smooth motion. I can’t find it in me to stop him -- I don’t want to stop him, not even as his mouth dips even lower on my stomach and up the length of my shaft.
It’s been entirely too long, I tell myself. That’s the only explanation I have for why I’d even be letting Mitchel have his way with me, right now. Except I know that’s not the truth, and the gasp that escapes me when he swallows as much of me as he can is far too loud to hide. I feel Mitchel chuckle around my length, which only makes me writhe on my own bed.
I never thought he’d be so damn good at this. His tongue presses against me, tracing patterns on the underside of my cock and it’s almost too fucking much. My fingers are in his hair, encouraging him to take even more of me. I think the bastard even likes it when I tug on his hair, little gasps and moans escaping him whenever I do so.
I pull him away from me moments later, gasping and squirming and so fucking close. “Not yet,” I tell him as my hand falls away from his hair. My face has to be flushed from the pleasure of everything, but I can still feel it burn even hotter when I force the next few words out of my mouth. “I want you to --” I cut myself off, unable to finish my sentence.
Mitchel just smirks back at me and gives me a patient nod of his head. “Where would I find the lube, then?” he asks, leaving a trail of wet, hot kisses back up my stomach and chest. As he trails his tongue along the edge of my collarbone, he murmurs, “I never thought you’d be so -- eager for this...”
I reach for my nightstand and pull the drawer open. I don’t want to tell him just how badly I want this, despite never having it ever cross my mind before. Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve thought about pushing him up against a wall and either beating him senseless or fucking him as hard as I could -- but this is different. This is me being vulnerable to him. Letting him have more power over me than I’d ever thought I’d let the bastard even have.
Except as he grinds himself against me, those thoughts fade as my hand wraps around my bottle of lube. He resumes kissing me, his hands on my neck and jaw, fingers tracing patterns into my skin that only heightens the sensations of his tongue teasing along my lips. My hands slide under the edge of his own underwear and reach for his ass, except Mitchel pins my hands to my side. “Not yet, Savin,” he purrs against my mouth, continuing to grind against me.
I don’t know how long we make out for. Honestly never pegged Mitchel for the type to enjoy it so much, but it just makes me even more anxious to have him in me. When he finally pulls off his underwear, I feel him slide against the crack of my ass, teasing me in every fucking way imaginable as he then takes the bottle of lube from my hands.
It’s not long before I feel his slick fingers press against me, pushing inside me. As I groan underneath him and find myself grinding against his fingers, he looks at me, studying my face. “It’s been a while since you’ve been penetrated, hasn’t it?” he murmurs against my shoulder.
I don’t want to answer that. So instead, I rock my hips in an effort to get more of those perfect fingers inside me. He dips his head low again, teasing his tongue along the head of my cock. As he swallows as much of me as he can, again, his fingers pick up their pace, matching each dip of his mouth.
“H-How close -- are you -- you gonna get me -- before you --” I can barely push the words past my lips as pleasure overwhelms me. His fingers strike my spot, teasing it over and over as his mouth continues to move at a steady pace along my length.
“Close,” he breathes before resuming his ministrations. Fucking Christ, at this rate, I’m not gonna be able to hold myself back, not if he --
My whole body tenses, gearing up for release, and his fingers slow as he stops sucking me off. The whine that escapes me is fucking pitiful, but it only seems to encourage him to fuck me harder with his fingers.
Another whine escapes me when they’re suddenly gone, too, and I find myself panting and gasping for breath as he lubes himself up. My whole body feels as though it’s on fire, its orgasm denied not once, but twice, so far, and I get the feeling that Mitchel might get off on that fact almost as much as I am. As he settles between my legs, he pushes against me, slipping inside me with ease.
He lets out a little groan as he adjusts his weight, holding himself up with his arms. He spreads my legs wider, pushing himself even deeper inside me, every inch of him filling and stretching me. It’s been so long since I last let anyone inside of me, and here I am, letting the man I could have sworn was my worst enemy have the honor.
He’s not really my enemy now, is he? Not if I’m letting him fuck me like this. Not if I want him to pound into me -- and, Christ, after a few moments, he establishes that rhythm, his cock slamming into my spot and we move together, hands sliding over skin in an effort to help heighten the other’s pleasure. As he leans down to kiss me again, I cup the sides of his face and hold him there, moaning against his mouth as he doesn’t relent.
When his hand wraps around me, I almost stop him -- except those fingers move expertly along my length the same way his mouth did. I cry out, arching my back and matching his thrusts as best I can as my body tenses, making it difficult for me to move. The groan the escapes me when I come is loud, louder than I’ve been this whole time, and Mitchel comes to a stop a few minutes later, panting against my shoulder.
Neither one of us can look the other in the eye as we pull apart and settle back under the covers, our bodies not so much as brushing against the other’s. Still, I’m too fucking exhausted to question it, and drift off to sleep quickly.
I know when I wake up, we’re going to have a whole lot more to fucking talk about.
Next Chapter
Previous chapters:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9
“Bates, if you have something you wish to say to me, please just say it instead of giving me furtive glances,” Mitchel murmurs after a few minutes of silence. “It’s not as though I can’t see you.”
My face burns as I bury my nose further in my textbook, and I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose in response. “I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, Mitchel,” I mutter, turning the page.
“Bates.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mitchel sound so exasperated before, not even with me. I don’t look up at him -- not until he gets up and pulls my textbook out of my hands and closes it, his fingers holding my place. “Don’t you think we need to discuss something?”
I sigh, glancing at him over the edge of my glasses before shaking my head. “Like what? The Resistance contacting you? You warning me about the trap?”
“Our kiss?” he offers instead, placing my book down on the floor on top of the others. He sits back down on my couch, crossing one leg over the other. He gives me a pointed look and folds his hands on top of his knee.
“I thought we were just going to pretend that never happened,” I tell him, mimicking his body language. I lick my lips and look away from him, ignoring the faint warmth building up on my cheeks. “I mean, what the hell was that about?”
“If I recall correctly -- and I can assure you that I do -- you returned my affections rather enthusiastically,” he says, and there’s a hint of annoyance to his voice. His eyes never leave mine, though, and he frowns to himself. “One doesn’t simply deepen a kiss like that when they mean to reject the other.”
“I was -- just confused,” I stammer, still avoiding his eyes. Seriously? Could the bastard look away from me, for just a second? “I mean -- it’s not like you’ve ever expressed an interest in me, before. I didn’t know what to fucking make of it.”
“So you kissed me back -- because you felt as though you had no other choice?” Mitchel asks, raising an eyebrow. Even just the way he talks grates my nerves, now, as he continues to give me an incredulous look. “Savin, even you can’t assume I’m so stupid as to believe something like that. You deepened that kiss for a reason. Why?”
“Why are you even questioning it?” I shoot back, resting one of my arms along the edge of my chair. I give him a half-hearted shrug of my shoulders. “I just -- did, okay? There’s no reason for you to read into it so damn much. Just -- be happy I didn’t punch you in the fucking face.”
“So -- hypothetically speaking, of course -- if I were to kiss you again, you wouldn’t stop me?” This time, his words are once again chosen with the utmost care. He even runs his fingers through his graying hair, his eyes focusing on some point beyond me.
I can’t hold back my laugh. “Are you serious?” I ask, giving him an incredulous look in return. “The Resistance is in my Palace right this very second, looking to -- to dispose of me, and all you can think about is kissing me, again?”
Mitchel continues to avoid my eyes, but the slightest of guilty looks crosses his features. He even fidgets in his seat, pulling his hands closer to his lap. “You know everything there is to know about the Resistance’s plan. The Palace is on lockdown as the Guard searches for any sign of them as we speak. Why not discuss trivial matters, in a time like this? We’re alone, we have some modicum of privacy -- and for once, I would like to discuss something other than work.”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Look -- I don’t know why I kissed back anymore than you do, okay?” I tell him, hoping the answer will satisfy him for now. “I just -- did.” I leave out the part where it felt right to, that I was on autopilot and wanted to take it further.
Mitchel nods, pursing his lips together in thought as he picks up another one of my books and thumbs through it. “So my statement about where my loyalty lies --”
“Was very much appreciated -- even if I have a hard as hell time believing it,” I say, cutting him off. I get up from my chair and turn my back on him. “Look, I haven’t slept in almost a day -- I’m tired, and I need to get some rest. If you could entertain yourself for a little while so I could at least get a nap while we’re still on lockdown...?”
When I glance at him over my shoulder, I notice that he has his eyebrow raised. “You’re going to sleep now, at a time like this?” he asks, pushing himself onto his own feet.
“It’s not like I have anything else better to do,” I say with a shrug. The baser part of my brain insists I have plenty of other things I could do with Mitchel, but I try to ignore that as I turn to face him entirely. “You can watch whatever you want -- if you’re going to read my books, just be careful with them, okay?”
“I don’t suppose I could join you, instead?” Mitchel asks, trying -- and somehow failing -- to appear nonchalant as he picks up one of my medical textbooks. “I haven’t slept much, either, and could use the rest, as well.”
I furrow my brow, taking a moment to study him. He doesn’t look like his usual put-together self, now that I think about it. There are deep bags under his eyes, and his eyes themselves seem to lack their usual focus. I thought, maybe, that was just a side effect of him receiving that message from the Resistance, but... “You can always sleep on the couch,” I offer, tugging my tie loose from around my neck.
“I’d much prefer to sleep in a bed,” Mitchel says, his tone much colder than it was a moment ago. I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes and instead shake my head.
“Of course you would,” I mutter, turning on my heel. I give him a half-hearted wave to follow me, continuing to remove parts of my suit as I walk back towards my bedroom. I’m honestly too tired to argue with him, and I think he knows that. Still, when we walk into my room together, I try to strip down to my boxers as quickly as possible. I leave my undershirt on, too, to keep my scar hidden.
As I slip under the covers, Mitchel steps into my room and gives me one, quick glance before placing his tie on my dresser. The second he starts removing his own clothing, I turn away from him and take my glasses off my face, settling them on the nightstand beside my edge of the bed. I keep my back to him, even when I feel the bed shift underneath his weight.
I haven’t shared a bed with anyone in months. I didn’t even get to share one with Jazz, after he came back. I don’t even know what to expect -- the kiss from earlier replays itself in my mind, the look on Mitchel’s face just before he closed the distance between us most prominent of all. Not to mention the way he felt, pressed against me, his tongue playing against my own, and --
Definitely not turning around to face Mitchel, now. I try and will my erection away as I pull my pillow under my head and close my eyes.
“How will we know when the Guard has completed its search?” he asks, his voice far too loud in my ears.
“My phone should go off when the lockdown’s been lifted,” I explain to him, glancing at him over my shoulder.
“The Guard wouldn’t come to you personally with a report?” Mitchel asks. And there’s another shifting of weight on the bed.
“The Guard isn’t allowed to approach my private living space without express permission,” I answer with a shrug, rolling onto my back. Mitchel’s on his side, facing me, one hand propping up his head as he studies me. “They will report to me when I tell them to.”
Mitchel nods and lies down on his back, his eyes turned towards the ceiling. Our hands brush against each other’s, and I have to resist the urge to move away from him. To my surprise, Mitchel turns his face towards me again, his fingers lacing themselves through my own. “How long do you think you’ll have before the lockdown is lifted?” he asks, and the bastard moves closer to me, his eyes half-lidded. If he thinks for one fucking second he’s gonna kiss me again --
Except he pauses, our faces barely inches apart as he waits for my answer. I swallow thickly, wanting to disentangle my fingers from his but instead remaining exactly where I am. Because the warmth of his hand in mine is actually comforting, though I’m not sure how much I want him to know that. “It should take them about four, maybe five hours?” I say, frowning slightly to myself. “I dunno. Last lockdown was when Jazz died, and --” I cut myself off, feeling my eyes sting with tears. “It -- took them a while.”
He looks away from me, then, putting more distance between us. But the bastard squeezes my fingers in reassurance. Or maybe it’s solidarity. I remember how screwed up he was after he had pulled the trigger on Jazz. The flash of panic on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes after a few moments of tense silence. His eyes close and he rubs his forehead with his other hand, his jaw clenching for a moment. “I had a choice, then, and I made the wrong one.”
I snort, pulling my fingers away from his and rolling onto my side, my back towards him. “You can fucking say that again,” I grumble, wiping my tears away before they can finish forming.
“You do realize I truly regret what I’ve done, don’t you?” he asks, and I can feel the bed shift as he turns -- whether it’s to face my back, I don’t know. But there’s this tremble to his voice -- one I’m pretty sure he was trying to hide. “I loved him, and I thought -- it doesn’t matter what I thought, really. Just that I thought incorrectly, and that I’m trying to do what I can to atone.”
I sigh, closing my eyes as I pinch the bridge of his nose. I don’t know if I believe him. But here he is, in bed with me, after warning me about a trap he apparently wasn’t so willing to lead me into. The bastard kissed me, for Christ’s sake, and that’s not something I think Mitchel ever does to anyone, ever. “Well, you protected me from the Resistance, this time,” I offer, not knowing if the words would bring him any comfort or not.
“Perhaps,” he sighs. There’s a slight hesitation, and then I feel his breath on the back of my neck as he places an arm over my waist, his whole body pressing against my back. “I hope you can -- forgive me for everything I’ve done....” he mutters against my back, his arm tightening around my waist.
Is the man about to cry? Seriously? I let out another sigh and place my hand on top of his, leaning back a bit and turning so that our eyes can meet. I know what needs to be said -- what I need to admit, to both myself and to him, but part of me doesn’t want to. Says it’s too soon. Clearing my throat, I search his face for any signs of him playing me for a fool before opening my mouth to speak. “Mitchel -- you wouldn’t be alive if I couldn’t.”
His eyes widen, and this time it’s unmistakable that emotion overwhelms him as tears fill his eyes. This time, I reach up and cup his face, just like he had done to me earlier. I don’t think I manage to smile, but I do continue speaking. “And I -- I wouldn’t --” Or I tried to keep talking, anyway, except Mitchel cuts me off again, his lips on top of my own.
I blink in surprise, making a muffled noise against his lips before relaxing and shifting my body so that we face each other. This time, Mitchel deepens the kiss, and I let him as I close my eyes and feel a whimper building at the back of my throat.
We both move our tongues hesitantly, at first, as though we both don’t know what the fuck we’re doing. And maybe we don’t, because for us both, this is fucking weird as hell. But when Mitchel settles his weight on top of me, I find myself pulling him closer to me, moving my legs and letting him between them. Mitchel then breaks the kiss and gives me this confused look.
“You’re already --”
“Doesn’t take me much, asshole,” I murmur, feeling my face burn as he presses himself against me again -- it’s pretty fucking obvious he’s talking about how hard I am, just from a kiss alone.
Mitchel then smirks at me -- that self-satisfied expression that I’ve come to both hate and rely on, so damn much. He leans forward, pressing his lips to my throat. “I’ve noticed you’ve got your legs around me, Bates,” he breathes against my neck. His hands slide along my sides, fingers slipping under the edges of my shirt. “I don’t suppose you want me to take this further, do you?”
“I don’t have to answer that,” I grumble, my voice straining just like I am against my boxers -- against him. This can’t be fucking happening. He can’t possibly be suggesting what I think he is.
Except my imagination’s already one step ahead of us both, and I can’t keep myself from wondering how he’d feel inside of me. What his face looks like when he’s deep inside someone else. While I’m imagining all this, his hands have began to tug my shirt over my head.
And then everything fucking stops. His eyes drop to my chest, his fingers tracing the edges of my scar. Our eyes meet, and he couldn’t look anymore remorseful if he tried. “I’m --”
“Don’t apologize,” I tell him, shaking my head. “It’s -- I forgive you, okay?”
Mitchel nods and dips his head towards my chest, his lips brushing against my scar before moving towards one of my nipples. Don’t have the heart to tell him mine aren’t as sensitive as Jazz’s were, but as his tongue traces the edge of one, I moan, despite myself.
It’s not long before I feel him press against my leg. And not much longer after that, his fingers hook themselves under the elastic edge of my boxers, tugging them off my hips in one smooth motion. I can’t find it in me to stop him -- I don’t want to stop him, not even as his mouth dips even lower on my stomach and up the length of my shaft.
It’s been entirely too long, I tell myself. That’s the only explanation I have for why I’d even be letting Mitchel have his way with me, right now. Except I know that’s not the truth, and the gasp that escapes me when he swallows as much of me as he can is far too loud to hide. I feel Mitchel chuckle around my length, which only makes me writhe on my own bed.
I never thought he’d be so damn good at this. His tongue presses against me, tracing patterns on the underside of my cock and it’s almost too fucking much. My fingers are in his hair, encouraging him to take even more of me. I think the bastard even likes it when I tug on his hair, little gasps and moans escaping him whenever I do so.
I pull him away from me moments later, gasping and squirming and so fucking close. “Not yet,” I tell him as my hand falls away from his hair. My face has to be flushed from the pleasure of everything, but I can still feel it burn even hotter when I force the next few words out of my mouth. “I want you to --” I cut myself off, unable to finish my sentence.
Mitchel just smirks back at me and gives me a patient nod of his head. “Where would I find the lube, then?” he asks, leaving a trail of wet, hot kisses back up my stomach and chest. As he trails his tongue along the edge of my collarbone, he murmurs, “I never thought you’d be so -- eager for this...”
I reach for my nightstand and pull the drawer open. I don’t want to tell him just how badly I want this, despite never having it ever cross my mind before. Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve thought about pushing him up against a wall and either beating him senseless or fucking him as hard as I could -- but this is different. This is me being vulnerable to him. Letting him have more power over me than I’d ever thought I’d let the bastard even have.
Except as he grinds himself against me, those thoughts fade as my hand wraps around my bottle of lube. He resumes kissing me, his hands on my neck and jaw, fingers tracing patterns into my skin that only heightens the sensations of his tongue teasing along my lips. My hands slide under the edge of his own underwear and reach for his ass, except Mitchel pins my hands to my side. “Not yet, Savin,” he purrs against my mouth, continuing to grind against me.
I don’t know how long we make out for. Honestly never pegged Mitchel for the type to enjoy it so much, but it just makes me even more anxious to have him in me. When he finally pulls off his underwear, I feel him slide against the crack of my ass, teasing me in every fucking way imaginable as he then takes the bottle of lube from my hands.
It’s not long before I feel his slick fingers press against me, pushing inside me. As I groan underneath him and find myself grinding against his fingers, he looks at me, studying my face. “It’s been a while since you’ve been penetrated, hasn’t it?” he murmurs against my shoulder.
I don’t want to answer that. So instead, I rock my hips in an effort to get more of those perfect fingers inside me. He dips his head low again, teasing his tongue along the head of my cock. As he swallows as much of me as he can, again, his fingers pick up their pace, matching each dip of his mouth.
“H-How close -- are you -- you gonna get me -- before you --” I can barely push the words past my lips as pleasure overwhelms me. His fingers strike my spot, teasing it over and over as his mouth continues to move at a steady pace along my length.
“Close,” he breathes before resuming his ministrations. Fucking Christ, at this rate, I’m not gonna be able to hold myself back, not if he --
My whole body tenses, gearing up for release, and his fingers slow as he stops sucking me off. The whine that escapes me is fucking pitiful, but it only seems to encourage him to fuck me harder with his fingers.
Another whine escapes me when they’re suddenly gone, too, and I find myself panting and gasping for breath as he lubes himself up. My whole body feels as though it’s on fire, its orgasm denied not once, but twice, so far, and I get the feeling that Mitchel might get off on that fact almost as much as I am. As he settles between my legs, he pushes against me, slipping inside me with ease.
He lets out a little groan as he adjusts his weight, holding himself up with his arms. He spreads my legs wider, pushing himself even deeper inside me, every inch of him filling and stretching me. It’s been so long since I last let anyone inside of me, and here I am, letting the man I could have sworn was my worst enemy have the honor.
He’s not really my enemy now, is he? Not if I’m letting him fuck me like this. Not if I want him to pound into me -- and, Christ, after a few moments, he establishes that rhythm, his cock slamming into my spot and we move together, hands sliding over skin in an effort to help heighten the other’s pleasure. As he leans down to kiss me again, I cup the sides of his face and hold him there, moaning against his mouth as he doesn’t relent.
When his hand wraps around me, I almost stop him -- except those fingers move expertly along my length the same way his mouth did. I cry out, arching my back and matching his thrusts as best I can as my body tenses, making it difficult for me to move. The groan the escapes me when I come is loud, louder than I’ve been this whole time, and Mitchel comes to a stop a few minutes later, panting against my shoulder.
Neither one of us can look the other in the eye as we pull apart and settle back under the covers, our bodies not so much as brushing against the other’s. Still, I’m too fucking exhausted to question it, and drift off to sleep quickly.
I know when I wake up, we’re going to have a whole lot more to fucking talk about.
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