Page 14 of A Very Gay Halloween
The kiss obliterates everything else. Two years of pent-up frustration and want and goddamn confusion explode between us like a bomb going off. His tongue pushes past my lips, demanding entry, claiming territory, and I open for him without hesitation.
He tastes like mint gum and something darker, something that makes my head spin. His hands fist in my hair, angling my head so he can kiss me deeper, harder, like he's trying to crawl inside my skin.
I kiss him back just as desperately, my tongue tangling with his, both of us trying to devour each other. It's messy and raw and nothing like the careful, controlled fantasies I've jerked off to in the dead of night. This is better. This is real teeth and real tongue and the real sound of Cooper moaning into my mouth.
When we finally break apart, we're both gasping. Cooper rests his forehead against mine, and I can feel his breath ghosting across my lips.
"Jesus Christ," he pants, and his voice is wrecked, completely fucking destroyed.
We're still pressed together, hip to hip, and I can feel his cock throbbing against mine through our jeans. The friction is maddening, not nearly enough but still making my vision blur around the edges.
He rolls his hips, grinding against me, and I make a sound that would be embarrassing if I had any brain cells left to care. My hands find his ass, squeezing the firm muscle through denim, pulling him closer.
"Two fucking years," he growls against my mouth. "Two years I've wanted to do this."
His words are a gut punch. All this time—all the hostility, all the glaring across rooms, all the cutting comments—and he wanted this too?
"You never said—"
"Neither did you." He bites my lower lip, sucking it between his teeth until I whimper. "Too busy being a complete asshole."
"Takes one to know one," I manage, but the comeback loses its edge when he grinds against me again and my words dissolve into a moan.
The darkness around us is absolute except for Cooper's flashlight beam cutting across the basement floor at a wild angle, but I can feel everything. The way his chest heaves against mine. The tremor in his hands as they map my shoulders, my ribs, the muscles of my back. The way his cock pulses against mine, separated only by layers of denim that suddenly feel criminal.
I need more. I need skin. I need to taste him, to feel him, to prove to myself that this is actually happening and not some elaborate wet dream.
My hands shake as I reach for his belt, fumbling with the leather and metal. Cooper must sense my desperation because he helps me, his own fingers working on my jeans while mine fight with his zipper.
"Wait," he breathes, stepping back just enough to create space between us.
For one terrifying moment, I think he's changed his mind. That reality has crashed back down and he's remembering all the reasons why this is insane.
But then I see what he's doing.
He’s already unzipping his pants, pushing them down his hips along with his underwear. His cock springs free, thick and hard and glistening with pre-come in the faint light. He wraps his hand around himself, giving his length one slow, deliberate stroke that makes my mouth water.
"Trick or treat?" he asks, and there's that fucking smirk again.
But this time, instead of making me want to punch him, it makes me want to drop to my knees and worship him.
"Both," I growl, surging forward to capture his mouth again.
This kiss is different—hungrier, more aggressive. I shove my tongue into his mouth, claiming him the way he claimed me moments before. He tastes like want and desperation.
His free hand tangles in my hair, holding me in place while he kisses me back with equal fervor. The hand wrapped around his cock continues its slow strokes, and I can feel the movement against my stomach.
When we break apart this time, I'm already moving. Dropping to my knees on the gritty basement floor, ignoring the cold and the dirt and everything else except the man standing in front of me.
His cock is right there, inches from my face, and it's perfect in ways I never let myself imagine. Thick and curved slightly upward, the head flushed dark with arousal. There's a prominent vein running along the underside, and his cockhead is slick with pre-come that makes my tongue ache to taste him.
I've fantasized about this moment countless times, usually in the shower with my own hand wrapped around my cock, trying to pretend it was Cooper's mouth, Cooper's hand, Cooper's anything. But fantasy has nothing on reality.
Without giving myself time to overthink, I lean forward and run my tongue along the underside of his cock, from base to tip.
Cooper's reaction is immediate and visceral. His whole body jerks like he's been electrocuted, and a sound tears from his throat—a moan, a curse, a prayer.
"Fuck, August."
