"Your touch..."
Tom's voice, it trembled too,
"I crave it."
Those words shredded whatever was left inside Harry. Rocking him back on his heels. Unsteady,
"Do you?"
He didn't blink as he squeezed the trigger again.
Tom's lips parted. Lust shadowed his eyes, turned them a dangerous dark. He was fascinating… with the splash of red on his cheeks and chest. His free hand gripped at the sheet, fisting it and tugging, as his chest rose and fell rapidly.
Harry's body throbbed, liking that sight. The monster inside him came alive and clamoured for more,
"I want to hurt you,"
He snarled, bringing his face down to Tom's so they could be nose to nose,
"I want to touch you."
He caressed Tom's cheek with the length of the gun, holding his head steady with his free hand.
Tom's breath sawed out onto Harry's lips. He smelled like blood. He also smelled hot, felt like it, too. Always warming Harry.
Thawing him.
He climbed the bed, body almost smothering Tom as he went in search of that heat.
"I want to kiss you, and I want to kill you."
Mindless. Directionless… or was he? Because his every focus was on Tom's face. His destination.
A sound left Tom. A moan. His unshackled hand, the right, slid up Harry's shoulder and grasped him by the nape as they stared at each other.
They panted together. Tom looked like Harry felt.
Feverish.
"And I want to bleed you."
"Do it. Any one of it,"
Tom whispered against Harry's chin,
"All of it."
Harry brought the weapon forward, brushing Tom's lips with the tip. He wanted the other man to stop talking. To silence the words battering his defenses. But Tom simply parted his lips and licked the gun.
Harry's breath hitched.
The heat on slow simmer in his belly turned all the way up to boil, and he pushed the gun deeper into Tom's mouth. Tom's lashes fluttered. Lips stretched around the tip of the gun, he groaned and didn't stop sucking it.
Licking.
Fellating.
Oh damn…
Restraint went out the window.
The monster in you recognizes the monster in me.
He pulled the gun out, and a string of Tom's saliva clung to the muzzle of the Glock. Harry stared at it. He couldn't stop shaking. The bitter taste of betrayal remained at the back of his tongue. Never far away.
Still…
He traced Tom's lips with the gun. Slower, a more detailed caress.
Caress. It didn't make sense, what he was doing. The man he was, the man he used to be was no longer present. He didn't recognize himself. But he couldn't stop stroking Tom's lips.
Everything felt foreign. Every sensation new as Tom rocked his lower body against him. Harry operated only on instinct, on selfishness, wanting to punish Tom. Wanting to prove that he was more than this person he'd become, obsessed and filled with lust and a dark, intoxicating drive to touch the man who'd stolen everything from him.
Just plain old wanting.
It bowed his head, that intense, intangible thing. Moved him closer still, until his lips were right there, hovering over Tom's. He got rid of the gun, making sure to put the safety on before he tossed it to the far side of the mattress. Then, with trembling fingers, Harry traced Tom's scruffy jawline,
"What have you done?"
He asked out loud. Broken words directed inward, at him. And to Tom, as well. They conveyed everything. His fear. His need. The confusion,
"What have you done?"
"This is us."
Tom's breath alone undid him, the way it caressed Harry's chin. Hot, but not enough. Hinting at an inferno. Teasing, making him ache for more,
"What we do to each other. What we feel."
What they felt. None of it made sense. None of it was right.
But why was Harry here, plastered to the brick-hard body of his enemy, knee-deep in so much deep needing? Yearning for things like taste and touch?
He took Fenrir.
It made no sense that Harry would want this, that he'd betray the man, who'd laid the world at his feet. It made no sense that he'd need this, the scent and feel of Tom. Denial sat at the tip of his tongue.
Heavy.
"James."
Their noses bumped first. Then their lips brushed.
Tremors rushed through him at that faint contact. Tom's breath hitched, and Harry froze.
The sense of betrayal hit him low in the gut, all twisted up with every other sensation. Felt almost as if Fenrir was there next to them, witnessing that shattering of the man Harry used to be.
Yet he couldn't stop. The tide dragged him along by the ankles, and he went without a fight. The awkward brushing of lips still managed to unman him. Uncharted waters left him floundering, so that all he had left to grasp on to for anchor was the feel of Tom under him, lips firm, parting slightly as Tom grabbed him by the nape, holding Harry's head steady.
Taking control of the kiss.
Turning it from soft and tentative brushes, to open-mouthed, wet and panting in a second.
Harry moaned, the lust and hunger in full effect. Their tongues crashed together, Tom's taste mingling effortlessly with the betrayal already coating Harry's tongue.
Tom arched under him, serving himself up. And Harry took, wrestling with him for control. Drinking him up, taking him inside. Swallowing. Funny how Tom's furiously wet kiss quenched Harry's thirst, yet somehow left him parched.
Despite the guilt, he deepened the kiss, mouth opening wider than ever. An effort to gorge on everything that set him on fire, but still in the most unexpected ways cooled him down. The ball of lust in his belly blazed for Tom like the midday sun, and he groaned when Tom rocked against him.
Their erections were pressed together, Tom's thighs parted, cradling Harry between his legs. The hand at Harry's nape drifted down, along the indent of his spine. Over his clothes, still he flinched at the burn.
Their positions had changed sometime when he hadn't been paying attention, and now instead of being the captive, Tom had captured him. Effortlessly. No warning.
Harry was supposed to be the man in charge, now he drowned, walking willingly into the unknown waters. Embracing it, latching on to Tom's tongue and sucking until the other man squirmed underneath him.
He canted his hips, pressed hard, chasing the pleasure that hurt so sweetly.
Tom's grip on him loosened, body shaking. His shadowed jawline scratched at Harry, the sensation bringing shivers. Never had he been bombarded with so many emotions and sensation from just a kiss.
Just a meeting of lips.
With Fenrir…
He froze.
Fenrir.
Reality yanked his lust-fogged brain back to the surface, and he threw himself off Tom. Landing on his knees on the floor.
"James?"
Fenrir.
He deserved better than this. He deserved someone capable of avenging him. He deserved the love in death that he'd never quite got in life…