Chapter 284 - 282: Pull Back.

Chapter 284: Chapter 282: Pull Back.

It’s one of those single, perfect moments of stillness that only Loac can evoke.

And he looks absolutely ravenous .

Khobi yanks him down by the collar to kiss him again. It’s messy and deep and all tongue, but it’s the hottest and most desperate Khobi’s ever kissed or being kissed and the lust it ignites within him is fierce and all consuming. It builds to a violent, swirling tempest as Loac descends to feast on whatever bared skin he can reach; biting rough, heady kisses down his throat that send jolts of pleasure down Khobi’s spine.

Dimly, he wonders if Loac figured he’d like it rough, or if that’s just how he fucks.

(It doesn’t matter, as long as he keeps doing it.)

His hands move too, carding through his hair and skimming down his jaw; thumbing his cheeks and dragging down the planes of his chest. They catch on his bare nipples and trail across his abs, and when they snag on the waistband of his pants Khobi can’t help the way his hips bow; seeking contact and silently craving for him to reach lower to feed the fire that’s burning in his blood until it overflows.

He doesn’t.

But he keeps moving down Khobi’s body, teeth and tongue grazing over one of his nipples and lips ghosting against the deep lines of his hips. Khobi gasps and shudders at each turn, arching up into his mouth and hands curling and twisting in the dark locks of his hair as pleasure mounts within him. And when he feels him pant, hot and breathy into the skin just below his navel, his hips cant up and his aching erection presses heavy and insistent into the underside of Loac’s jaw.

Loac’s gaze flits up to lock with his.

Face and chest consumed by red, Khobi’s mouth runs dry .

Blue eyes supernaturally glued to his, Loac gives the line of his cock a light nudge with his cheek –just a graze at first, and then headier; more deliberate. Khobi groans then, long and loud; hips rolling up by no fault of his own, and for an instant he’s back in that dream surrounded by steam and yearning for release, as his cock strains against the confines of his pants to graze against the waiting edge of Loac’s lips.

Loac’s eyes sink closed, and Khobi could swear he hears him groan right along with him.

And then they snap back open, and something in Loac snaps with them.

In the space of a heartbeat his lips are on his again, gasping and nipping and kissing him until he’s breathless and aching and clawing at his back for purchase. His skin feels unbearably hot to the touch, and Khobi arches up into the delicious, intoxicating heat of his body; thighs parting to make room for him, and when Loac’s hips drop down and grind up into him so fiercely that the bed quakes, Loac’s name claws its way out his throat.

Loac .

He does it again. Deeper, this time. Just right. The headboard beats against the wall; springs creaking. And again, in a fit of madness Khobi groans his name out into the darkness, moving with him; against him, abandoning all sense of shame in favour of pleasure. There’s too much between them, even with the brushes of skin on skin. He wants to feel all of him. On him.

Inside him.

But he’s going to come in his pants if Loac keeps this up.

"...What’re you waiting for?" Khobi whispers, finding his words. His voice comes out husky and slurred, and when he runs a hand back through his hair his hands feel oddly heavy, " Hurry up and fuck me ."

Loac pulls back just enough to stare at him; chest heaving and eyes widened to blackest of inky black and full of that vivid, ravenous hunger that he finds so utterly, devastatingly captivating. It’s wild, and piercing, and Khobi wants nothing more than to devour and be devoured by it. He wants to see it come undone, the same way he wants to be undone himself.

Needing no further invitation, Loac wrenches out of his shirt. Khobi doesn’t even get the chance to savour the shape of his body in the low light before he’s diving back into his mouth tongue first and cupping Khobi’s aching erection; grinding the heel of his palm along its length through his pants. It’s been too long since someone else touched him like this, and Khobi chokes out a moan against his lips as his own hands instinctively reach out to do the same. Even through his clothes, the heat and weight of Loac’s cock in his palm is unmistakable, and his gut clenches with the anticipation of taking it inside him; of being stretched and filled and feeling him come inside him.

He feels so good .

Loac tears away from his lips just long enough to start yanking at his pants, and the sudden loss of heat makes Khobi’s head start to swim. Or maybe it’s not that; maybe it’s something else, because the room suddenly feels all wrong. He knows he’s not moving, but everything is swaying, and he blinks and turns his head this way and that to try and get them to stop. They don’t. In fact, it makes them spin faster, even though everything else feels slow. Suddenly, things have patterns that shouldn’t, and even though he knows there’s no way he can fall into the air, he finds himself clutching on to the bedclothes just in case.

Sat back on his haunches, shirtless silhouette hazy in the gloom and hands caught on the waistband of his pants, Loac abruptly stills.

Was he always this blurry?

It’s hard to tell with the room spinning so badly but Khobi thinks he sees him...shake his head? And then, to his confusion, he reaches for his discarded shirt. He wants to ask what he’s doing, but the words suddenly feel jumbled in his mouth, and when he opens his lips to speak nothing comes out.

With a soft exhale, Loac finishes getting dressed and leans in one last time, and Khobi instinctively wants to grab him by the collar and arch into him with every fibre of his being, but suddenly he feels like he’s being pulled in all different directions; his body feeling like lead and his head feeling lighter than air.

But Loac doesn’t kiss him again. Instead, he reaches down to adjust Khobi’s shirt. Not to take it off, though; to pull it back into place. Without the heat of a body against him, it feels suddenly so much colder in here.

Light and barely there, his fingers ghost down Khobi’s chest one last time, and then they’re spirited away once more.

The bed groans one, last, pitiful time as Loac hoists himself off and away, and starts padding silently across the room towards the door. Khobi doesn’t know how he doesn’t trip, with the floor swirling the way it is.

And then, with one hand on the door he pauses, looking back, and Khobi wishes his eyes would come back in to focus, because from here it’s impossible to tell what face he’s wearing.

But as quickly as it had come to mind the thought fades away; as does any other thought, feeling, or instinct, because no sooner has the door swung shut behind him than Khobi immediately collapses into a mindless, weightless oblivion.