Warrehn’s eyes flicked down to his mouth, as if he were reading his thoughts. Samir licked his lips, and Warrehn’s eyes became gratifyingly unfocused. Kiss me. Kiss me. Put your tongue in me. Samir was distantly aware that he was actively projecting those thoughts, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted to be kissed. Wanted to feel this man with his skin, with his mouth, with his hands.
“Stop that,” Warrehn said with a pinched, tight expression.
“I’m not doing anything,” Samir said breathlessly, swaying toward him.
Warrehn caught him, pulling him flush against his body, and finally crushed their mouths together.
It was bliss, the sheer relief of it. Samir moaned, his arms snaking up around Warrehn’s neck and his lips parting for his tongue. Please.
A cough barely penetrated through the fog of want and need in his mind. There was someone else there. He should probably care. He didn’t. And thankfully, neither did Warrehn. He was kissing him with a force and hunger that rivaled his own, his large hands roaming all over his body, his cock pushing against Samir’s stomach.
His cock. A fresh tremor of desire wracked his body as he thought of Warrehn’s thick, long cock. Fuck, he wanted it, he wanted to touch it, to put it into his mouth and suck.
Warrehn made a growl of approval. As if in a dream, Samir dropped to his knees and greedily nuzzled the bulge under Warrehn’s pants.
“Right,” someone said awkwardly. “I’ll go, then. Talk to you later, Warrehn.” There was the sound of retreating steps.
Noise. It was all just background noise. All Samir cared about was getting that cock in his mouth and worshiping it. His mouth was watering, his fingers trembling with impatience.
To his relief, Warrehn unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out, nudging it against Samir’s lips. Moaning, Samir licked the leaking head before swallowing as much of the cock as he could. It didn’t fit in his mouth, but Samir didn’t care, sucking on it with relish, his eyelids dropping shut. Warrehn grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, sending tremors of pain and pleasure through his body.
“Fucking slag,” he said, fucking into Samir’s mouth steadily. “Were you gagging for cock so badly that you couldn’t wait a little bit and hired a prostitute to give you a cock?” Thrust. “Whore.”
The derogatory words shouldn’t have made him feel more aroused. But they did. Fuck, they did. Being humiliated and treated like shit always aroused him, and Samir moaned around Warrehn’s cock, reveling in the feeling of being used. He kind of wanted Warrehn to rough him up, slap him, for being a slag.
He felt a foreign surprise mixed with arousal, and realized that he must have projected his thoughts—or Warrehn was too strong a telepath not to pick them up.
“You are a slag,” Warrehn said, grabbing his face with both hands and fucking into his mouth roughly, so deeply he was fucking his throat. “Look at you, on your knees in a public room anyone can enter, getting stuffed full of my cock and moaning like a slut. You want me to hit you? I can hit you.” He slapped Samir across the face—not hard enough to truly hurt, but the sting was perfect. Samir whimpered around the cock in his mouth, rubbing his own cock desperately. Warrehn said softly, “Such a slut. If only people could see you now, their perfect Prince Samir getting his throat fucked like a ten-credit whore.”
That was enough to send Samir over the edge. He came in his pants, and a moment later, his throat was flooded with Warrehn’s come. He wanted it… he needed to taste it. He jerked himself off Warrehn’s spasming cock and placed his lips over the head, sucking greedily, reveling in the taste and texture of the creamy seed filling his mouth.
Warrehn’s grip in his hair turned into a caress, his fingers petting his scalp absentmindedly. Samir was this close to mewling. Everything felt toe-curlingly right. Perfect. Just as it should be.
The fingers in his hair went still.
“Fuck,” Warrehn cursed, and, yanking his zipper shut, strode away.
Right.
Eridan.
He’d seen them.
***
“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Eridan said, his expression a mix of awkward, amused, and confused.
“I know I don’t,” Warrehn said. “But what you saw isn’t—it isn’t real. I don’t like the guy and the feeling is mutual, I assure you.”
Eridan raised his golden brows, conveying his skepticism without words. He looked so much like their mother when he did it that it made Warrehn feel more uncomfortable—and guiltier. He was fucking the son of his mother’s murderer. It was that bad. He wouldn’t blame his brother for being disgusted. Sometimes he was disgusted with himself, too, no matter how much he might rationalize it. He was fucking the son of the woman who had killed his mother.