and Nicky’s throaty whine had him doing it again and again in time with his thrusts until Cy’s handprints blossomed crimson across the landscape of Nicky’s golden skin. Heat pricked along his spine, pleasure pooling in his insides as his orgasm drew closer. When he wrapped his fist around Nicky’s cock, he was hard and leaking. Cy thumbed over Nicky’s slit, using precum and the lube still on his hand to work him relentlessly.
Nicky moaned. “Cy, I’m gonna come.”
“Not. Yet.”
“Please…you feel so good.”
That was all it took to punch Cy’s release from him, his teeth sinking into the back of Nicky’s neck as he bred him, spilling his seed deep inside. “Now, you can come.”
Two more thrusts and Nicky was crying out, his cum spilling over Cy’s tightened fist. He kept stroking him until Nicky pushed his hand away. He dropped his head to the metal frame of the top bunk, shoulders rising and falling with the efforts of his breathing.
Cy went to pull out, but Nicky shook his head. “Not yet.”
Cy kissed the mark he left on the back of Nicky’s neck, then the one on his shoulder, content to occupy himself with mapping the bruises and indentations he’d left on Nicky’s skin with the two of them still joined. “We have to move eventually. We can’t sleep like this.”
“I just like the way you feel inside me. It makes me feel…” Nicky trailed off.
“Feel what?” Cy asked.
“Nothing. It’s stupid. Come lay down with me.”
Nicky went to move, but Cy gripped him around the waist, holding him hostage against his chest. “Not until you finish your sentence.”
Nicky’s face was as red as the handprints on his ass when he gave Cy a look from over his shoulder before turning away. “I don’t know…safe? Wanted? Connected? Not alone?”
Cy stood there, poleaxed at Nicky’s words. Cy understood what it was like to crave that kind of connection. But it was impossible there. Was that what Nicky meant? Or did he feel those things on the outside, too? Unwanted? Alone? Disconnected?
“I told you it was stupid,” Nicky said, dipping out from under Cy’s now slack arm to go to the sink to clean up.
“It’s not stupid.”
“It is. This whole situation is. I’ve known you my whole life, but I’ve really only known you a year at most and—what?—three days in here? But I feel closer to you than I have with any other person I’ve ever known. What is that? Some kind of weird variation of Stockholm Syndrome? Like you and I feel so strangely real in a situation that is more surreal than a Black Mirror episode.”
Cy cleaned himself up as he thought about Nicky’s words. When they were both no longer sticky, he dragged Nicky back to the mattress and under the rough sandpaper-like brown blanket. Nicky tried to turn away from him, but Cy once more held him prisoner in his arms. “What does it matter, Nicky? We’re both here. We’re both doing the best we can in a bullshit situation. Maybe you feel close to me because we only had each other for that whole year? Maybe because I always wanted to protect you, even if I didn’t do a very good job. I like taking care of you, keeping you safe. It’s the only thing I’ve ever known how to do.”
“I wish you’d met me as a grown man on the outside instead of in here. I have a life. I protect people for a living. Yeah, I usually do it with computers, but I can fight. I am an expert marksman. Hell, I have a certificate in Israeli street fighting for fuck’s sake.” Cy smiled, still baffled about Nicky’s impromptu listing of his resume. “But, suddenly, I’m stuck in here with you, and I feel like I’m six years old again and you’re the only one who can save me. It’s fucking insane. I can protect myself. If you weren’t here, I’d find some way to survive, but I see you and I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to fight alone. I see you and I just…want you.”
Cy’s heart jackhammered in his chest at Nicky’s confession. Cy understood Nicky’s confusion, though not exactly his frustration. “It’s okay to not want to be alone. It’s okay to not always want to take care of yourself. We spent our childhoods learning how to be alone, and live alone, and survive alone. There’s nothing wrong with letting somebody else in. With letting me in.”
“There is if