Dom’s been empty—as hollow as bird bone and just as groundless—for a long time. As ways to be go, he supposes it isn’t so bad. But he also knows he’s not supposed to feel that way. Normal people don’t feel that way. He’s done his best—tried to fill himself up with adrenaline, and alcohol, and the love of two good women. He’s tried. And every time something he touches rots away beneath his finger tips, he’s acutely aware of his failure. He’s not just empty, he’s a blackhole, sucking everything in around him until it’s gone.
He can’t do this now. Probably not ever. And yet he is, thrust back up against Brian’s counter in the twilight, allowing Brian’s arms to bracket his body, accepting fiery soul-searching kisses when he should push him away, maybe punch him so he never tries it again.
Fingers curled in one of Brian’s belt loops, he finally manages to tug his mouth away. “Did you listen to me? I’m not fucking arou—”
Brian pushes in closer, forces him to meet his eyes. “I heard you.” He’s got one long-fingered hand circled around Dom’s wrist. “And you’re full of shit.”
He sweeps their mouths together a second time, kissing him with reckless intensity. His tongue is sure and quick on the inside of Dom’s lip. His eyelashes brush against the curve of Dom’s cheekbone.
Dom presses a hand over Brian’s heart, intent on pushing him away. He could break him if he wanted, Brian should show a little caution. But his own heart is speeding up to match the one under his palm, his breath is coming fast. He wants to shift the hardness between his leg against the sharp jut of Brian’s hip. But that's too easy, so he finds himself holding back. His fingers curl in Brian’s collar, and he leans away, welcoming Brian further into his space. Brian makes a small sound at this victory, almost a chuckle, almost a moan. His grip tightens around Dom’s wrist.
Brian tastes sweeter than Letty, and even as he holds Dom pinned to the counter, he cedes him ground, let’s him take over, yields to Dom's vicious kisses. Brian slides a knee between Dom’s legs, forces it back against the cupboards, until Dom’s dick rides high on his thigh. He laughs when Dom tears his mouth away, clearly reveling in the caught sound that spills out of Dom’s mouth. His breath is coming too fast and Brian’s eyes are so blue they’re hard to look at. He drops his gaze and finds Brian’s collar pulled out of shape from Dom’s grip, revealing flushed skin.
He wants this. He wants every inch of that skin bared for his perusal. Has thought about it a little too much over the intervening years. He wished he could stop. Because Brian hurt. The last time he saw him, he felt not just hollow, but brittle also.
Brian ducks his head, nose skimming a line down Dom’s arched throat before pressing open lips over his pulse. Dom’s breaths sound like an asthmatic's and he finds himself sliding his hand down, searching under the hem of Brian’s shirt. His work-roughened fingertips stroke over velvet skin into the dip of Brian’s spine and he feels Brian’s almost imperceptible shiver. The kitchen is loud with the sounds of their bodies shifting together—their harsh breathing and quiet hitching moans magnified.
Brian presses his thigh in against Dom’s dick a second time and he’s fully hard now, heavy and straining. His dick makes a wet spot where it’s trapped against the denim. He hasn’t ever. Not with a man. Not even in prison. But he wants to wrap himself up in Brian, to fall back and let himself have this. Warm lips and teeth against his throat, dick shoved into his hip. Brian’s got a rhythm going now, Dom is practically thrusting against him. Brian's done this before. Not hesitant enough not to. He lets Dom touch him however he wants and he drags Dom’s shirt up to his armpits and scrapes over flat nipples with his fingertips.
Dom’s crazy and starting to think he’s going to come in his jeans, that he’s going to let Brian make him come in his jeans. But then Brian reaches between them, clumsily thumbing his fly open as he seizes Dom’s mouth in another blistering kiss. He pulls Dom’s dick out and smooths precome down the shaft in one fluid motion, but it’s not enough, and when he starts stroking, the friction is almost too much.
Dom’s embarrassed when he makes that stopped hicupping sound a second time. Brian strokes him slowly and thrusts his own hardness harder into Dom’s hip. His thumb presses into the slit and his knuckle curls just under the head. Sweet darts of pleasure race up Dom’s spine.
“I—” Dom tries, but can’t get any further. He belts his free arm around Brian’s waist and bites Brian’s lower lip. Brian groans and his fingers tighten around Dom’s dick, strokes speeding up ever so much.
Dom can’t concentrate anymore and his head falls back against the cupboard, eyes hooded. His chest is tight, he doesn’t know with what, but it’s funny, like the first rush of a buzz or the warmth from too quickly downing a beer. He’s going to come soon. He’s going to come with Brian’s electric gaze running over him, that bright smile he’s come to know so well momentarily hidden by intent.
He spills on a sharp exhale, come getting on Brian’s wrist and jeans, spelling out what they've done until Brian washes his pants. Brian still drives against his hip, his eyes closed, dark lashes leaving shadows on his cheeks. His even white teeth dig deep into his bottom lip. Like he was trying hard to reign in everything he's thinking and feeling, keep up a poker face. Dom’s lip curls into some raggedy semblance of a smile. This is stupid. If nothing else, it is incredibly dumb. There are a whole lot of consequences to a thing like this.
But still, he leans forward, lips grazing Brian’s ear and says, “What do you look like when you come?” Dom knows the effect his voice has on him.
Brian’s eyelids flutter open and the flush intensifies. It spreads from his chest all the way up his neck and then to his cheeks until Brian’s skin is practically glowing in the dark kitchen. Dom drops his arm from Brian’s hips and pushes his hand between them, palm cupping Brian’s dick. Brian breaths a soft, “Damn it, Dom,” and comes with a strangled cry, his forehead pressed to Dom’s shoulder. His hips stutter to a halt.
Dom looks away and finds the hand that Brian had pinned to the counter twined together with Brian’s. Dom’s cheeks color. Brian draws back, face still intimately close and says, “You’re still full of shit.”
Dom snorts, lips fighting a smile. “Get off me.”
Brian cackles, clearly thinking of all the ways he could twist that around. He chucks a dish towel at Dom with an amused expression. And that’s what that feeling in his chest is. Dom feels full, so full he’s heavy with it.
I promise I'll get to those prompts.