ReignOverMe Read online

  Spencer keens and his vision whites out for a flash as his head thumps back against the carpet. Dmitri’s ruthless, his tongue doing its best to drive Spencer out of his mind as his throat works around his shaft. It’s almost more than he can take and he can feel his orgasm building up embarrassingly fast but he doesn’t want to go alone, doesn’t want this to end without at least getting to taste Dmitri in the same way.

  His hands scramble at broad shoulders and his mouth begins to run without any conscious thought and his lips are spilling out his desires in to the empty room around them.

  “Let me suck you Dmitri, want to t-taste you too. Please, please, please…”

  Spencer trails off because Dmitri is moving, his mouth coming off of Spencer’s cock long enough for him to rearrange their bodies. Spencer is mouth to tip with Dmitri’s cock after that and Dmitri’s back to swallowing him down and all he can do is moan, steady Dmitri with one hand and do the same.

  The wet, filthy sound of them sucking each other down fills the room and Dmitri groans around Spencer’s shaft and the vibrations rip an answering moan from his lips. Dmitri thrusts deeper at the feel of it and Spencer can feel from the way he’s thickened in his mouth that the other man’s just as close as he is so he redoubles his efforts. He slides his hand up and down in a jerky kind of rhythm and he strains to take Dmitri even deeper as his own orgasm continues to coil tighter and tighter in the base of his stomach.

  Dmitri’s hand tightens briefly where he’s gripping Spencer’s thigh and his hips stutter for a second before he’s coming with a muffled shout. Spencer tries to swallow it all down but he can feel some of it dribble from the corners of his mouth and trail its way down his jaw.

  He doesn’t care, though, because he’s coming in the next second like an answer to Dmitri’s orgasm. His head jerks back and away so that his own shout isn’t muffled at all and his hips buck against the restraining hand Dmitri has wrapped around them as he feels his spine melt and seep out of him.

  It’s so exquisite that it’s almost painful and he can’t help but hiss softly when Dmitri continues to suckle him, the now softening flesh of his cock almost too sensitive to endure the touches. They lie there together for a moment before the cold begins to seep in, the chilled air in the room made all the more apparent by their lack of clothes. He hears Dmitri begin to stir, feels the larger man as he stumbles clumsily to his feet beside him. He’s blissed out and helpless against the hands that tug at him as Dmitri urges him to his feet. Spencer barely manages to keep his balance, no better than the drunken swaying Dmitri is doing, as he points them in the right direction and they fumble their way up the short flight of stairs and towards his bedroom.

  It’s only by the grace of God that they don’t break their necks on the trip up.

  Almost too quick to be true they’re through the door and collapsing on his unmade bed in a tangle of limbs and rumpled sheets. Dmitri’s arms are latched firmly around his waist, pulling him back into a warm chest as a muscled thigh is thrown over his legs pinning him efficiently in place.

  He gives a half drugged thought to moving, to putting some sort of space between them but decides rather quickly that he can’t be bothered to even try. Besides, tonight is about indulging himself, about giving himself something in return for all of the bullshit he’s had to endure.

  Spending the night in Dmitri’s arms seems like a small thing in comparison to earlier anyway and it’s too late to change anything even if he wanted to.

  So Spencer ignores everything else and lets Dmitri curl around him like some sort of heavily muscled octopus and sighs into the fabric of his pillow.

  There will be time enough for everything else in the morning. He might as well enjoy this while it lasts.

  Chapter Eleven

  Spencer wakes up to darkness, heat and pleasure, his hips arching helplessly into the hot hand that’s pumping his cock in a smooth and steady rhythm. He’s confused for a moment, knows that he doesn’t have a lover, that there shouldn’t be anyone else in bed with him. Finally his brain manages to come halfway online and the events of earlier come rushing back to him.

  Dmitri, it’s Dmitri in bed with him, touching him, stroking him.

  He can tell that it’s still night outside, the house is silent and the windows dark, but he has no idea how much time has passed. He thinks about moving, about ending this before it really begins again so that he and Dmitri can have the talk they desperately need to have. He thinks about it but Dmitri’s hand feels so good stroking him, his hot palm and long fingers like food to a starving man, everything his body’s been yearning for.

  His mind grinds to a halt quickly and there’s no more room for thought when Dmitri twists his wrist on an upstroke, finding that perfect rhythm that no one but Spencer himself has been able to find before. Spencer is unable to do anything but arch his head back into the hollow of the warm shoulder behind him and groan low in his throat. He feels the burning line of Dmitri’s own cock pressed firmly against his ass and can’t help the way his hips press back against it in hunger. He relishes the way Dmitri presses back against him, the guttural growl that builds in the others throat and the way that his teeth bite restlessly against Spencer’s neck.

  He wants Dmitri, always has on some level or another and it’s only grown fiercer and wilder over the years even when the hurt and distance between them had forced it to go dormant. Spencer wants Dmitri deep inside of him, thrusting fast and hard into his body until they’re both too spent and fucked out to do more than come and sleep.

  Dmitri’s panting against his neck, alcohol still apparent on his breath but his hips are thrusting seamlessly in time with the movements of his hand and Spencer knows that he’s not going to last much longer. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly Dmitri can get him off but he doesn’t care, can’t find it in himself to give a damn when the pleasure is so good he’s almost high from it. It ramps up a notch, higher than he thought possible from just Dmitri’s hand wrapped around him, when Dmitri starts spewing words, low and breathless against the shell of his ear as his hands and hips speed up.

  “Gonna fuck you later. Gonna fuck you and fuck you and fuck you until you’re too weak to walk, until all you can do is lie there and take it. Then I’m going to come so deep inside of you that you’ll never get all of me out and everyone everywhere will know you’re mine. You’ve always been mine, mine, mine.”

  That’s all Spencer can handle before he’s coming like a teenager across Dmitri’s fingers, hips stuttering and breath catching as stars burst behind his eyelids. He feels Dmitri thrust a few more times before he’s groaning seconds later, warm bursts of come spilling out across Spencer’s lower back and the cheeks of his ass.

  They lie there panting just like they did earlier on the floor, only this time Dmitri’s behind him and all around him. He feels Dmitri wipe his hand against the sheet before thick arms are wrapping themselves tightly around Spencer’s waist and a deep voice is murmuring broken and disjointed sentences in his ear.

  “Keep you always, this time. Not gonna let you go again, never gonna let you go.”

  Spencer doesn’t protest Dmitri’s words even if he knows he should, even if he knows that it’ll hurt worse if he takes them back, if it turns out to be nothing more than drunken ramblings. Instead he tangles his fingers with Dmitri’s, gives them a gentle squeeze and lets himself be lulled back to sleep by Dmitri’s gravelly voice whispering in his ear.

  * * * *

  When Spencer wakes up this time it’s clearly morning, soft sunlight filtering in through the window and the muffled sounds of traffic creeping in from outside. He shifts, grimacing slightly at the aches in his body and the sticky feeling of dried come across his back. He can’t really muster up any disgust or anger, though, because he knows that the way he feels will be accompanied by finger shaped bruises and not so faint impressions of teeth left on and in his skin.

  There’s a not so secret part of him that rejoices in the fact, a part that
loves the very idea of wearing the proof of his and Dmitri’s activities on his skin.

  The man in question is still asleep, sprawled out upon his back with one arm flung out across the empty mattress beside him and the other curled firmly around Spencer’s waist, keeping him tucked against a warm side. Spencer moves slowly, wriggling away an inch at a time so as not to wake him up until finally he’s standing beside the bed staring down at the other man.

  He takes a moment, lets his eyes run over Dmitri, absorbing all of the changes that the years have brought in full for the first time. His hair is the same thick and unruly mess of black that it once was and Spencer knows that those too blue eyes, hidden now behind a fan of inky lashes, are the same as well. His lips and jaw are still as firm and inviting as ever, especially with the barest beginnings of a beard covering his face, giving him a rakish sort of flair.

  He’s taller than he used to be and it only serves to make him even more of a giant than he was when they were younger. It’s not as awkward looking as it once was though. Dmitri’s grown into his body now and he’s no longer the gangly boy of their youth, not with age filling in the once hollow places with smooth tanned skin and muscles. He’s all wide, solid chest and copper nipples, all long legs and thick muscled thighs.

  He’s so beautiful it makes Spencer ache just to look at him.

  Spencer shakes his head at his slightly maudlin thoughts before he turns and ambles quietly in the direction of the bathroom and the shower that’s calling his name. He takes his time underneath the hot water, fingers trailing across his skin, tracing the path that Dmitri’s mouth and hands had taken. He lingers on every mark, presses down on every bite and bruise, and he cannot help the way he relishes the lingering ache of each one.

  When he’s done, when he’s clean and flushed from the heat of the shower he stares at himself in the mirror and does it all over again and this time his eyes are able to follow the path as well. It’s only when he meets his own eyes in the mirror that he realizes he looks and feels more alive than he has in years. The green of his gaze is brighter, his smile wider and his whole body relaxed to an almost unbelievable degree.

  Regardless of whatever else happens, it seems as if his night spent with Dmitri has done him a world of good.

  Happy for the first time in too long, Spencer pulls on a worn pair of sweatpants and slips quietly downstairs and into the kitchen in pursuit of coffee. He leans against the breakfast bar in the kitchen and stares out at the small fenced courtyard behind his townhouse as the coffee brews, his mind wandering at will.

  When it’s done he pours himself a cup and after a brief inner debate pours another, turns and heads back upstairs. It’s not a weakness, an admission of submission or anything of that nature, to bring Dmitri a cup of coffee. So Spencer gently nudges the door to the bedroom all the way open, his mouth drawn upwards in a small smile as he prepares to wake Dmitri, only to be brought up short by the sight that meets his eyes.

  The bed is still rumpled, the sheets the same messy tangle of fabric from the night before but now they’re empty, no longer containing the long tanned form they’d cradled only an hour before. Brow creasing, Spencer turns and leaves, hands still wrapped firmly around the piping hot cups, and makes his way down the hall and towards the bathroom.

  It’s empty as well.

  Dread welling up inside of him, Spencer heads back downstairs and into the living room, his eyes taking in his own discarded clothes lying abandoned and lonely on the floor.

  Dmitri’s clothes are gone—Dmitri is gone.

  Spencer’s been abandoned again.

  He doesn’t cry this time, doesn’t rage and scream and break apart. He isn’t sure that he’d be able to even if he wanted to.

  Instead he stands calmly in the middle of the living room for a moment before he turns and heads back towards the kitchen.

  Besides, even if the far wall of the kitchen ends up wearing the second cup of coffee he’d poured it’s no one’s business but his own. It’s his wall and his coffee cup after all so it doesn’t really matter.

  Like far too often there’s no one there to see him do it anyway.

  Chapter Twelve

  Spencer’s standing with his head down and arms braced against the kitchen counter, hands gripping the granite so hard his knuckles are turning white, when he hears the front door open. He knows the exact moment Dmitri spots him in the kitchen. Dmitri’s footsteps falter for a second before they quicken until he’s suddenly beside Spencer, hands occupied with two cups of coffee and a take-out bag from the café around the corner. He’s quick to put them down and tug Spencer to him, his hands running over Spencer’s face and still bare chest like he can search out and fix anything that might be wrong with him by touch alone.

  “Spencer, what happened? Are you alright? Talk to me!” There’s urgency as well as fear in Dmitri’s voice and the sound of it shakes Spencer back into awareness.

  He breathes deeply against the fabric of Dmitri’s shirt, taking in the lingering odor of alcohol and sweat, of outside and the café all mixed together and he’s surprised that Dmitri was willing to leave the house so rumpled.

  “You left.” The words come out low and soft and he can hear the confusion in Dmitri’s own voice when he answers the non-question.

  “I wanted to surprise you with breakfast while you were in the shower. I’d have been back sooner but the line was longer than I was expecting it to be. Now what’s the matter?”

  His hands card gently through Spencer’s still damp hair as he cups the back of his head in a large palm so that he can hold Spencer even closer.

  “I thought…I thought you left. I looked for you and you were gone so I thought you’d left for good this time, that you’d gotten what you’d came for and had no reason to stick around.”

  He’s almost ashamed by the emotion in his voice, by the way his fear is laid naked and bare before Dmitri, and by the way he’s leaving himself vulnerable once again despite swearing that he wouldn’t.

  Dmitri understands his meaning within seconds and his arms tighten around Spencer to the point of being almost painful before he’s stepping back and away from him. Those wonderfully hot hands come up to cup his face and Dmitri looks Spencer directly in the eye, his too blue gaze fixed firmly on Spencer’s green one.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to sit down, eat your food and drink that coffee and I’m going to take a shower. Then when we’re both feeling more alive and clear headed we’re going to sit down and have a talk that is long, long overdue. That sound like a plan to you, Spence?”

  Dmitri’s use of his former nickname isn’t lost on Spencer—he knows that it’s a deliberate move to set him into a certain frame of mind. Instead of fighting it he just nods his head as best as he can, takes the soft kiss that Dmitri bestows on him and watches as the other man leaves the kitchen and bounds up the stairs.

  Spencer cleans up the spilt coffee and the broken mug, wipes down the wall and hopes absently that he’s in time to keep the stain from setting before he finally sits down and does what Dmitri had told him to do. He’s hungrier than he thought, because he rips through the sandwich quicker than he thought he would and is soon left staring at the empty doorway of the kitchen, nursing his coffee and waiting for Dmitri to reappear.

  It’s like he’s spent most of his life doing just that same thing, if he’s being honest with himself.

  He’s jolted out of his musings sometime later by the sight of Dmitri clad in a pair of the oversized sweats Spencer favors. They’re form fitting on the larger man and Spencer is momentarily struck dumb by the sight of him bare-chested and damp, one hand toweling his hair dry while he moves to sit on one of the stools beside the bar.

  Dmitri’s silent for a moment and Spencer passes the time by chasing a stray droplet of water with his gaze as it trails its way down his neck and across his chest only to be lost in his navel.

  “I stayed drunk for almost a month after I threw you out t
hat day. I skipped classes, got my hands on some alcohol, crawled into my bed and stayed there. If it wasn’t for Antony and Blake I probably would have stayed there. All I can remember thinking was how much it all hurt and how thankful I was that at least they were still loyal to me.”

  Spencer feels rage rip through him at those words. It was Antony and Blake who caused all of the problems in the first place and now Dmitri is saying that they were the ones to help him through the aftermath. He opens his mouth to say so, to scream and rage at Dmitri that it was his perfect little friends who’d started it all in the first place, but he manages to bite his tongue at Dmitri’s upraised hand even as his eyes narrow in anger.

  “Just let me get through this so that you’ll understand, Spence. Please?”

  Spencer almost doesn’t want to let him, almost wants to let the anger overtake him, but he manages to rein in the urge thanks to the self-restraint that he’s always prided himself on. Dmitri has done well to control his own temper so far and Spencer isn’t too keen on the idea of being the hot-headed one between them. He waves a hand at Dmitri in a mute signal to continue and with a deep breath, the blue-eyed man does.

  “You wouldn’t stop calling and coming by and I just…I couldn’t see you once the anger wore off. I just couldn’t do it because I knew if I saw you I would beg you to come back to me no matter what you’d done, no matter what kind of person you were. I was just so used to you always being beside me that without you I was lost, I couldn’t even do what I needed to do to get away. So Antony and Blake arranged everything for me, got me a new apartment and a new phone and helped me move, helped me get away from you.”