Men of London 02 - Sight and Sinners (10 page)

“You know those things will kill you. Have you ever tried giving them up?”

Great, here he was with a sexy guy kissing his shoulder and caressing his stomach and all Draven could think to talk about were his lover’s smoking habits. The National Health Service would
love
him. Maybe they’d make him their poster boy.

“I did for a while. Then crap happened and I started again.” Draven sensed the shrug. “We all have to die some way, right?” Taylor’s voice was uncertain and his fingers ceased their soft stroking of Draven’s midsection.

Draven’s lower section was pretty needy, too, and the shorts he had on were no barrier to his rising cock, which was currently pressed against the hard surface of the kitchen counter. Draven shifted, trying to get some release. He didn’t want to turn around, wanted to stay here all day with those fingers touching him, that unique scent of Taylor drifting into his nostrils, his breath warm and not unpleasantly fragranced. Draven didn’t mind a man’s cigarette breath; he found it quite a turn-on actually. And now he’d definitely
lost
any chance of being the spokesperson for the anti-smoking bods.

“That doesn’t mean we have to give it help,” he murmured and let out a gasp as a wet tongue slid into his ear then gently bit his ear lobe.

“Stop preaching. I get enough of that from Leslie. You’re supposed to humour me.”

Taylor’s hand had now found Draven’s cock, although admittedly it hadn’t been hiding very well, and his fingers slid into the shorts with an easy move. He grasped the hardened, heated flesh that was trying to get out. Draven gave up all thoughts of making coffee or trying to make the world a safer place for non-smokers and yielded to that hand, pressing his arse back against Taylor’s groin, finding him as hard as he was.

Both men were panting, small groans of satisfaction, need rumbling up for chests that were tight from lust and want. Taylor’s breath on his ear and cheek was an aphrodisiac; his slight moans and throaty noises making Draven want him even more.

There was not much finesse in this early morning jerk-off; just strong fingers wrapping themselves around his engorged and slippery dick, stroking, pulling and gripping until Draven’s balls shot up into his groin like steel marbles and he cried out, a soft, sharp expletive that shattered the earthy silence of the kitchen as he jetted hot, viscous fluid into his shorts, onto Taylor’s hand and his own stomach. He leaned back against Taylor, legs weak with the force of his orgasm, and soft lips found his in an awkward embrace that left Draven even weaker. He even thought he mewled like a kitten as Taylor’s wicked tongue sank into his mouth, teeth clicking against teeth. Soft stubble left a burning sensation on his chin.

Finally they released each other and Taylor stepped back, allowing Draven to turn around and see him for the first time. There had been something so utterly hot about not yet seeing the man with his hands around his cock, simply taking what he wanted, giving what was needed.

Taylor stood, soft smile on his roughened, pink lips, eyes as dark as black holes, dressed in Draven’s too-long sweats and an old Iron Maiden tee shirt. Those strong arms that had wrapped themselves around his waist were covered in faint, dark hair. His hair was wind- swept, curling in tendrils across his face, a face that regarded Draven with a mixture of satisfaction and apprehension.

There was something else too, a sense of unease emanating from the man. Draven wondered if the early morning hand job had been some sort of penance for something.

“You did something for me and I zoned out last night, and didn’t get a chance to give you anything back, so…” Taylor lifted his shoulders in a Gallic gesture that Draven had seen on waiters in fancy French restaurants. An expressive shrug. He also felt a sense of disquiet that Taylor seemed to be able to read his mind.

“I didn’t do it to get something in return,” he said quietly, conscious of the sticky mess in his shorts and that he’d need another shower or at the bare minimum, a clean-up. “And yes, I was rather worried about you last night. I couldn’t get you to wake up, or whatever.”

Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “It happens sometimes, you just have to let it run its course.” He moved over to the cupboard and took another cup out. He switched the kettle on again and took Draven’s mug from him. “Let me make this while you clean up.”

Draven stared at him then glanced down at the bulge in Taylor’s pants. “I can sort that out for you if you like,” he said softly, but Taylor shook his head.

“No, I’m okay. Thanks anyway. I need to be off soon, back home.” He gestured to Draven’s busily whirring tumble dryer. “Hope you don’t mind but I got up early and washed the vomit out of my clothes. I popped them in to dry, so they shouldn’t be too long now.”

The drying cycle was nearly over and Draven knew that particular one took two hours. “You must have been up early to wash them and get them in the dryer,” he said, with a keen look at Taylor. “What time did you get up?”

Taylor busied himself spooning coffee into cups. “I woke up about three a.m., couldn’t sleep so got up.” He sounded tired and disheartened, his mood changing like the sun disappearing behind a cloud.

Draven reached out and grasped Taylor’s wrist, his thumb caressing the tattoo. “What happened last night? One minute you were fine, the next you were in a kind of coma on the bathroom floor. Is that how it happens…these visions of yours?”

Draven knew how it worked on the television when people had psychic abilities. They either went all blank and white marble-eyed and spoke in funny voices, or their damn heads twisted around on their shoulders—something he found exceptionally creepy. He hid his face every time he saw a scene like that. Others simply went all Zen-like and creepy and he thought Taylor might fit into
that
category if that was what had happened last night.

Taylor gave a curt laugh as he poured water into the cups and then went to Draven’s fridge to look for milk. The man looked really at home here. “Sort of. It’s a bit like an out-of-body experience. You know you’re around somewhere but you can’t do much to communicate to the outside world.

“I knew you were there, by the way. Thanks for just getting me into bed and holding me. That was the right thing to do.” He finished making the coffee, stirred both cups a few times then handed one mug to Draven. Draven took it, cradling his hands around the steaming coffee-fragranced manna from heaven. He took a sip and gave a satisfied sigh.

“God, that’s good. I needed that.” He glanced at Taylor. “So what did you hear or see in that sexy head of yours last night?” Knowing he’d probably get another punch to the jaw if he mentioned anything about Taylor seeing dead people, he tried to rein back the natural instinct he had to ask. He might be slowly and grudgingly accepting that perhaps Taylor did have something special now he was getting to know the man, but that didn’t mean he understood any of it.

Taylor’s eyes became wary. “Nothing, really.” Draven knew he was lying. He was trained to spot them and this was definitely a liar in front of him. “I sometimes remember, and sometimes not. This is one I can’t recall.”

He sipped his coffee and Draven could see that in Taylor’s mind, the questions were over. But he hadn’t finished. Draven’s co-workers didn’t call him “The Inquisitor” for nothing.

“You’re lying,” he observed and drank his coffee, keeping his eyes focused on Taylor’s face, which, predictably, grew mutinous and dark.

“I’m not fucking lying.” Taylor slammed his coffee cup down on the counter, causing it to slosh over. Draven raised an eyebrow at the temper tantrum. He watched as Taylor went to the dryer and opened the door, stopping it mid cycle.

“It hasn’t finished the cycle yet,” Draven observed mildly.

“It’s fine. They’re dry enough for me to go home.” Curt words were snapped at him like wet towels and Draven sighed.

“Taylor, come on, for God’s sake. You scared me last night. One minute I’m expecting the blow job and fuck from heaven, the next I have a comatose man in my bed. Surely you know I’d be curious about what went down last night. And it wasn’t you. “He tried to joke about it in the hope Taylor might lighten up. Instead he got a face full of angry man, a man like a spitting tiger cub, all claws and teeth.

“I gave you what you wanted earlier,” he snarled. “I’m sorry I didn’t manage to come to bed last night so you could fuck my arse, but I had stuff in my head to deal with, you tosser.”

Taylor’s teeth were bared, his hands balled in fists at his sides, but Draven saw the panic in his eyes. The man looked fraught, outwardly composed, but inside he was a damned mess.

Draven knew how to deal with this side of Taylor Abelard. He took hold of Taylor’s arms and pushed him backward, towards the wall, pinning him there. Draven’s hands tightened like steel bands on the other man’s wrists, pushing them up above his head. Taylor tried desperately to break free but Draven knew his heart wasn’t really in it despite the fire in his eyes. He’d seen the submissive side to this man, the man who ached for someone to take control. If ever there was a time to bring that side out, then this was it. Perhaps it would mean no more pissed-off psychic for a while.

“Let me go.” Taylor’s teeth grated between thin lips and Draven smiled. This seemed to inflame Taylor more as he struggled harder to break free.

“Nuh-huh. You, my friend, are going to listen to me instead of getting all pissy.” His own body pressed against Taylor’s and the flare of need in Taylor’s eyes told him everything he wanted to know. Draven held his wrists, loosening his grip so as not to leave bruises. He brought his lips close to Taylor’s, hearing him draw a shuddering breath, his cock stiff against Draven’s rapidly hardening one.

“Something is worrying you. You went strange last night and whatever it was, it’s unsettled you. You need to tell me about it so I can help you deal with it.”

Taylor’s amazing eyes stared into his and Draven’s heart stuttered at the pain in them.

“I can’t tell you,” he whispered brokenly. “I don’t really understand it all but I don’t think it’s good news.”

Draven’s spine tingled like an ice cube had been drawn down bare skin. Taylor bit his bottom lip and Draven wanted to kiss it. There was something about this man that definitely brought out the protective streak in him.

“Tell me,” he whispered gently, relaxing his hold on Taylor’s wrists. He knew Taylor wouldn’t try and get free.

“I only dream, have visions about people close to me who have died or who may be in danger. Last night….” His voice shook and he closed his eyes.

“What about last night? Tell me,” Draven demanded.

Taylor’s eyes opened. “I dreamt about you.” His voice was shaking. Draven leaned in, his lips brushing Taylor’s cheek and he tightened his grip, wanting to make Taylor feel just how alive he was.

“I’m not dead, as you can see and feel. Nothing’s going to happen to me. Although I’m glad you care just a little bit about something happening to me. There’s hope for us yet.”

Despite his tone of affected nonchalance, Draven couldn’t help feeling a frisson of fear in his stomach. He supposed ruefully that was a definite sign that he was beginning to believe in Taylor and the voices in his head.

Taylor stared into his eyes with pupils as black as lava stones. “I heard your voice, or what sounded like your voice. You were asking me to let you go, to free you. You sounded so sad, and yet so yearning. I felt you all around me when you spoke, could smell your aftershave, feel you.”

His voice grew fiercer. “I’m tired of this whole thing. Tired of feeling fucking scared and worried about what I see, tired of seeing people I know die horribly in my head, seeing mutilated kids in fields and smelling the blood. Oh God, Draven, when I smell things…” his voice tailed off and he closed his eyes in apparent exhaustion. “I just want it to stop. I want to be normal. I don’t want anything to happen to you even if you are a pain in the arse.” His breath hitched and Draven let go of his wrists and pulled him against him, wrapping broad arms around him. For a moment he held the firm body in his arms and listened to Taylor’s soft breathing as he pressed his face against Draven’s chest.

“Listen. Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m too bloody mean to die.” Taylor’s body tensed in his arms and Draven held him tighter. “And you know what they say? Only the good die young. And I am nowhere near good. Well, unless you count good at sex, of course. I’m pretty good at that, I have to say.” He was warmed by Taylor’s slight chuckle and snort. “So promise me you’ll stop bottling it all inside and tell me how you feel.”

He stopped as the enormity of those words drenched him like a cold shower.

Oh. My. Fucking. God. Since when did I become the sensible one in this relationship? I need to check I haven’t grown girly parts.

Draven wasn’t quite sure whether it was the thought of growing lady’s bits or the fact he considered himself to be in a relationship that made his heart thump like a jackhammer.

God, we haven’t even had proper sex yet.

These thoughts whirled around in his confused head and it was only when he felt Taylor shift beneath him, grinding his groin against his own erection that he came back down to earth.

He swallowed as Taylor lifted his head and gave him a searing hot glance from beneath sooty, wet-fringed lashes.