Word Count: 2540
No proofreading bcs i wasn't a pussy when i wrote this.
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It was never meant to happen. Never was supposed to be real. Wyatt sat solemnly with his head heavy in his hands on their bed. A past he thought was long behind him had decided to come back to bite him. The bite felt venomous as it spread and plagued his mind. The job was supposed to be finished, so why was she still alive? Even if all the light in the room had been blocked out, his whole world was spinning. He was dizzy, lightheaded, and anxiety-ridden. He sunk further into the bed, riding his hands through his hair, too disoriented to even hear the small click of the door opening.
What he had felt though was the weight plotting itself down behind him on the bed. Warm arms sliding from his back with hands connecting on his stomach made the lead weight in his mind lighten. The feelings of a body embracing his from behind had moved his head unconsciously to glance at his shoulder. What he was met with was the somber face of Lorcán. The eyes that seemed so much more lively and bright in the sunlight had dimmed in the room. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and straightened his back more to rest his hands upon the ones that were on his abdomen.
With a little hum, Lorcán spoke softly, "Still thinking about your past job? Dear you can't keep dwelling on it.."
Wyatt could not find the words so had resorted to a breath of agreement. His eyes seemed so glazed over, staring out out into the darkness of their bedroom. The only thing that seemed to keep him on the ground was Lorcán. The words rolled around in his head, rolling, rolling, and rolling around like a pool ball trying to make it to the goal. There was no attempt out of Wyatt to speak, so he simply just tilted his head as his lover lowered his chin to his shoulder.
"Wyatt... I may not be able to help you stop thinking about it entirely, but I could make you forget for this moment? If you would let me?" Lorcán had asked so tentatively as if it was a preposterous thing to propose. Yet it seemed like the perfect thing to Wyatt's ears. He didn't need to think much about before he rotated his neck towards his lover's direction and planted his lips on his as a way of accepting. Lorcán's ears perked up slightly and the corners of his mouth upturned. Leaning into the tender kiss, he snaked his hands away to cup Wyatt's face. Both parties seemed eager to move on, so they parted lips slightly breathless as Lorcán began to leave a trail of kisses from Wyatt's earlobe to his Adam's apple.
While slightly pushing against Wyatt, he goes and straddles his legs, effectively sitting on him. He continues his traverse along his neck with light kisses and bites. Each touch of contact leaves his skin on fire – burning and scarring even though there is no mark left behind. He cranes his neck back, looking for more attention to his more sensitive shoulders. Lorcán's hands steadily move to have one behind his head and one gripping his shoulder. With one loving peck on the nose, he withdrew and met his lover's gaze. There was no lust contained within the onyx black of Lorcán's eyes. Simply just love and the will to comfort his disturbed. Even in the darkness of the room, there seemed to be a glimmer of stars in those eyes. The feeling of lips back on his got him out of his benevolent daydream as he started to go red in the ears and face.
Eyes closed, he kissed back with more fervor and passion. A shiver shook through Lorcán's entire body at the kiss and a small whine parted his lips. This action gave opportunity to his lover to careless slip his tongue into his mouth. The tongue had left no area untouched and seemed to dig deep of the mouth that was it's terrain. It was messy, sloppy, and careless; but it was a whimsical experience. Hands wandered to waists and cupped faces. With a reluctance, Wyatt withdrew first and eyed the line of saliva connecting them. He was panting, he knew, but the sight he saw made him inhale a large amount of air. His cheeks had flushed to a deep currant red. He felt his body become searing hot, clothes starting to become a hassle. The man sat upon him had started to grind against him, looking for friction against fabric.
