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Do It Again

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When he’s alone with Mads after hours of carefully controlled public behavior, Hugh is accustomed to a particular kind of urgency. He’s used to the two of them tumbling onto the nearest flat surface in a tangle of shifting limbs, frantically shedding clothes before there’s time to speak so much as a single word. But when the door clicks shut behind them today, Mads backs him up against the wall and just smiles.

“I’m wondering about something,” he says. There’s a wicked, confident look in his eyes.

Hugh raises a mock-wary eyebrow. “You are?”

Holding his gaze, Mads reaches down and wraps his fingers around Hugh’s wrist, thumb rubbing slow, rhythmic circles over the jut of bone there. A sharp little sound stutters in Hugh’s throat, his lips parting involuntarily.

“Did you like it?” Mads murmurs. “When I put my mouth there? That’s what I’m wondering.”

Hugh says nothing. He tries to control his response, but there’s a fluttering in his stomach, and his pulse is picking up. The staged bite was mischievous and funny—a quick photo opportunity that lasted mere seconds—but he can’t deny that it left him flustered and vaguely turned on for the rest of the day.

Mads leans in closer, brushing their noses together. “Do you want me to do it again?”

Hugh nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Mads gradually pushes Hugh’s shirt sleeve up, caressing each inch of revealed skin like he’s mapping it with his fingers. He raises Hugh’s arm and pauses, mouth hovering over flesh that’s already prickling with goosebumps from the touch of his hands and the heat of his breath. “Here?”

“There,” Hugh echoes, voice rough with anticipation.

Mads presses tender, featherlight kisses to Hugh’s forearm, his lips dry and soft. He’s clean shaven, but Hugh can feel the slight rasp of stubble beginning to grow in. A shiver ripples through his body, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He can’t remember the last time he was so wildly affected by such minor contact, though it’s typical of Mads to turn the simplest of actions into an art form. Hugh loses himself in pure, focused sensation for long minutes, the experience liquid and dreamlike. Each new kiss is slightly more insistent, the gentle pressure acutely erotic in its chasteness.

He hums contentedly, and Mads looks up through his lashes, adjusting his grip and turning Hugh’s arm to expose the delicate skin of his inner wrist. When the next kiss comes, he melts helplessly at the warmth of Mads’ tongue as it travels in a slick slide along a snaking vein. Hugh’s neck arches and he leans on the wall for support, eyes closing. When he finally feels the first graze of teeth along his wrist, his knees weaken and his cheeks flush. He stifles a whine when Mads nips at the side of his hand.

“Harder,” he gasps. “Make it hurt a little.”

Mads obliges, and Hugh almost whimpers out loud, desire coiling tight in his gut. He’s so hot for it that he can barely think. Mads bites and pulls at the flesh, creating a pleasurable throb that has Hugh’s cock twitching and straining at his zipper. He slips a hand between his legs—he can’t help it, needs the relief. He grips and rubs himself through his suit pants and Mads moans at the sight, lifting his head and looking down to watch Hugh touch himself. Hugh fleetingly glances at his tingling wrist, seeing faint indents in a semi-circle on his reddened flesh—small white marks that will quickly disappear. He kisses Mads in gratitude and need, feels their tongues slide together as Mads’ cock presses stiff and thick against his hip.

“Mads,” Hugh breathes into the kiss. “I—fuck, I want you to mark me. Please.”

He can’t articulate why he wants this so much, can’t explain exactly what it means to him.

Mads exhales shakily, pressing his forehead to Hugh’s. “Where?”

Hugh fumbles with the top three buttons of his shirt, shrugging the material to one side to bare the slope of his shoulder. “Here,” he says, tilting his head and touching just above the far left of his clavicle. “No one will see. We’re not filming, and it's not—it won’t last that long.”

Mads nuzzles at exposed area, nibbles teasingly. “Make yourself come while I do it,” he whispers. “Show me how desperate it makes you.”

Hugh doesn’t need to be told twice. He feels dizzy and overwhelmed as Mads bites and licks above his collarbone, but he manages to wriggle his pants and boxers down his hips just far enough, clothing bunching awkwardly around his thighs. He groans in relief when he gets a hand around his cock, already perilously close to losing control.

His free hand cups the back of Mads' head, pulling him closer and smelling the faintly herbal scent of his hair as he laps and nips at the same spot. The rapid swirl of his tongue makes Hugh’s eyes roll back, makes him think of how those same hot, wet movements feel on the underside of his cock or paired with two fingers pushing inside him. He jerks off with short, fast tugs of his fist, thumbing at the head on every upstroke to slick his grip with precome, his body twisting and flexing as Mads sucks a bruise into the skin.

“I wish you could do this all over my body,” Hugh says, voice throaty and unsteady. “Everywhere.”

He tilts his head further, trembling with arousal as he deliberately makes himself more vulnerable to Mads’ teeth. He thinks of how the mark will look later, blooming red at first and then turning blue. He imagines the secret thrill he’ll feel at touching it while he’s alone. A dull ache is already settling in, pleasurable and painful at once.

“Don’t stop,” he pleads, grabbing Mads’ hand and wrapping it around his own. Their fingers lace together on his cock, and he almost pants as he fucks into the tightness of their combined grip. Sensing how close he is, Mads sinks his teeth into Hugh’s skin and squeezes his hand as it pumps between his legs.

Hugh tenses up and cries out, a high and fractured sound that catches in his throat as he comes. He feels the curve of Mads’ smile against his hypersensitive skin as he pulses warm and wet over their joined fingers, shivery aftershocks shooting through him.

Slowly emerging from his blissful stupor, Hugh rubs a sticky hand over his ruined boxers. “God, that was good,” he sighs. “That was really good.”

“I know,” Mads says smugly, but his dick is tenting his jeans, and he’s standing in obvious discomfort. A pang of sympathy and desire has Hugh down on his knees in seconds, unbuckling Mads’ belt and hauling his underwear down.

He takes Mads’ cock all the way into his mouth without preamble, eager and hungry, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Mads grunts softly and thrusts forward involuntarily, one hand fisted in Hugh’s hair. Hugh makes a sultry performance of it, slurping and bobbing, humming low in his throat like he can’t get enough. He loves the way Mads tastes, loves the greedy rocking movement of his hips and the silky, salty heat of him.

Mads strokes the darkening red mark he has left above Hugh’s collarbone, staring down at it as Hugh licks up the length of his cock and flicks his tongue across the slit. Hugh sits back on his heels for a moment and looks up, breathing hard.

“I’m yours,” he whispers as they lock eyes, and then he swallows Mads down as deep as he can, throat fluttering around him.