nose, nostrils flaring as Madigan angled the tip of the knife so that it caught with soft snicks of sound, fraying fine threads as he dragged it over Azrael’s straining fly.
“I like this game.” Az hummed and shifted subtly forward, undeterred by the teeth at the tip of the blade. The fucker liked to walk a fine line. But then again, so did Madigan.
How many times had he been perfectly positioned to sever an artery, to make Az go away forever, and the prospect of sex won out in the end?
One day, one of them would do it. One of them would be open and vulnerable, and the other would take advantage. Az knew it. Madigan knew it. He supposed that was part of the thrill.
Madigan caught the hem of Azrael’s shirt between his fingers and held it taut as he slipped the knife between the placket and lifted. He rose from the chair to maintain one long, steady movement of his wrist, buttons dropping between them and tawny miles of skin exposed. Az tipped his head back, displaying the seductive curve of his throat, dark stubble peppering a strong Adam’s apple. Madigan thought to himself, as he always did, do it. He entertained the notion, as he always did, of following through on the reflex. He saw it perfectly in his mind’s eye. The gush of blood, how even then, Azrael would show no surprise.
Az groaned as the knife’s tip kissed his sternum and left behind beads of red that Madigan chased with his tongue. He’d never call it soothing, though the sounds Az made suggested it was that and more.
Az swallowed hard against the knife point dimpling his throat.
“Don’t move.” Madigan flicked his tongue over stubble, tasted the other man’s pulse, and felt its thundering cadence against the flat of his tongue. He stepped around to Az’s back and repeated the motion with the knife from collar to waist, severing the fancy shirt cleanly in half then shoving it free of his arms. Azrael’s back was strong and well-defined, a landscape of hills and valleys Madigan looked forward to reacquainting himself with. He loved this view, loved seeing the scars he’d given Az, knowing their retaliatory counterparts were crosshatched onto his own skin.
Flipping the knife, Madigan reached around Az’s waist and deftly sliced free the button on his trousers.
“Careful, motek.”
“It entertains me that now is when you get jumpy, not when I’m at your throat.”
“If you go for my throat, I’ll be dead and none the wiser. If you cut off my cock and leave me maimed, I’ll have misjudged your capability of cruelty and be down a body part. The latter two are far worse prospects than the first.” Az’s tone was mild, though it sharpened with a breath when Madigan unzipped him and pulled out his cock.
“Your dick doesn’t seem too intimidated.”
“Which is exactly why I’ve never been so foolish as to trust its opinion.”
“Naturally.” Madigan chuckled then groaned as Azrael first pressed his firm ass back against Madigan’s aching cock, and then surged forward into his waiting grip. Az was infuriating, but damn, Madigan enjoyed the hell out of the parts of him that couldn’t speak. “You going to take my cock easy, or was that shower I took earlier a waste?”
“You smell better, so not a waste, perhaps. But I can promise you’ll be drenched before we’re done.” Az spoke absently, the words interrupted by a sigh of pleasure as Madigan stroked him, let him feel the hardness of his own cock pressing insistently against Az’s firm ass and tried to predict how things would play out between them, though it never worked. Never the same thing twice with this man.
Sure enough, seconds later, Madigan found their positions reversed when Az whipped around, quick as a viper’s strike.
Az’s chest rose and fell rapidly against Madigan’s back. He rubbed his cock slowly against Madigan’s ass, as if he wanted to make sure Madi appreciated every inch, then tightened his hold on Madigan’s chest. In return, Madi reached behind him, hooking a hand around the nape of Az’s neck, thumb finding the right pressure point and pressing in firm reminder: I’m only here because I allow it.
Az made a scoffing noise that let him know the message had been received, then moved against him with desultory rolls of his hips. He teased the hilt of the knife over Madigan’s nipples until they rose to tight peaks, then dragged it across his ribcage and around his back