Have you ever taken a life, Doctor Jackson?
The sleeve of Mitchell's jumpsuit was catching on something as Daniel pushed it back off his shoulders, one handed because his other hand was busy, wrapped around the thick, solid jut of Mitchell's cock, working it fast.
Daniel eased off a little and then grinned, feral and sharp, as Mitchell groaned and his hips jerked forward pleadingly.
"Didn't say stop doing that."
"No, you didn't."
The blood had poured out so fast. Thick and red, welling up and spilling out -- oh, nice images, Daniel. He forced himself to concentrate, needing this to be over before either of them really thought about what the hell they were doing and stopped.
"Just let me --"
Moving in slow-motion, syrup-dragged shrugs, Mitchell slid his arms free of the jumpsuit and peeled off his T-shirt. He was trembling, shivering, wired and ready, a grin that wouldn't fade splitting his lips wide. Daniel dragged crooked, bent fingers through the curl of hair on Mitchell's chest and belly, scoring the skin and feeling the muscles contract and harden.
Does it really feel that good?
Well, they'd both been smiling, so maybe ... at least he thought Mitchell had been. Peripheral vision wasn't all that reliable when you wore glasses.
He leaned his forehead against a waiting shoulder, avoiding Mitchell's eyes and mouth. Jerking each other off to calm down was one thing but he wanted to walk away from this without knowing the shape Mitchell's mouth formed when it was being kissed.
Keep it simple, stupid.
Had it been sweet? Exhilarating, yes, he'd certainly agree with that. Each bang and chatter of a bullet leaving the muzzle and splitting air, cloth and skin had been lost in the thrum of blood in his ears, relentlessly surging. Sweet... not so much. The satisfaction of the kill wasn't something to savour or even remember afterwards. He didn't want to remember it. It was just there as their boots struck the ramp in unison, paired, twinned, bearing down on their target.
So much more intimate. One on one.
Khalek had been wrong about that, as well. It'd taken two of them to bring him down and leave him broken in the emptiness and dust behind the Gate, but even with two it had been more intimate than the moment his fingertips had blindly mapped the curve of Mitchell's erection and come away damp, the smell of Mitchell's skin rubbed into each pore.
One on one was now, with Mitchell biting the skin low down on Daniel's shoulder, where it wouldn't show, his teeth scraping sucked, wet skin and doing a good job of distracting Daniel from the echo of an insinuating voice, treacle-sticky.
The sharp, industrial tang of cleaners and soap saturated the locker room air. The door was closed. It didn't lock but it didn't matter. No one was going to come in. Too busy clearing up the mess Khalek had left behind.
And it wasn't as if this was going to take long. The foreplay had already been taken care of in the Gateroom.
Before this is over one of us will feel the pleasure...
Oh yes. Pleasure. Good idea.
Daniel dropped to his knees, impatient, hurried, his mouth opening greedily.
This was the pleasure; not the killing, this. If he let himself think otherwise -- He tasted pre-come and sweat and choked as Mitchell pushed deep, too close to climaxing to be considerate, not that Daniel needed that or wanted it.
He gagged and swallowed fast, wishing he hadn't glanced up just then. Mitchell's eyes were closed, his face loose and relaxed, half-smiling.
It was the second time today he'd seen that look on a man's face.
He ran his tongue over his lips, tasted blood, real and imagined.
Throwing up never felt so good.
Hard to stop Mitchell apologising though, and somehow Daniel didn't think they'd be doing this again any time soon. He didn't bother with reassurances or explanations.
It didn't matter that Mitchell was half hurt, half insulted, all guilt. Didn't matter that Daniel hadn't come either and his body was protesting, sulking, cheated.
Khalek had been wrong.
Daniel drooled out a last mouthful of sour spit and wiped his mouth.
That tasted better.
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