Best Laid Plans (Garnet Run 2)

Rye gave a small mew of pleasure and it shot down Charlie’s spine like a caress. He wanted Rye to make that sound over and over again. With a hand pressed to the small of Rye’s back he could feel the silken fall of his hair with the other. He twined his fingers into the glorious mess of waves until he felt the curve of Rye’s skull. Every inch of him was perfect.

Charlie felt perfectly in control until they were falling.

He saved them from careening to the ground through sheer muscle and instead ended up with Rye crushed to his chest, one arm bracing them against the lathe.

Charlie didn’t spare more than a fleeting thought to commend himself on his choice of a lathe that would take the hit of their combined body weight.

“You okay?”

Rye’s response was a squeak muffled against his collarbone. Charlie stood them up and bent to look into Rye’s face. Rye was all sharp chin and blinking eyes and swollen lips.

Charlie groaned, reached out a finger, touched them.

Rye’s eyes fluttered shut and his mouth yearned toward Charlie’s.

Then they were kissing and kissing until they were drunk, mouths made for kissing and hands for holding faces and hair and necks and each other’s hands while kissing.

They ended up against the nearest wall, Charlie’s back pressed to the drywall and Rye sagging against him, breathing heavily. Charlie searched for his mouth blindly, lips wanting to know only Rye’s lips.

Rye started pulling at Charlie’s clothing, hands wild, mouth wet, cheek a burning brand against Charlie’s palm.

“Hang on,” Charlie mumbled against Rye’s mouth. Rye made a moue of discontent and pressed closer. Charlie lost himself in hot, heady kisses once more. He wrapped Rye’s hair in his hands, tugging a little, and Rye gasped into his mouth.

“You okay?”

Rye nodded instantly. He was squirming.

“You sure?”

Charlie peered at him.

“Just, um.” Rye glanced down. “Yup.” He swallowed hard. “Just yeah.”

“Rye?”

Rye huffed out a little irritated sound. “I like it when you pull my hair, okay? It gets to me.”

A rush of heat pooled in Charlie’s belly. He wanted to find out every single solitary thing that got to Rye. Just...not all at once.

Charlie slid his hand back into Rye’s hair and tugged. Rye’s eyes fluttered shut and he plastered himself back to Charlie’s chest.

“How hard do you like it pulled?”

Rye’s moan was wordless but heartfelt, and Charlie pulled a little harder. Rye dropped his forehead to Charlie’s chest and groaned. Charlie stroked Rye’s throat with his other hand, fingers gentle on his soft skin, and fisted his hair with the other, tugging more sharply.

Rye’s gasp was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. He did it again and again until Rye was writhing against him.

“Stop, stop,” Rye said. “Fuck, stop.”

He was pressing even closer to Charlie, arms tight around him, but moving his lower body away.

Charlie untangled his hand from Rye’s hair and just stroked it softly.

“You okay?” he asked again.

Rye wouldn’t look at him.

“Rye?”

“God, yes, just you have to stop or I’ll come all over you,” he groaned.

Charlie froze. He’d been turned on before, buzzing with heat, but at those words a bolt of lust tore through him that made him physically jolt.

“But you don’t...you don’t want to now...right?” Rye was asking.

“Huh?”

Charlie felt like he was fighting to hear through an unfamiliar fog.

Warm hands slid up his chest.

“You don’t wanna fuck. Or do you?”

The word cleared Charlie’s head. Fuck.

“I don’t...know.”

“Then you don’t,” Rye said.

“But I want...”

Charlie didn’t know how to say what he wanted. He didn’t know if Rye would want it too. He didn’t know if it was an okay thing to want.

Then Rye was kissing him again, hot and magic in his arms, saying, “Anything,” against his lips like he really meant it.

“I want you to...”

“To come? You wanna see me get off for you?” Rye asked, voice breathy and low, and how could he say things like that?

“Yes,” Charlie moaned. “And...”

“You want to pull my hair while I come for you.”

Charlie’s breath caught because Yes, yes, that.

“But you don’t wanna come?”

“Not...not yet,” Charlie managed.

Later, later when I’m alone in bed and there’s no chance you’ll see me do it wrong.

Rye kissed him, then, deep and yearning.

“Touch me, Charlie.”

This desire was like nothing Charlie had ever felt. He fisted Rye’s hair and pulled until Rye’s face was upturned like a flower. Rye’s breathing was already ragged.

“Can you really... Would you really have...” Charlie swallowed hard.

Rye bit his lip and nodded.

“Okay,” Charlie said.

“Okay,” Rye mouthed.

Charlie tugged on his hair and caught his open mouth in a brutal kiss, swallowing Rye’s moans.

He pulled harder and felt Rye tremble. Rye pressed against him, all attempts to hide his response obliterated now. When Rye’s hips pressed forward, Charlie could feel his erection, hard against his hip. Rye gasped and shuddered, and Charlie felt lightheaded.

“Charlie, Charlie, Charlie,” Rye chanted.