around until I found lube, with Jazz grinning and kissing whatever part of my chest his mouth was closest to.
I kissed him hard, sucking on his tongue as I slid my slick fingers over his cock and then down, down. Jazz shivered at the sudden cold sensation, but soon he was shivering for a different reason. I rubbed the pads of my fingers over his hole again, teasingly—not going inside, just pressing.
“Stop teasing me,” he growled into my mouth.
It was grounding, in a way, to hear that familiar annoyed voice. It made something in my chest warm. I obliged, grinning into the kiss and slipping a finger inside him.
Fuck. He was tight, and hot, and so fucking responsive. As soon as I slipped inside, his fingers dug hard into my back as he arched off the bed.
“Hurry up,” he complained breathlessly. “I’m not going to break.”
I almost shot back with a comment about how he was just in the hospital, but it was easier just to press two more fingers inside him and thrust deep enough to drive a groan from his lungs. He was so hot and tight around my fingers, and I throbbed with the need to be inside him. I had to squeeze my own cock hard at the base to stave off my own orgasm, which was already thrumming deep in my gut.
I twisted my wrist a little, curled my fingers, and found that place inside him. I knew it existed, in theory, and that it supposedly felt good, but I wasn’t prepared for the sudden, sharp gasp Jazz inhaled and the way his entire body tensed, clenching hard around me.
Fuck, I needed to be inside him.
“Stop fucking around,” Jazz choked, “and fuck me already.”
And how could I resist a request like that?
I kissed him hard on the mouth, and then slowly shifted on the bed, pushing his legs apart, careful of his injuries from the fight. I rubbed the head of my cock over his entrance, almost teasing, but before Jazz could complain, I captured his lips in another kiss as I pushed inside.
And fuck. Holy fuck.
He was so hot, and tight, like velvet around me. I held myself up with one hand next to his head, and kissed him hard as I pushed in slowly, slowly, until my hips were flush against his ass. Jazz gasped, shivered, clung to me.
It felt so new. And yet so familiar. Like our bodies already knew what to do.
“Move,” Jazz murmured.
I buried my face in the crook of his neck and breathed there, trying to get a handle on myself. The sensation was overwhelming. But Jazz wanted me to move, and he had his legs hooked possessively over mine, heels digging into my calves, and I couldn’t deny him what he wanted. Not anymore. I wanted the same exact thing.
I pulled out slowly, then thrust back in, all the way, angling my hips to find that spot inside him that made him shake.
It took a few tries, a few thrusts, but I found it.
“Clint,” Jazz gasped, his hands scrabbling for purchase on my back. “Right there. Fucking hell.”
I couldn’t make any real sentences, I could only groan into his neck, especially when he said my name in that breathy tone. I picked up the pace, driving my hips harder and faster into him, and Jazz tipped his hips up like he was begging for more. I felt like I was running toward a cliff’s edge, but I couldn’t slow down—I shoved my hand in between our bodies and stroked Jazz’s cock hard and fast, matching the pace of my thrusts.
Jazz swore again, and then skated his hand up my back, over my nape, and cradled the back of my head, keeping my face tucked into the crook of his neck. Something about that gesture made my heart clench like I’d been punched in the solar plexus—it was so possessive, but so caring; I should be the one holding him like that, not this way. I kissed his neck again, savoring the salty taste of his sweat, and thrust into him harder.
I tried to groan a warning, but my climax hit me with a shocking force. Every muscle in my body tensed suddenly, and then released all at once as pleasure rolled through me like a wave and I came harder than I had in years. I collapsed on top of Jazz with a sated sigh; he tangled his fingers in mine around his cock and guided me. It