Catch the Thunder

Master's Return

Freed barely remembered slipping away from the crowd. One moment, he was surrounded by blaring music and shouting voices, the next, he was yanked into the suffocating darkness of a tiny broom closet, shoved up against a cold metal shelving unit, and kissed with a fervor that stole the breath from his lungs.

He had no idea how Laxus knew precisely where the broom closet was located, nor how he managed to slip past security. Maybe it was best not to ask. Laxus once said he had visited every bar in town at least once. Perhaps he had learned the layouts of each place ... for clients.

Freed did not want to think about that right now, not when Laxus was here. Not when he was pressed so tightly against him that Freed could feel the hard lines of his body through their clothes.

The cramped space smelled of industrial cleaner and dust, the acrid sting of bleach mixing with the faint scent of old wood from the mops and brooms leaning against the wall. A single dim bulb buzzed weakly overhead, casting shadows that flickered as they moved. Shelves crammed with supplies rattled under the force of their passion, bottles of disinfectant and rags shifting with each desperate movement.

Freed did not care about any of that. Not when Laxus kissed him this fiercely.

Laxus' lips were rough, devouring him, claiming him with a hunger that had been caged for too long. His hands, still chilled from being outside, slid under Freed's shirt, the contrast of cold fingers on burning skin making him gasp. Freed's fingers tangled in Laxus' blond hair, pulling him in closer, refusing to let even an inch of distance exist between them.

Suddenly, Laxus' hands dropped to Freed's ass. In a single, effortless motion, Freed was lifted off the ground.

Freed barely had time to react before instinct took over—his arms locked around Laxus' neck, legs wrapping tightly around his waist, feeling the taut strength of his muscles beneath his fingers. He was caged in with steel shelves rattling behind him.

A bottle of cleaning solution wobbled precariously on the edge of the shelf. Something clattered to the ground—a mop handle, maybe—but neither of them cared.

Freed gasped as Laxus' lips left his, trailing down his jaw, scraping lightly over the sensitive skin of his neck. His breath was hot, ragged, his body trembling with need. He was surrounded by heat and power, so overwhelmed that it felt like drowning.

Four months! Four months of empty nights. Four months of tearful longing. Four months of wondering if Laxus would ever come back to him at all.

Now, he was here.

He was here.

That was all that mattered.

Freed's hands roamed desperately, remembering every muscle, every inch of him, needing to feel that this was real. His heart pounded so loudly he could barely hear anything else. Laxus groaned against his skin, gripping him tighter, grinding against him, his need just as overwhelming.

It was a wild craving, a need that outweighed everything, even the nagging voice in the back of Freed's mind that warned him they could get arrested for having sex in public.

They had never been like this before.

Not this intense. Not this wild.

This was starvation. This was desperation. This was homecoming.

Freed's breath hitched, and a moan shivered out of his throat. He wanted this man—his man—right here, right now. He needed to be filled up and claimed. He wanted to be ravaged so hard, he would feel the lingering ache for days.