"I only got about twenty minutes," Martin said, settled beneath Gareth on the latter's bed. "Some jackass decided I needed to scrub the pots and pans at eleven at night." He massaged the brown hair at the nape of his neck.
Gareth's lips parted as he leaned down and nipped at his scratchy jaw. "Let me guess, one of those overbearing, hyper-organized types?"
He rolled his hips up against Gareth's, letting his excitement be known. "Yeah, those guys give me stomach ulcers."
Their mouths met one another's and they shared an eager kiss, their lips quirking into smiles. A heady hit of spiced cinnamon touched Gareth's taste buds, eliciting a low hum from his throat.
Martin drove him crazy. Electrified his senses in a way nothing or no one had since Terminus's metamorphosis. Not in the way love did, or even friendship, but in a way that made the mere taste of Altoids from his tongue leave him intoxicated.
And Gareth didn't even like cinnamon.
In fact, he didn't objectively care much for Martin as an individual. The moron was brash, self-centered, and arrogant—traits that showed no signs of retreat. Yet Gareth had decided him a test-run to see if an outsider could bend to Terminus's ways. So far he had passed with flying colors.
Though Gareth had half a mind to think he just liked the hearty fare and getting to screw the boss.
The moron was still smiling as Gareth licked the bottom of his tongue. Without bothering to unfasten Martin's pants, Gareth slipped a hand underneath them.
At last the smile faded.
That'll show him, Gareth thought.
"Nineteen and a half minutes," Gareth said, lifting up his head and beginning to handle him.
The smile returned, but held a touch of warmth to contrast its typical cockiness. Though people often said Gareth was incapable of erasing all traces of smugness from his smile. No matter how hard he tried.
Pulling his hand from beneath the underwear, Gareth trailed his fingertips under Martin's cotton shirt.
"Mm, if I could purr, I would," Martin said, raking his nails up and down Gareth's back.
"You don't purr, but you whine like a puppy." His hands moved to Martin's side and he pressed against him, then began grinding his still clothed body against the other's.
Waves of white-hot pleasure coursed through his system and intensified with every beat of his rising pulse. Martin met his movements, indeed whining like a puppy.
Too easy.
The front his subordinate put on was a good one, but Gareth knew how to break it down in seconds. And Martin in turn knew how to break his. It was evident Martin took pride in what he accomplished. A week before, Gareth asked to be topped. He had done it in the past, but never requested it himself. Martin spent the following day like the cat who ate the canary.
No doubt Martin would brag of such conquest if Gareth were female. Yet, according to whom he asked, Martin never mentioned him in a non work-related fashion.
All the more fun to make the guy who claimed he let go of pre-turn hang-ups say uncle.
Gareth propped himself up on his knees a bit and met Martin's lustful eyes. Their movements slowed as for a moment they stared at one another. He considered leaning down and nuzzling his neck, just to inhale his scent. The one that for whatever reason smashed his exterior, even if only for twenty minutes.
Through his vulnerability, looking into the other man's eyes, an urge overcame him. An urge to do something he had done with a girl long-dead from another lifetime ago. Like the guy or not, Gareth decided to take a chance and try something different.
Gareth's hand moved up to Martin's forehead and caressed back several stray strands of his dark hair.
Martin narrowed his eyes at Gareth's fingers. "You don't gotta romance me to get my clothes off, you know."
Gareth pressed his lips together and moved his hand away.
What was he thinking? Did he have any idea who he was trying to snuggle? Gareth imagined Martin just as capable of writhing beneath him as he would be pulling a knife from under the pillow and stabbing him in the back. It was a line Gareth wouldn't and shouldn't cross. Though it was a line he knew probably ever existed.
Forget it.
This was all he needed. Someone similar enough to understand him, to create the right amount of desire in his core, but different enough to avoid the dangers of attachment.
Gareth pinned Martin's wrist on the pillow.
Martin stirred and let out a pleased sound. "That's it, Gare. Seventeen minutes."
"We better hop to it then, huh?" He released Martin's wrist and began undoing their pants.
Martin trailed his hands underneath Gareth's shirt and rode it up. "Yeah, come on, baby." He thrust his hips up. "You know I want you so bad."
Gareth struggled to hold in a strangled noise, but failed, a tiny whine escaping his lips.
"Oh, god." Gareth helped Martin push their pants down enough and began grinding against one another again.
The sheer bliss overwhelmed him, making him forget where he was. Forget that he had a public face to wear. One that communicated fear just as much as it did trust. He wondered if Martin feared him at all. Hopefully, he did. No leader could be effective unless they instilled a drop of fear in their followers.
Through hitched breaths, Martin helped Gareth out of his shirt and said, "Sixteen minutes."
A/N: I might tack onto this, but for now it's complete.