“Like what?”
“Fierce, like . . . like Rachmaninov. ‘Prelude in c-sharp minor’.”
The way Owen looked at him—those darkening eyes, their focus dropping to Jason’s lips . . .
His pulse was all semi-quavers.
He wanted more. Wanted everything, every touch—soft, sensual, strong, frantic—
He jerked his wrists against Owen’s hold. Owen raised a brow. “What would you like?”
“Buttons. Undone.”
Owen slid a hand tight between them, stroking him through his jeans. “These buttons?”
Jason growled at him.
A lusty laugh.
He seemed to be getting Owen off too. That was . . . thrilling. Made it even better. He’d always strived for harmony in sex, with his girlfriends, and they’d never quite reached it. All the notes there, but in the wrong . . . key. Flat. Not sharp, like this.
Owen stroked over him again. Tease.
“What’s the smile about, Jason?”
Breathless, “Get me out and I’ll tell you.”
“How about I make you come in your pants?”
Jason groaned through another slide down his shaft. “If you must know, I was thinking how very un-Libra like you’re being. You’re not playing fair at all, Sergeant Owen Stirling Sir.”
Owen kissed him hard, fingers plucking eagerly at buttons, then more eagerly taking hold of him. A firm grasp. A gentle pull.
Jason hissed and threw his head back, baring his throat.
Owen scraped his teeth there, sucked, drawing all sensation to that one spot. C in the eighth octave. The highest note.
It vibrated through him to his balls, and like Owen knew, he squeezed his cock. Like lengthening sound with a pedal. Jason clenched his thighs around Owen’s hips, breathless with the singing ache of it. He wanted to squirm under this touch forever.
Air tunnelled between them and drifted down his back as the room shifted. Owen had moved him. A thin pillow supported his neck now. His hands had been freed, and—
Oh.
Jason shivered at the solid slide of Owen’s exposed shaft against his. Hard and hot and damp. Oh God, could his clothes please come off?
A laugh. “All right.”
Already so far gone. Had to be if he was moaning his inner thoughts aloud. Whatever. Free him. Fuck him.
“You’re robbing me of reason. Christ.”
“Reason? If you’re still thinking straight, you’re doing it wrong.”
“I promise, I’m not thinking straight.”
For some reason, Jason found that particularly amusing. He laughed heartily as he yanked off his shirt and Owen stripped him of his jeans, all light and ticklish over his legs. He watched Owen shimmy out of his own until they were fully exposed on fresh, moonlit blankets. What was usually an awkward moment during sex felt . . . freeing. The shift of material. Glorious gold-dusted thighs, calves. Naked feet. The tossing of his T-shirt onto the floor. Rippling muscle and purpose.
Holy hell. Calendar cop!
Owen’s shadow loomed over him. Their skin touched a clash of notes in the high octaves. Balls rested against throbbing balls. Jason clasped the globes of Owen’s arse and dug his nails in. “Show me?”
“You’re in a candy store, aren’t you?”
“I want everything.” Flushed, “Is that allowed?”
Owen paused for half a second. A fraction of a second. “Yes.”
A wave of relief rolled through him. He wanted to try other stuff too, of course, but he really, really wanted to let Owen in, like he had with their kisses—that slick breaching. And he wanted it now so if he liked it, they could do more of it in the short time they had. “Thank God. Now fuck me.”
Owen’s eyes glimmered. A twitch of his lip. “You’re quite bossy, aren’t you? Waltzing into my life and claiming all my attention, moving in, hounding after photos, telling me what to do in bed.”
He hadn’t thought of himself like that before, but . . . he could see how he had some demanding tendencies . . . “Maybe I tell you what to do. But how you do it . . . that’s all up to you.”
“Anything else I should have in mind?”
A shaky laugh. “I’m a little nervous, so . . . like a Band-Aid?”
He expected there to be some pain, but pain wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He could handle it. Especially if what came after transposed him from this mortal realm to somewhere magical. “By that I mean . . . plunge.”
Owen frowned down at him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Jason swallowed. He wasn’t quite sure where to put that sincerity. It sort of flapped about, butterflies in his chest that wouldn’t calm down. “Upgrade that to very nervous, Owen.”
A wolfish grin. That placed itself easily—right at his cock. “Anticipation is all part of it.”
“W-what’s that look for? What are you planning?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll thank me for it.” Owen was sliding down Jason, gently spreading his legs apart, guiding Jason’s hands to his knees to hold himself open.
Heat flashed through Jason, lingering in his cheeks, in his rigid cock.
“Stay like that.” Owen got off the bed, moved to his drawers, and returned to kneel between Jason’s legs.