Chapter 1
Wherever-the-Fuck Linden, a few years after The Long Game
Fyodor grabbed the sheets and dug his fingers into Liam's shoulder hard enough that it hurt, so Liam slowly pulled his mouth off his dick, pushing his tongue into the slit.
," Fyodor gasped.
"What are you doing, put your mouth back—"
Liam obliged, sort of, and flattened his tongue against the underside of Fyodor's cock, licking a slow stripe up as he rubbed his fingertips over Fyodor's prostate, two fingers sunk knuckle-deep, and Fyodor abruptly broke into Zalovnian swearing.
Liam grinned and sucked a ball into his mouth, which got a
fuck!
peppered into all the Zalovnian, mostly too fast and nonsensical for Liam to follow.
He just closed his eyes and let it wash over him, feeling Fyodor come apart.
And fuck, he loved this.
He loved knowing how to wring every desperate, broken noise out of Fyodor.
He loved the heady sense of control it gave him, hearing Fyodor say his name like it was a prayer.
He loved being here, at the cabin, with absolutely nothing to do but edge Fyodor until his thighs trembled.
Liam pulled his mouth off again and this time Fyodor whimpered, twisting, his head to one side in the pillow as he ground down onto Liam's fingers, out of his mind.
A shaking, sweating, beautiful mess.
Liam stared, fingers working slowly, trying to drink in every single detail of this.
"Liam," Fyodor said.
He sounded like he'd run a marathon.
"I am going to fucking
die
if you do not—"
He cut off when Liam pressed his tongue to the underside of his cock and pushed his lips over the head slowly, letting it rub against the roof of his mouth.
Fyodor's fingers threaded into his hair as he gasped, hips jerking, before Liam pulled off again with a long, slow lick.
," Fyodor breathed, desperate.
"You love it," Liam said, and slid his mouth all the way down.
Fyodor's hips bucked up helplessly, fucking into Liam's mouth and grinding against his fingers all at once, and then he choked out something in Zalovnian and said
fuck, fuck, fuck, Liam
and came down his throat, clenching so hard on his fingers Liam couldn't move them.
He swallowed again and again, blissful, basking in it until Fyodor was going soft in his mouth and tugging on his hair.
Fyodor gasped a little when he pulled his fingers out and hauled him up the bed and then they were kissing, deep and lazy and sated.
"I love summer," Fyodor said when he'd recovered, lying on his side, Liam tucked under his chin, pressing slow, lazy kisses to the hollow of his throat.
"You love
summer
?" Liam could
hear
Fyodor's smile, so he nipped at a collarbone.
"Ow!
What else am I supposed to love if you are going to bite me?"
"How do you talk
much?" Liam mumbled, but he pressed a kiss to the spot.
"I love you even more than I love summer, moy—"
"If you say
vacuum cleaner
I'll kick you out of bed."
"—serdityy kotenok."
Liam huffed against Fyodor's throat, but he also secretly liked that one and Fyodor knew it, so he rolled onto his back and pulled Fyodor on top of him.
Rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, dark clouds roiling over the lake.
Liam had a vague recollection of hearing thunder at some point, but couldn't be particularly bothered to care.
Not when Fyodor was half-asleep on top of him, warm and sated as he found Liam's hand with his and laced their fingers together.
He'd almost drifted off when Fyodor spoke again, his voice a deep, soft rumble in Liam's ear.
"I want you to fuck me," he said, and Liam's eyes snapped open.
"What?" he said, after a moment.
Fyodor rolled onto his side and
smirked
"I want you to fuck me," he said again.
"Now?" Liam said stupidly.
He wasn't panicking, just—surprised.
"Not
, my body is made of jello," Fyodor said, which Liam felt pretty smug about.
"Sometime.
Later."
Liam considered this for a moment, watching Fyodor's face from six inches away: curls sweaty, cheeks still faintly pink, eyes as sparkly as ever.
"You didn't like it the last time we tried it," he said.
Fyodor gave a one-shouldered shrug.
"Was years ago.
Maybe it is an acquired taste, like licorice."
"You also don't like licorice," Liam pointed out.
"Yes, but I keep trying it because Matteo likes it so much."
"And then you make a face and tell him how awful it is."
"When have I ever told you your dick is awful?
I am its number one fan."
Liam snorted.
"I should get one of those big squishy hands," Fyodor went on, and Liam didn't follow that, either.
What?" he asked again, when it was clear Fyodor wasn't going to explain without prompting.
"You know, to hold up and cheer," Fyodor said, waving a hand in the air like that helped.
It didn't.
Liam's brain felt like it was on a three-second delay, sex-dumb and sleepy, not to mention he'd pretty much turned it off yesterday when they'd gotten to the cabin.
So no, he had no idea why Fyodor wanted to get his dick a squishy hand to cheer with, or something.
Fyodor sighed, like
was the one being ridiculous.
"People have them at games, Beckwith.
They say things like 'Go Titans' or 'Fyodor Rostov is the greatest'?"
Belatedly, a light went on in Liam's brain.
"Foam fingers," he said.
"You mean foam fingers."
I will get a foam finger that says 'I love Liam Beckwith's dick.'"
Liam sighed and threw a leg over Fyodor's thighs, a gust of wind splattering more rain against the windows.
He was pretty sure he never wanted to move again, because everything was too perfect like this: in bed with his husband somewhere they could have all the curtains open and not worry about a dickhead with a telephoto lens, with absolutely nothing to do but lie there and bicker about foam fingers.
"You can't wave it at games," he said.
"What if you get a hat trick?"
"Still no."
"Two hat tricks."
Liam yawned and curled against Fyodor, smashing his face into his shoulder.
"We'll see," he said, and Fyodor kissed the top of his head.