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“Can you be quiet?” Martin murmured, his breath warm against Jon’s ear.
“Yes,” Jon said. His heart was hammering in his chest, sending his blood speeding around his body. Doing this always made him oddly aware of his own blood.
“Good,” Martin said. He lifted Jon’s hair and pushed it to one side, baring his neck. He’d already undone the first few buttons of Jon’s shirt to pull his collar aside. If Tim or Sasha walked in now there’d be no doubt as to what they were doing. As though he’d read Jon’s mind, Martin added, “Because you don’t want Tim or Sasha knowing what’s happening in here, do you?”
“No,” Jon whispered. It was true, but there was also something exciting about knowing that they could. Martin laughed gently against him. He knew exactly how Jon felt.
“Ready?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Then hush.”
Jon heard the tiny sound of Martin’s inhale and closed his eyes just before Martin bit down into his neck. One arm was wrapped around Jon’s chest, clasping his back against Martin’s front, and the other held his head steady so that he wouldn’t move while Martin’s fangs were still inside. He wouldn’t move, of course, he was used to this, to the sudden spike of pain and the brief moment of fear that accompanied it, but Martin always erred on the side of caution. It was sweet, really.
Only the breathiest whimper left Jon’s lips as Martin pulled his fangs out again. It was a sharp, cold pain, one that left him feeling numb for the first few seconds, until Martin sealed his mouth over the two little wounds and began to suck, and then, sweeping through him like an irresistible tide, Jon was warm again.
He heard himself moan and bit hard at his lips. The warmth was more than mere heat. It was sweet and tingling and all-consuming. It was fierce and desperate. It was more than Jon could bear, more than the deep suction of Martin’s mouth could satisfy.
“Martin,” he gasped. His back was arching and he clung to Martin’s arm, still wrapped firmly around his body.
Martin lifted his mouth away from Jon’s neck for a moment. His lips would be slick with Jon’s blood, he knew. The image of it made him moan again.
“Shhh, Jon,” Martin said. His other hand stroked down the front of Jon’s body and paused at his trouser fastenings to undo them. “You have to be quiet, remember.”
“Mm,” Jon said, clamping his mouth shut and biting back yet another moan as Martin’s hand found its way inside his pants.
“Good boy,” Martin said, making Jon whimper again, deep in his throat.
Then his mouth was back at Jon’s neck and that sweet, almost agonising suction began again. This time, though, the pads of two of Martin’s thick fingers dipped into the slick already gathering between Jon’s legs and began to rub. Abruptly, Jon had to bring his fist up and bite down on it, the pleasure that rolled through his body from his neck and his clit was so intense. He breathed in short, sharp little gasps through his nose, fist still pressed against his mouth to muffle the cries he so desperately wanted to give voice to. It went on for minute after minute, until tears began to gather in Jon’s eyes.
“Shhh,” Martin whispered again. He stopped sucking, finally, was now lapping gently at Jon’s neck to seal the wounds closed and get rid of any stray blood, but inside Jon’s pants his fingers were still moving in the firm, tight circles Jon liked best.
“Mm,” Jon whimpered through his own fingers. “Mm – mm – mm – ”
And then he was coming, almost arching off Martin’s lap, except that Martin was anticipating it and held him steady until Jon relaxed against him again, finally lowering his fist so that he could gasp and pant.
“All good?” Martin said.
Jon realised he must have lost a few seconds there somewhere, because Martin had already finished refastening his trousers and was moving on to his shirt.
“Very,” he said. He felt relaxed and a little giggly, He turned to kiss Martin. His lips still tasted faintly of blood. “Are you? Feeling better now?”
“Much. Sorry about that, I honestly thought I’d be good until this evening.”
“I’m really not complaining,” Jon said, and kissed him again.