Dark Edge of Honor

  Mike looked over his shoulder, fingers sliding over the muscles in Sergei’s neck. “Don’t know.” He laughed, a soft, husky sound. “If it collapses, I’m sure the ground beneath it can hold us just fine, though. Most likely.”

  Sergei stripped, pulling the jacket and shirt off, and the boots next. Now wearing as much or as little as Mike. “Don’t care.” Don’t care about your hands, either. You’re not here to kill me. He shook his head to chase that thought away and gripped Mike’s trousers. “I want to see you naked.” He realized he’d spoken that aloud and grinned, feeling reckless for speaking words like that. He normally didn’t speak, but this wasn’t normal.

  Mike fumbled with his belt, fingers hasty, seeming to tremble just a little. He bent over, unlacing his boots with familiar ease, head tilted to look up at Sergei. “And so you shall.” He straightened, toed off his boots, kicking them and his pants into the corner toward his kit with negligent dismissal, then moved closer, gaze intense, fingers tangling with Sergei’s belt.

  The contrast fascinated Sergei, tanned skin and light skin, naked and semidressed, but getting naked too was more important now. He opened the belt, opened the trousers and slid everything down, then straightened and pulled Mike into another kiss. He was getting partial to that, and together with the slide of skin against skin, it was intoxicating.

  Mike’s lips slowed, and the man drew away, hands drifting down over Sergei’s chest as he stepped back. Away, but toward the cot. Teasing. Luring. “What else do you want?”

  Sergei wrestled with the concept of speaking that aloud. “Maybe I want…you to call out my name.” Like you said, yesterday. That must be mind-blowing. Completely unlike anything he did with the officer, completely unlikely anything he did.

  Mike smiled, a thoughtful twist of his mouth, lips wet and flushed. “That, you’ll have to work for, I think.” He glanced at his kit in the corner, then back at Sergei, before finally going to a knee and rifling through one of the pockets of his pack.

  Sergei ran his fingers through the shaggy dark hair, caressed the neck, shoulders, then sat down on the cot, testing its stability by rocking this way and that. “It might do.”

  Mike tossed a small jar of some kind of oil onto the canvas. It rolled toward Sergei and bumped into his thigh. Sergei looked down, curious, distracted, and found himself suddenly crowded. Mike straddled his thighs, knees bracketing his hips, hands sliding over his shoulders, up his neck. And then those warm, wet lips were back on his, brushing lightly against his mouth for a moment, asking silently, before crushing against Sergei, demanding.

  Sergei found the position allowed him to touch everything without breaking those kisses, from the man’s cock against his belly to his back, ass, shoulders. He touched everywhere, couldn’t get enough, the closeness keeping him hard and wanting. He could probably even fuck him like this. He pried the jar open and poured some of the thin liquid into his palm, coated his fingers, and went back to Mike’s ass, conveniently spread open by the position. Yes, this should work. He pushed an oiled finger inside him.

  The man went still for a second, body rigid, not even breathing. He pulled back slightly, eyes slid shut. Inhaled on a rush of air and opened his eyes, the tension bleeding from his body again like water down a drain. Just gone. Mike’s hands tightened against his neck, gaze flicking between Sergei’s eyes and mouth.

  “Tell me if it hurts.” Sergei knew what he himself could take, but wasn’t so sure about the other man. He spread more oil on the opening, rubbing the muscle there with slicked fingers, then slid back in and out again, imagining how the tight heat would feel around him, that impossible intimacy of holding a man and kissing him while fucking him. New, untested territory.

  Mike’s hands moved to his shoulders, his head falling forward to rest there as well. His forehead was slick with sweat as he shook his head slightly. “No.” A strange sound came from him, something unintelligible, part moan, hiss, grunt? Sergei couldn’t tell. “Just been a while.”

  “Well…let’s go slowly.” Sergei would have laughed if he hadn’t felt strangely tender. Like he had any clue what to do now, but he still wanted to make sure he didn’t cause more pain than the inevitable burn. He pushed both fingers inside to test Mike’s reaction, but the man didn’t pull back. Been a while meant he wasn’t a virgin, and that gave him more confidence. Mike knew what he was doing, at least.

  Sergei pulled his fingers free and used the residual oil for his own cock, pressing his lips together at the slick firm touch. Mike reached down and nudged his hand away, stroking him, scooting closer. Sergei hadn’t thought it would be possible for him to be any closer. The man’s touch felt better than his own, drawing a hiss from his lips, and Sergei had to fight to keep his eyes open. He wanted to see, though. Didn’t want to miss any of it. Mike guided his cock, angled his hips, shifting his weight.

  And the cot creaked, an ominous sound of wood strained to the breaking point.

  In this position, it wasn’t even quite clear who fucked whom. Sergei suppressed a groan when Mike lowered himself onto him, slow and deliberate, but whether to drive him insane or to tease him or just to take it slow, he had no idea. The man was capable of just about anything. He didn’t dare move now, didn’t want the cot to give up, even though staying still was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He kissed Mike’s shoulder, testing the muscle there with teeth, before he licked the hot skin. More of this, simply more.

  Mike moaned, a quiet sound that seemed to come out without knowledge. His hand cupped Sergei’s face, brought his head up, closer, to meet Mike’s lips with his own. Sergei couldn’t complain about the man’s timing, though, since he chose that moment to sink fully down Sergei’s length and settle completely on his lap. He was not a frail man, but Sergei barely noticed the weight of him, lost in the sensation, the heat.

  Sergei’s moan was thankfully drowned in the kiss. He was ravenous for more kissing, couldn’t get enough of this lean strong body that held him just as much as he held it. He’d never dreamed it could be like this—this intimate, this good. He caressed the back, stroked the sides, felt the muscles respond to his touch, up to the front to explore the chest, the throat, while burning with need.

  Mike leaned into him, no matter where his hands moved, the sounds coming from the back of his throat muffled by Sergei’s mouth. The kiss deepened suddenly, Mike’s tongue thrusting into his mouth, muscles bunching beneath Sergei’s touch as his body arched, lifted, hips pulling away.

  Sergei wanted to protest, his caresses turned into a tight embrace to try and hold onto Mike, even though he knew he’d return to the closeness there, that they couldn’t fuck without moving. “You…” he managed to get out between kisses.

  Mike’s lips curled into a smile that Sergei could feel against his mouth. “Me?” he asked, breathless, panting. One hand gripping Sergei’s neck, Mike slid the other down his spine as if counting vertebrae, arm tightening as he sank back into Sergei’s lap, pulling him close. Sweat-slicked skin sliding against him, hot, searing.

  Sergei lost all words and thoughts again, still didn’t want to admit what this did to him, wanted to simply enjoy it and claim it all because it couldn’t possibly last. He struggled for some sense while engulfed in that strength, and didn’t quite manage. He couldn’t care that he was practically helpless. “You’re…so good.”

  Mike’s only answer was another kiss, mouth and lips and tongue claiming him, marking him like a brand. He rolled his hips, setting a slow, torturous pace that threatened to short-circuit Sergei’s brain entirely.

  Every movement chipped away at Sergei’s control, and he’d started out with very little to spare. He groaned, moving as much as he could, ignoring the protesting creaking of the wood. Shifting his weight forward, he then realized what he could do. He grabbed Mike close around the waist and shoulders, supporting his weight as he stood, taking the few steps toward the wall. He smiled, arranging Mike’s legs around his waist, and began to fuck him against the wa
ll, harsh movements but not brutal, kissing his face, lips, everything he could reach.

  Mike’s thigh muscles corded like a vise against his hips. He moved his mouth to Sergei’s neck, biting, sucking, tracing the lines of tendon with his tongue. “Sergei.” Just a whisper, a warm, puffing breath against his skin, lips curved into a smile.

  Sergei paused. Struggling with climax, he didn’t want to end this, but the word did it. He didn’t have to control anything, or anybody. Orgasm was intense, dangerous while standing up, weakening him in a way he couldn’t resist. He pressed against Mike’s body, burrowed as deep as he could, wished it were even deeper, wanted to claw the man open and melt into him. The fierce, ragelike surge of emotion washed away and made him mellow and weak.

  Mike braced his arms around Sergei’s shoulders as he relaxed his legs and slipped down. Sergei felt the man’s body against his own as he straightened, standing on his own feet, cock pinned between their bodies still hard, hot against his stomach.

  He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, either. It seemed like a small favor to return right now. But when he knelt down and came eye-to-eye with Mike’s cock, it seemed enormous. Never mind. He reached for it, moved closer, opened his lips. First taste assaulting his sense, he wasn’t sure he liked it, but he continued, doing what Mike had done to him only yesterday, sucking on the hot, slick head and probing it with his tongue.

  A string of unintelligible words came from Mike, body tensing, seeming to strain against itself. The man’s hands rested on Sergei’s head, stroking over his scalp, fingertips tracing over his forehead, brows, knuckles brushing along his cheekbone, jaw.

  He must be doing something right, to use his hand to continue jerking Mike off, while licking and sucking and exploring. He relished that tenderness, too, the way nobody else touched him, because he normally didn’t do this. Here though, he had nothing to lose, and that felt liberating beyond measure.

  Mike arched forward, hips thrusting as if he was beyond controlling the movement. He watched Sergei, but his eyes were half-hooded slits of indeterminate color. His chest heaved, breathing erratic, shallow, as if he’d just run clear across the province.

  Sergei pulled back for a moment, swallowed, then went to explore other areas, the sac, the ridiculously tender skin where the leg connected, the strong tendon a good target for teeth and another lick. He kept stroking with his hand, but slowly, drinking in Mike’s reactions, the way his breath flowed, the tension in his legs.

  The tension that seemed to be disappearing rather quickly. Mike made another noise, something between a hum and a moan, his head back, against the wall, the line of his neck arched and straining.

  Sergei smiled to himself and kept stroking, kissing, his free hand sliding over the man’s abs, then he felt him come. Some of the semen splashed against his shoulder and throat, some more ran warm down his back. He kept stroking him, grip now slick, and stood. Mike’s face was blank, and he couldn’t resist kissing him again.

  “Wow.” Mike murmured the word against Sergei’s lips between kisses, lifting his arm to curl a hand at the nape of his neck. “Thank you.”

  “For?” Sergei wiped his hand on his thigh and grinned. “You thought I’d pull out and leave?”

  Mike hesitated a fraction, though it could have been from nothing more than that loose, postcoital state. “No. I didn’t get that impression from you.” He grabbed Sergei’s wrist, turning it to study the wetness, gaze drifting over his body to the other places where Mike had marked him. “Going to stay awhile?”

  “Yes.” Sergei glanced at his wristwatch and calculated how much time he had. Three hours, plus or minus half an hour. “Do you have a towel?”

  “I do.” Mike didn’t release Sergei’s hand. He smiled, leaned in and licked at his throat, sucking the flesh into his mouth, removing what he’d put there. “Do you want the towel?” he asked, pulling back.

  Sergei tensed, that touch nothing short of electric, racing through his body right to his toes, especially when he realized what it was. Some drops were running down his back, and he shuddered at the thought of what it would feel like if Mike licked them away too. He blinked, unable to respond with words, a quick head shake all he managed.

  He watched, entranced, as Mike lifted Sergei’s hand and laved his tongue over his palm, sucked his thumb into his mouth, removing all traces of himself one finger at a time. Mike’s hands trailed up his arms then, pulling him closer, legs wide to bring Sergei in against him while he remained propped up on the wall. His lips trailed over Sergei’s cheek, down his neck, over his shoulder, sometimes more teeth than anything else.

  “I have…much to learn,” Sergei murmured to himself, the languid feeling charged with sex again. He wasn’t used to this; everything Mike did felt like a revelation, and he was completely out of his depth.

  Mike’s lips stilled against his shoulder. He lifted his head and rested it back against the wall, a serious expression in his eyes, now more brown. Though there seemed to be a hint of blue in them, along the outer edge of the iris. “What do you mean?”

  “What you do…” His defenses had been pulled down, and he couldn’t care, either. It had to be a mistake admitting this. “It’s…all new.” And I want it. I didn’t know it existed, but I want it so bad.

  Mike’s brows crawled up his forehead, dark arching slashes against sun-bronzed skin. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” Something that might have been panic flashed across his face.

  Yes, big mistake. Sergei shook his head. “No! No, I’m not.” How to get out of this situation? “I’ve had…I’ve done…” I’ve taken cock just fine, a small, cynical voice assisted. “Just different. It doesn’t matter. If you want to fuck me, do it. I’m not a virgin.”

  Mike’s expression altered into something unreadable. His touch was rough for a moment, but only to yank Sergei closer, arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him in place, flush against his body. Mike’s chin came to rest on his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.” Something raw in the man’s voice, an edge, hinted at understanding.

  “Just…” Sergei wasn’t sure he could explain even if he weren’t embarrassed about it. What on earth had he done here that it was so different? “Different.” He embraced him, relishing the touch, the way Mike breathed against him, chest, belly expanding against his. “Maybe just the kissing. I…that’s new.” Easiest explanation.

  Mike hummed, a vibration Sergei could feel everywhere. A noncommittal noise. He didn’t say anything else, but his arms relaxed, hands sliding over his back, along his spine. Finding the moisture still trailing down Sergei’s back. His lips and teeth trailed up Sergei’s neck again, teasing. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

  It would be good. He knew that much. It was only fair, too, give-and-take, and with this man, it was all about giving too. He’d be different from the general. “Why not?” He swallowed, breathed deeply a few times, and grinned. “Only fair after I’ve had you.”

  A gust of warm air tickled Sergei’s neck as the man exhaled. Mike drew back, as if searching for something. An answer to some unspoken question? Sergei had no idea. And a few moments later, he didn’t care, because Mike grabbed his neck and started kissing him again.

  “I don’t know that the cot will hold up to that.” Mike’s mouth, which was the only thing Sergei was capable of focusing on just then, was curling into a lopsided grin.

  “Ground or wall.” Sergei eyed both, didn’t care either way. Ground would be fine too. The blanket would cushion the knees. He grabbed the coarse woolen blanket, folded it and placed it on the ground. Then he knelt on it, leaving enough space for Mike to join behind him, and took the position on hands and knees, opening his legs.

  Mike’s hand rested on his back, warm, slightly abrading calluses. Sergei felt his breath, his lips, the tip of his nose, make contact with his back, his tongue a moist trail of fire. The man finished what he’d started, laving the residue of his pleasure from Sergei’s skin, following
the trail of dried come down his spine. But Mike didn’t stop there. His tongue, the warm, moist breath puffing against Sergei’s skin, traced the crease of his ass. And then Mike’s mouth closed over the muscle of his sphincter.

  Sergei nearly jumped out of his skin. This was impossible, couldn’t be happening, yet still felt good in ways that only the most forbidden things could feel good. He groaned at that unknown touch, worried about shower, taste, smell, but at the same time couldn’t bring himself to call a halt to this.

  It definitely encouraged his cock to get fully hard again—and what was it about this man that kept him so close to lust and desire? He used to slake it and then move on with duty and the rest of his life, but this was getting too intense for that. He’d remember this when he was alone, and want more.

  “You’re crazy,” he murmured, but opened his legs further.

  Mike made no attempt to answer, unless that sigh was supposed to mean something. The tip of his tongue was everywhere, tracing patterns over his sphincter, wandering lower, tickling his sac, only to retrace its path back up again.

  Mike employed his lips again, sucking at the muscle, teasing with his tongue. And then he thrust his tongue against Sergei’s resistance, trying to force his way in.

  Sergei didn’t move away—it felt too good, all he did was push back against Mike’s face, one hand coming up to stroke himself now. He’d learned that this was the best way to counter the burn of getting fucked. When the tongue slid inside, it was utterly different from a cock or fingers, soft and pliant and still hard enough to get inside him, the feeling and intimacy mind-blowing.