Wildfire

With almost superhuman willpower, Jack slows down, reaching for the lube and adding another cool slick as Eli makes a weak sound of relief. When he speaks, Philip looks almost through him, blue eyes almost too bright with animal hunger.

'How do you want to come? How do you want him to come?'

'I...Jesus fuck,' Philip thrusts into Eli's mouth and stays there as his body jerks under them and he makes a noise like a sob. 'My god.'

'Quite,' Jack breathes out in a slow, controlled exhale. He mouths 'He ok?', but Philip is already pulling out and kneeling down, taking Eli's feverish face in his hands. In the mirror, Jack sees the hair plastered with sweat, the hectic flush, the swollen mouth; he hears Philip murmuring soft reassurance as he strokes one burning cheek. Jack puts a firm hand on the back of Eli's neck and the other in the small of his back, and the pressure seems to calm him a little, as he knew it would. Philip looks a little uncertain suddenly, too dizzy with desire to think.

Not so nonchalant now, are you? Jack thinks smugly.

'How about you fuck his mouth as I make him take me,' he says softly. 'And if he swallows every drop, he gets to come?'

Philip nods gratefully at him over Eli's shoulders. In the mirror, Jack watches as he pushes himself back between those lips, his face half tender, half hard with want. He sees Eli's chest heave as he sucks in as much air as he can, and for a moment he simply takes in the sight of Philip's long, thick cock bruising Eli's face, the wet sounds of his mouth. Jack thrusts unhurriedly, aware of Philip's eyes fixed on the lewd roll of their bodies as he spears in and out. Then the man's back arches and he tenses, suddenly, with a low groan. Jack begins to slap his hips against Eli in earnest again then, making him cry out around Philip's cock.

'Oh fuck...fuck...fuck!' Philip grits his teeth as he pumps his hips, muscular thighs tight. The tension snaps and he almost roars as he comes, hands fisted brutally in that cloud of dark hair, and the taut line of Eli's throat works desperately as he swallows it all.

'Jesus,' Philip gasps, almost falling back against the bed, 'Jesus Christ.' He drops to his knees and wipes Eli's mouth with his thumbs, licks traces of himself from his lips. Jack keeps his quick pace, liquid heat between his legs becoming unbearable, and underneath him Eli moans brokenly as he's thrust forward again and again.

'I can't,' he whimpers. 'I can't...'

'He's done so...well...h-hasn't he?' Jack says, hearing his own words becoming laboured and erratic. 'You want me to...oh, fuck...pull out?'

'No,' Philip says, still a little out of breath, eyes soft with afterglow as he stares at his lover's face, tight with an exhausting mix of pleasure and pain. 'Come inside him, he deserves it.'

Now it's Jack's turn to moan as he yanks Eli's unresisting body closer, pressing his thighs further apart and fucking into him unspeakably deep. Philip spits on his fingers and Jack feels the muscles around him convulse deliciously as Eli's cock is stroked hard again and pleasured by Philip's swift, practised movements. Eli writhes uncontrollably, arms wrapped around that tattooed neck, his hips shudder and he begs and begs with his raw throat until it cracks.

'...please, I can't...please let me...please, Philip...uh...uh...'

Jack watches as his face contorts in the mirror, overstimulated body going utterly rigid, and he cries like he's dying as he comes, thick and hot, over Philip's chest. Finally, Jack lets the roll of his own orgasm overtake him, the shooting bliss in his dick more intense than anything he can remember, and he spurts into that tight, sore arse with a winded sound like he's been punched in half. When his vision stops being back and white static, he sees Philip kissing Eli's bruised lips with languid tenderness, stroking his back.

Carefully, light-headed, Jack untangles himself from the younger man's body and Eli groans as he slips out. He pads to the bathroom to clean up, leaving them to whatever new intimacy needs to be forged there. He takes his time and splashes his face with cold water until his head clears. When he lets himself back in, Philip has wrapped Eli in a blanket, and he has already half drifted off on the bed, sprawled like an old greek statue of a sleeping nymph.

Philip has shucked his jeans back on, wiped off his chest with his shirt, and refilled the glasses with whiskey, one of which he offers. Jack relaxes. It can get tricky just after you've railed someone's boyfriend, especially one as pretty as that, but for all his possessiveness, the man is relaxed and ironed out. He gives Jack that crinkly half-smile.

'Well, that was...really something, gotta hand it to you.'

'Don't sell yourself short, couldn't believe that was your first time opening up together. He's a lucky boy.'

Philip ducks his head, and Jack realises for the first time that he's actually a little shy himself for all his swagger. He gestures at the limp body on the bed.

'He ok?'

Eli murmurs something like 'I'm ok, I'm ok...' but it trails off and his breathing evens out as he falls further into sleep.

'Yeah, just wiped out.' Philip laughs softy, and they grin conspiratorially at each other.

'Reckon you'll do something like this again?' Jack asks, grateful for the soft warmth the alcohol buzzes into his limbs. He knows he's going to ache in the morning, hamstrings reminding him he's no longer so young.

Philip shrugs, takes a sip. His voice when he speaks is a little too casual. 'Yeah, I think so, and I mean...we're here fairly regularly for work, if you're ever up for a rematch yourself...'

Jack nods, slowly, carefully matching his easy tone even as the thought of fucking Eli again makes his spent dick throb. 'Sure, you know where to find me, but I'll give you my number...you guys are a really nice couple.'

Philip tosses back most of his drink. 'I, too, am a lucky boy.'

Jack looks at Eli, totally serene in sleep. What he wouldn't give to slide into bed behind him, wrap himself around those smooth limbs until morning, but that's Philip's privilege. 'I mean it, that can be a hard balancing act, what you have together is pretty special.'

'I always thought so.'

They swap numbers and Jack finishes his drink. He courteously takes his leave, shrugging on his jacket, heading out into the night and enjoying the neon glow of bar signs and faraway wail of sirens. The city feels vibrantly alive and so does he. He glances back at the hotel, lights glowing in random windows like mismatched eyes.

'Be seeing you,' he murmurs, the balmy spring air caressing his face as he saunters away down the sidewalk. Perhaps tomorrow he'll head to the Iris, catch that exhibition of Mr. Kowalski's huge sculptures, and marvel at the seeds that only sprout in wildfire.