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Slow has never been part of Alexander's vocabulary. Not when it comes to something he wants. Especially not when it comes to someone he wants.
It's been three weeks since he arrived. Three weeks since finding his fox. Since they first made love. Since they decided to make two lives one.
Three weeks.
"Alex," Michael moans. His eyes flutter shut. Body writhes.
Alexander releases Michael's nipple. Laves his tongue over it. Bites it gently, drawing a keening cry from Michael and hands that clamp tightly on Alexander's arms.
Gently, Alexander pulls Michael's hands from him. Lifts them above his head and holds them there, one hand wrapped around his wrists. "Stay," he says.
Michael looks at him, eyes veiled by dark, heavy lashes.
"Stay." He squeezes Michael's wrists for emphasis.
Michael nods. Arches when Alexander takes his other nipple in his mouth and scrapes his teeth over it. A pleading whimper escapes and his hands twist into the sheets, but his arms stay.
Sixteen years ago, Alexander met and married his first wife. Twenty-four hours after meeting her in a bar in Vegas, they were married. The first month of the marriage was passion filled. The next two, filled with tension.
They never saw a fourth month.
"Alex. Alex. Alex," Michael says. Whines. Begs as Alexander makes his way down Michael's stomach.
He lavishes attention on every bit of the painted skin. Licks a spot before fastening his mouth over the flesh. Sucks and nibbles on it, tasting Michael's skin. Warm and clean. Salt. Clay. Sweat. *Michael*.
And Michael stays. Submissive. Perfectly so. Chest heaving. Eyelashes jet-black against flushed ivory. Lean, trim, perfect body shining with a sheen of sweat. Hips moving uncontrollably, whispered pleas tumbling from full, rosy lips. Hard cock against Alexander's arm, waiting for his attention.
Not yet.
Sixteen years ago, minus four months, he'd met his second wife. They'd been at a party, both guests of people who knew the host. They met at the buffet table, found a corner and stayed all night, talking. He walked her home in the early hours of the morning. Was invited to stay. Moved in a week later. Asked her to marry him by the end of the month.
Loved her every day of his life since.
"Yes, there, please!" Michael pleads when Alexander's face brushes against his cock.
Alexander ignores him. Works his way down the juncture of Michael's thigh with his tongue. Receives a high pitched whine as he does. He has to press his hand into Michael's hip, hold him down.
With the tip of his tongue, he traces the muscle in Michael's thigh. Circles his knee. Trails over his shin before switching legs and reversing the path. Heads back for his goal.
His affair with Billy had been ill advised, deeply necessary, and far more serious than he had ever intended. What had started as a one off ended in an almost four year affair. Every time he tried to break it off, Billy had done something to convince him that they weren't through yet. And Alexander let him. Let him stay in his house, in his bed. Worse, took him in public. On dates. To the hearings and the trial. Went with him to college functions--like when Billy was inducted to the National Honor Society and Phi Theta Kappa. His graduation.
Worst, perhaps, was Pam's wedding. But he hadn't any other date, and Billy had begged so prettily. And it was there, on the dance floor, in each other's arms, that Billy had told Alexander that he was leaving.
"I... Oh... Fuck, what..." Michael babbles. His grabs onto Alexander's hair. Tugs.
Alexander ignores the tugging. Swirls his tongue around Michael's entrance. Laps at it, his hand jacking at Michael's cock at the same time.
The moment Alexander realized what that tattoo on his newest convict's body was, there'd been a thrill that'd run through him. A thrill not unlike the moment Pam had first asked him to stay the night. A sense of destiny.
And even as the chase turned sour on him, and destiny tumbled towards tragedy, and anger and self-hatred had turned everything dark, it'd still been there. The knowledge. The feeling that there had to be something there. More than lust. More than need. Something deep and spiritual and pure.
Something like true love.
Michael gasps. His body stiffens.
Alexander moves his tongue. Replaces it with a finger. Thrusts.
"Alex!" Michael whines. His hips bounce on the bed.
"What do you want, Michael?" Alex asks, continuing to thrust.
Michael tug. Yanks Alex back up his body. Wraps his arms around Alex and pulls him down. Kisses him until they are breathless and panting for air.
"You," he whispers, rubbing his cheek against Alexander's. "I want you."
He smooths his hand down Michael's face. Adjusts himself and Michael's legs so he can slide in. Slowly, and Michael's face twists at the minimal preparation. Eyes widen when he realizes Alexander is not wearing a condom, and they've discussed this, but this... this is a heat of the moment decision.
"You have me, Michael," Alexander whispers. He kisses Michael. Rests their foreheads against one another as he thrusts. "You captured me. Much better than I managed to capture you."
Michael laughs. Pulls at Alexander again and surrenders himself completely.
Slow has never been in Alexander's vocabulary. Not when it comes to something he wants. Someone he wants. Because with Alexander, finding love has never been anything less than surrendering to destiny.