Leather seats stuck to Alex's thighs as the cab lurched forward. Ethan's knee pressed against his, radiating heat through sunburned skin. A drop of sweat slid down Alex's sternum, pooling where Ethan had sucked a hickey last night. Outside, palm trees blurred into a green smear — the island erasing itself behind them.
Ethan exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers flexing on his own thigh like he was gripping an invisible opponent. "You know I don't —" His voice cracked on the last syllable, beard scraping his collarbone as he tilted his head toward the partition glass separating them from the driver. "Fuck." His knuckles whitened. "I don't actually think you're —" The word 'fleshlight' died in the humid air between them.
Alex watched Ethan's throat work, the tendons standing rigid beneath sweat-slicked skin. The cab hit a pothole, jostling them until their kneecaps knocked together. Ethan didn't pull away. His fingers crept toward Alex's wrist where it rested on the leather seat, hovering like he was measuring radiation from a meltdown.
"Fuck," Ethan muttered again, quieter this time. His thumb brushed the inside of Alex's wrist — just once — before retreating. "It's like ..." Air conditioning hummed between them, carrying the scent of Ethan's deodorant failing under layers of dried sex and sunscreen. "You ever see those nature documentaries? Where the fucking —" He gestured vaguely at the passing coconut palms. "— lions bite the mate's neck too hard?"
Alex snorted despite himself, the sound muffled by the cab's rattling suspension. Ethan's fingers twitched toward him again, hesitating over the bruises circling Alex's wrist. "I'm not your fucking gazelle," Alex said, but he didn't pull away.
Ethan exhaled sharply through his nose, his thumb tracing the delicate blue veins under Alex's skin. "Yeah, well." His voice dropped to a growl barely audible over the road noise. "Gazelles don't come three times before breakfast and still beg for it against a bathroom sink." The admission hung between them, raw as the chafed skin beneath Alex's waistband.
The cab hit a speed bump, jolting their thighs together. Ethan's fingers flexed like he wanted to grab something — Alex's wrist, the seatbelt, his own cock — but settled for digging into the leather upholstery instead. "You think I don't know I went too far?" He stared at the driver's reflective sunglasses in the rearview mirror. "That last round in the shower —" His teeth clicked shut as the cab swerved around a scooter.
Alex watched Ethan's jaw twitch, the muscle jumping beneath coarse stubble. Sunlight flickered through passing palms, striping the wrestler's face in gold and shadow. For a man built to pin opponents in three moves, he looked uncharacteristically lost. The A/C vent hissed between them, carrying the scent of Ethan's sweat — salt and something darker, muskier, the same smell that clung to Alex's inner thighs where the wrestler had chafed him raw.
"Listen." Ethan's thumb dug into his own thigh hard enough to leave crescents in the tanned skin. His voice came out sandpaper rough, torn between the cab's plastic partition and the island humidity leaking through the windows. "When I think of you with anyone else —" His teeth clicked shut, nostrils flaring.
Alex watched Ethan's throat work, the Adam's apple bobbing like he was swallowing shards of their shattered whiskey glass from last night. The wrestler's chest rose and fell with controlled breaths — the same rhythm he used before a takedown — but his fingers trembled where they gripped the seat.
"Fuck," Ethan ground out, his voice lower than the cab's engine rumble. He dragged a calloused palm down his face, smearing salt and sunscreen into his stubble. "I know I —" His thumb pressed into the hollow of his own throat, right where Alex's teeth had left a crescent moon hours earlier. "When you walk away like that ... it's like my fucking ribs crack."
Alex exhaled sharply through his nose. The torn waistband of his shorts rasped against his hipbones as he shifted, leather sticking to his thighs where Ethan's cum had dried. He watched sunlight fracture across the wrestler's knuckles — those same knuckles that had pinned him against every available surface for two days straight. "Yeah?" His voice came out hoarse. "Try being the one who actually has to walk."
Ethan's fingers twitched toward him again, hesitated. The cab hit another pothole, jostling them until their elbows knocked. Alex didn't pull away. He stared at the sunburn peeling on Ethan's shoulder — the exact shade of pink as the inside of his own thighs. "Fuck you," he muttered, knuckles brushing Ethan's wrist. "Fuck you for making me love you like this."
The wrestler's entire body jerked as if electrocuted. Alex watched Ethan's lips part, saw the exact moment when his pupils dilated — like a drunk realizing the bartender just poured him water. Ethan grabbed Alex's face with both hands, thumbs pressing into his jawbone hard enough to bruise. "Say that again," he rasped, breath hot with desperation and stale whiskey. "Say it where I can fucking taste it."
Alex twisted away, but not fast enough — Ethan's teeth scraped his earlobe, sending shocks down his spine. "You're impossible," he hissed, though his fingers dug into Ethan's thighs, anchoring himself as the cab hit another pothole. The scent of their mingled sweat rose between them, thick as the humidity clinging to the windshield.
Ethan exhaled sharply through his nose — not a laugh, but something raw and unguarded. His thumbs traced Alex's cheekbones with sudden, startling gentleness. "Fuck," he murmured, forehead pressing against Alex's. His breath hitched when Alex didn't pull away. "I'll ... I'll dial it back. The roughness. The —" His voice cracked. "The possessiveness."
Alex snorted, fingers tightening in Ethan's sweat-damp tank top. "Bullshit." The cab swerved, pressing them chest-to-chest. Ethan's heartbeat thundered against Alex's sternum — rapid-fire, like a trapped bird. "You couldn't dial it back if your life depended on it," Alex muttered against his lips. "And neither could I."
*****
Ethan shouldered through the airport doors like he was entering a wrestling ring, duffel bag swinging dangerously close to an elderly couple. Alex barely had time to grab their boarding passes from Ethan’s back pocket before the wrestler bulldozed toward security, his gait telegraphing impatience in every muscle twitch.
“First class,” Ethan growled at the check-in counter, slapping down a black credit card still sticky with sunscreen. His knuckles were split, the scabs fresh enough that the attendant’s eyes darted toward the airport police. Alex leaned in, flashing the smile that always made Ethan’s jaw clench, and murmured something about a wrestling injury. By the time they walked away, their seats were upgraded and the attendant was blushing.
Security was a blur of impatient huffs and belt buckles clattering into plastic bins. Ethan stripped off his tank top with deliberate slowness, watching Alex’s throat bob as the TSA agent eyed the sweat glistening between his pecs. The agent’s eyebrows climbed when Ethan slammed their bags onto the conveyor belt, his biceps flexing under sweat-stained fabric, but Alex caught the flicker of interest in the man’s gaze as Ethan practically ripped his tank top off for the body scanner.
“Problem?” Ethan rumbled when the agent lingered too long near his waistband. The man stepped back, blushing, and Ethan shouldered past, leaving Alex to scramble after him with their shoes in hand.
At the gate, Alex collapsed into a chair, watching Ethan pace like a caged tiger. Every few steps, the wrestler would glance over, his eyes raking down Alex’s body with possessive hunger, then look away sharply, his jaw clenching. His fists flexed at his sides, still smeared with traces of dried blood from their alley scuffle.
Boarding was announced with a cheerful ding, and before the attendant could finish her announcement, Ethan was already moving, shouldering past a startled family to be first at the jetway. He gripped Alex’s wrist, hauling him forward with barely restrained impatience, his palm hot against Alex’s pulse. The attendant’s practiced smile faltered as she scanned their tickets, her gaze lingering on Ethan’s split knuckles before darting to Alex’s bitten lip.
First class smelled of leather and antiseptic, crisp and impersonal — nothing like the humid musk of the island still clinging to their skin. Ethan shoved their bags into the overhead compartment with a grunt, the muscles in his back straining against his shirt. When he turned, his knee bumped Alex’s thigh, lingering a beat too long. "Window," he muttered, jerking his chin toward the seat.
Alex slid in, hissing as sunburned skin caught on the seatbelt. Ethan’s fingers twitched toward him, then curled into fists as he dropped into the aisle seat, his bulk making the entire row feel smaller. The engines whined to life, vibrating through the floorboards and into Alex’s bones like a second heartbeat. Ethan’s knee pressed against his, insistent, the denim rough against bare skin where Alex’s shorts had ridden up.
Somewhere between takeoff and the beverage cart’s first rattle, Ethan’s breathing deepened. His head lolled against the headrest, sweat-damp hair sticking to the leather. Alex watched his eyelashes flutter — twice, three times — before staying still. The wrestler’s fingers relaxed against his thigh, callouses catching on fabric. A fleck of dried blood still clung to his pinky knuckle, flaking off when Alex brushed it with his thumb.
JFK’s fluorescent lights hit like a slap after the dim cabin. Ethan shouldered through the jetway with the urgency of a man chasing daylight, his duffel swinging wildly. Customs was a blur of stamped passports and Ethan’s impatient toe-tapping — his jaw tightening whenever an agent glanced at their identical island sunburns. The automatic doors hissed open to a wall of honking horns and exhaust fumes, Manhattan’s skyline looming beyond the taxi ranks.
Their hired car idled at the curb, sleek black and smelling of lemon polish and stale coffee. The driver’s eyes widened at Ethan’s bulk filling the doorway before darting to Alex’s bruised collarbone. Ethan tossed their bags in the trunk with a thud that rocked the suspension, then slid into the backseat with a grunt, his knees jamming against the divider. He growled the address destination to the driver and pulled Alex down beside him hard enough to make the leather squeak.
The driver kept glancing back through the rearview, fascinated by the way Ethan’s fingers flexed against Alex’s thigh — digging in, retreating, then creeping higher again like a man trying to quit cigarettes. At a red light, Ethan exhaled sharply through his nose and turned Alex’s face toward him with rough fingertips. His kiss was all lips and restraint, his lips barely grazing Alex’s before pulling back with a frustrated noise. His knuckles whitened against the seat when Alex smirked.
"You’re being really good," Alex murmured against Ethan’s jaw, lips brushing the salt-damp stubble. He felt the wrestler shudder violently under him, the muscles in his thighs locking tight enough to vibrate. Ethan’s breath hitched — a wounded, punched-out sound — as Alex traced the shell of his ear with his tongue. "So fucking patient," Alex breathed, relishing how Ethan’s pulse jumped under his fingertips. "I'm so proud of you."
The wrestler’s hands flexed on Alex’s hips, fingertips digging into sunburned skin hard enough to leave bruises. Ethan’s exhale was ragged, uneven — the sound of a man clinging to the last fraying thread of self-control. "Alex —" he choked out, voice raw with need. His hips jerked involuntarily, the thick line of his cock pressing obscenely against his jeans.
Alex smirked against Ethan’s throat, tasting salt and musk. He bit down lightly on the tendon there, delighting in the way Ethan shuddered violently under him. "Yeah?" he murmured, lips brushing the shell of Ethan’s ear. "Are you gonna break already?" His fingers traced the waistband of Ethan’s jeans, deliberately slow, teasing.
The driver cleared his throat awkwardly, making Ethan jerk away with a snarl. "Uh, sirs," the driver stammered, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror nervously. "We’ve arrived." Ethan didn’t even wait for the car to come to a full stop. He was out the door before the wheels stopped rolling, his broad shoulders tense with barely restrained frustration. Alex watched with amusement as Ethan practically ripped the trunk open, grabbing their bags with enough force to make the suspension groan.
Alex took his time, unfolding himself from the leather seat with deliberate slowness. He caught the driver’s lingering gaze in the rearview mirror — hungry and curious — and smirked. Fishing out his wallet, he peeled off three crisp hundreds and handed them over with a wink. "Thanks for the ride," he said smoothly, watching the driver’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. The man’s fingers brushed against Alex’s palm a second too long, his grip lingering with something more than gratitude. Ethan’s growl from the sidewalk made the driver flinch, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. Alex chuckled and stepped out, slamming the door shut behind him.
The car screeched away, tires biting into the asphalt like the driver couldn’t escape fast enough. Alex rolled his shoulders, stretching lazily in the late afternoon sun before turning to face Ethan. The wrestler stood rigid by the apartment entrance, his nostrils flared and his fists clenched tight enough to whiten his already pale knuckles. His gaze burned into Alex with an intensity that could scorch concrete.
"Enjoying yourself?" Ethan ground out, his voice dangerously low. The veins in his forearms bulged against his skin as he adjusted his grip on the duffel straps. His jaw worked furiously, like he was chewing on the words he refused to say.
Alex smirked, rolling his shoulders as he stepped closer. He reached out, deliberately slow, and tapped Ethan’s chest with two fingers. "Shut up," he murmured, pressing his palm flat against the wrestler’s sternum. He could feel Ethan’s heartbeat thundering beneath his touch, rapid and uneven. "And unlock the goddamn door."
*****
The deadbolt clicked shut.
Ethan barely finished twisting the lock before Alex was on him, mouth hot and insistent, fingers already wrenching at the wrestler’s belt. Their tongues tangled wetly, all teeth and desperation, Ethan groaning into the kiss as Alex’s hands found bare skin beneath his shirt. Fabric tore — Alex didn’t care whose — as they stumbled backward into the foyer wall, Ethan’s bulk rattling a framed photo.
“Fuck — fuck —” Ethan gasped when Alex sucked his lower lip hard. He gripped Alex’s hips, calloused thumbs pressing marks into the tender skin above his waistband. Their cocks rubbed together through layers of denim, Ethan’s thick and unmistakable even confined. The scent of their shared sweat filled the apartment, mingling with the leather-and-salt musk still clinging to them from the island.
Alex dragged his teeth away from Ethan’s mouth with deliberate gentleness — no bite, just the ghost of pressure. “Relax,” he murmured against the wrestler’s stubble, tracing circles on his pecs through sweat-damp fabric. His tongue flicked over the corner of Ethan’s mouth where their last kiss had split the skin earlier.
Ethan exhaled shakily, forehead dropping against Alex’s temple. “Not possible,” he muttered, fumbling with Alex’s belt buckle. His fingers shook against the leather, knuckles brushing the prominent jut of Alex’s hip bone. The wrestler’s breath hitched when Alex leaned back just enough to slide his hands under Ethan’s shirt, palms skimming the dense thatch of chest hair plastered to his skin.
Fabric pooled around their ankles — first Ethan’s jeans, heavy with the damp weight of sweat and unfinished business, then Alex’s torn shorts catching briefly on his knees before finally surrendering. Ethan kicked them aside impatiently, his cock jutting thick and flushed against his stomach, the tip glistening already. His fingers flexed at the small of Alex’s back, dragging him flush against his body with a grunt.
The wrestler’s bare feet scuffed against hardwood as he backed Alex down the hallway, their hips bumping with each step. The air conditioning raised goosebumps on their sweat-slicked skin, intensifying the heat where Ethan’s erection pressed insistently against Alex’s hip. A trail of discarded clothes marked their path — Ethan’s shirt hooked on a wall sconce, Alex’s underwear dangling precariously from the edge of a side table.
Ethan’s palms ran down Alex’s ribs with uncharacteristic hesitation, fingertips pausing over fading bruises from their last island wrestling match. His breath hitched when Alex arched into the touch, the movement pressing their cocks together in a slick slide of precome. “Christ,” Ethan muttered, thumbs digging into the divots of Alex’s hipbones as if memorizing the shape. The wrestler swallowed hard, jaw working around unspoken words as he pushed Alex backward onto the bed.
Alex’s fingers tangled in Ethan’s chest hair, tugging gently until the bigger man shuddered above him. The scent of salt and leather filled the space between them as Ethan leaned down, nose tracing the curve of Alex’s throat with deliberate slowness. His tongue flicked out, tasting sweat and the faint bitterness of sunscreen still clinging to the hollow behind Alex’s ear. Every breath Ethan took sounded like a man drowning in oxygen.
The wrestler’s hands mapped Alex’s body with reverence now – fingertips skating over ribs still tender from roughhousing, pausing at each bruise and sunburn as if cataloging damages. His palm slid down Alex’s sternum, callouses catching on wiry chest hair before cupping him firmly. Ethan exhaled sharply through his nose at the damp heat, his thumb circling the precum pooling at Alex's cockhead with agonizing precision.
Alex arched off the mattress when Ethan’s mouth found his nipple – no teeth this time, just warm suction that made his toes curl. The wrestler’s hand crept lower to palm Alex’s ass with a groan that vibrated through both of them. Ethan’s tongue traced the divot of Alex’s hipbone, lapping at the sheen of sweat pooled there before moving to breathe hotly against his erection. The contrast of Ethan’s beard scraping his sensitive inner thighs against the velvet-soft press of lips along his shaft drew a broken noise from Alex’s throat.
Ethan’s fingers trembled as they cradled Alex’s balls with surprising gentleness before stroking upward in one long, slick pull. Precum smeared across his fingers when he twisted at the tip, his thumb rubbing the frenulum in tight circles that made Alex’s abdomen clench. The wrestler watched every reaction like a starving man studying a menu – lips parted, pupils blown wide enough to swallow the room’s dim light.
When Ethan bent to lick a stripe from base to tip, his free hand came up to guide Alex’s fingers into his own hair – not forcing, just presenting the invitation. Alex fisted dark strands with one hand while the other traced the shell of Ethan’s ear, marveling at how the wrestler shuddered at such light touches. Ethan’s mouth was all wet heat and patient suction now, tongue pressing insistently along the underside in a rhythm that matched his slow, twisting strokes at the base.
The mattress dipped as Ethan shifted, draping Alex’s legs over his broad shoulders to mouth at Alex's perineum with shameless curiosity. His thumbs spread Alex open, breath ghosting over damp skin before his tongue pressed in with none of their usual frantic urgency – just slow, indulgent circles that made Alex’s thighs shake. Ethan groaned against him, the vibration traveling straight to Alex’s cock where it lay flushed and leaking against his midriff.
Alex threaded fingers through Ethan’s sweat-damp hair and tugged – gently this time, guiding rather than demanding – until the wrestler’s mouth sealed over his hole in earnest. Ethan ate him like a man savoring his last meal: lips sucking gently at the rim before his tongue pushed in deep, twisting lazily on the retreat. Every few strokes he’d pull back entirely to nip at the backs of Alex’s thighs, his beard scraping sensitive skin as he murmured praise that vibrated against damp flesh.
When Ethan finally lifted his head, his chin gleamed with spit and Alex’s arousal. He pressed two fingers alongside his tongue this time, working Alex open with slow rolls of his wrist while his free hand stroked Alex’s cock in matching rhythm. Their eyes locked as Ethan crooked his fingers just right – watching Alex’s breath stutter – before bending to take him down his throat in one smooth glide. The wrestler swallowed around him, throat fluttering as Alex’s hips jerked involuntarily.
Ethan pulled off with a wet pop, chest heaving as he crawled up Alex’s body to kiss him messily. Alex could taste himself on Ethan’s tongue – salt and musk and something uniquely their own – as the wrestler reached between them to guide his cock to Alex’s entrance. There was no desperate shove, just slow pressure as Ethan sank in by degrees, forehead pressed to Alex’s while they both shuddered at the stretch.
Hips flush against Alex’s ass at last, Ethan stilled, hands framing Alex’s face as he whispered something too raw to be dirty talk. His thrusts started shallow – barely more than rocking – until Alex arched up to meet him, their rhythm building like tide eroding shorelines. Ethan’s hand slipped between them to stroke Alex in time with each roll of his hips, thumb smearing precum over the head with every upstroke.
Alex came with Ethan’s name punched from his lips, back bowing as the wrestler fucked him through it, each spurt of sperm painting their stomachs. Ethan followed moments later, burying himself deep with a groan that sounded suspiciously like Alex’s name. They stayed locked together afterward, trading slow kisses as their breathing evened out, Ethan’s hands roaming Alex’s sides with something approaching reverence.
Eventually, Ethan collapsed atop Alex, his forehead pressed against Alex’s shoulder, beard scraping sweat-slick skin. He exhaled, long and slow, his weight pinning Alex to the bed in the best way possible. Alex traced circles on Ethan’s back, feeling the muscles twitch beneath his fingertips, the wrestler’s heartbeat gradually slowing against his ribs.
After a long while, Ethan rolled onto his side beside Alex, his big arm draping possessively across Alex’s chest, one leg thrown over Alex’s thighs like he was afraid he’d vanish if given the chance. His thumb rubbed absent circles over Alex’s sternum, rough skin catching on wiry chest hair.
Ethan’s gaze was softer now, stripped of its usual hunger, just dark and adoring as he studied Alex’s face — the flush high on his cheekbones, the swollen redness of his lips. He leaned in slowly, pressing a kiss just beneath Alex’s eye, then another at the corner of his mouth, whisper-soft and lingering.
Alex turned his head slightly, catching Ethan’s lips in a lazy kiss, humming when the wrestler’s fingers tangled gently in his hair. Ethan sighed against his mouth, his free hand drifting down to trace the fresh bruises on Alex’s hip — his fingertips lingering like a silent apology — before settling heavily over his ribs.
Outside, the city thrummed — an engine roar, a distant siren — but inside, between them, it was just quiet breaths, the occasional creak of the mattress, and the faint scent of sex and sweat mingling with linen and skin.
It was good to be home.
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