Summary: Intrigued by his new concierge doctor, Boris schemes on how to more fully integrate Hank into both the Hamptons and Boris' own life. One plan after the next leads to mixed failure and success. Poor Boris!
A/N: Hey, I'm back! Chapter Fifteen finishes the story. Warning: there is sex here! (Or is that really "Yay, there is sex here"!)
Mark Your Territory
Far later in the day than he would like, Boris was staring tiredly at his computer screen when he heard a soft knock at his door. Rubbing his forehead and seriously wondering when retired had started to mean busy at work at least five days a week, he looked up. He could only hope that nothing was wrong, for the past few weeks had been full of turmoil. The last two weeks had been almost tranquil, with Hank steadily recovering from his illness and Evan only seen from time to time. With any luck, that tranquility would continue, yet the very tranquility made him suspect that the rare peace and quiet was soon to explode on him.
His weary eyes took in the features of his doctor, and he found himself smiling despite the aggravation of the day's business.
"Hank!" he greeted with a small smile, looking away from his computer and rubbing at the back of his head to ease the tension that had been building up over the past two hours. "What brings you here?"
Hank moved towards him, and his fingers quickly hit the light switches. Startled, Boris found himself in a darkened room, the only light coming from the windows and the computer screen. When Hank reached his desk, he turned off the computer.
The good doctor stared at him, eyebrows arched in challenge.
Abruptly, Boris felt his heart rate accelerate. Hank was dressed to kill—and he truly wondered if seeing his love dressed this way would kill him, given his current heart rate—in a way that the older man had never seen him. The doctor wore tight black pants that hugged every line of his legs and a royal blue shirt that was silk, if Boris was not greatly mistaken. The top three buttons had been left open, and he could barely see the doctor's fair skin peeking through. It seemed to caress the doctor's chest, drawing Boris' stunned gaze over every inch of him. Hank's curly dark hair offset beautifully with his green eyes, which now seemed deeper, somehow greener than usual. Black leather shoes completed the alluring picture, the tread almost noiseless as Hank approached him.
Boris found himself swallowing hard.
"Doctor," he finally managed to say, voice slightly hoarse. He was proud, actually, that he had not outright stuttered. A less dignified person would have been drooling at the sight before him, but Boris was dignified. Mostly. He cleared his throat. "What brings you here?"
In most situations, Boris tended to think of himself as the predator. It was to be expected, given his background. People feared him for good reason. However, right now, Boris had the uncomfortable feeling that Hank was . . . stalking him. His doctor carefully circled around him, sliding two of his fingers over the side of his desk, over the back of his chair. He only stopped circling him when he was standing behind Boris, and then he began slowly drifting his hands down Boris' shoulders.
"I thought you needed a break, Boris," Hank whispered into his left ear. He moved to Boris' right ear and blew into the shell. Boris found himself groaning slightly, biting into his lower lip to quiet the sound. He could feel the heat of Hank's body pressed against the back of his head. "You have been looking . . . frustrated lately."
Boris blinked at this. God, if that had not been a loaded statement.
He suddenly felt soft lips press against the nape of his neck. "Very frustrated."
Oh, yes, he had been frustrated lately. His love was one of the most frustrating men he had ever met. There was no doubt about it.
"It has been a hectic month," Boris replied after some thought. He slowly reached for one of Hank's hands as they kneaded at his shoulders. Snagging one slender hand, he squeezed it sharply before kissing it. He smiled slightly when he felt Hank's chin rest against the top of his head, his love pulling Boris closer to him.
Exhaling sharply, Boris shook his head. For some reason, now that Hank was here, he could feel his muscles loosening slightly. He decided to tell his doctor what was happening, something he had never done with previous lovers. "One of my managers has somehow managed to misplace yet another sizable amount of money. I am contemplating how long it would take to replace the man."
"Hmm." Hank kissed the top of Boris' head. He could feel the doctor's lips curve slightly. "Do you have any possible replacements in mind?" he asked softly.
The billionaire again exhaled heavily, slowly nodding after a moment's contemplation. He closed his eyes, feeling Hank's lips against his temples. Perhaps the problem was not as urgent as he had led himself to believe. It would be a simple task to fire the incompetent fool and replace him with yet another subordinate. Unfortunately, he had allowed himself to become so aggravated by the man's incompetence that he had not seen the obvious solution.
He smiled slightly. His doctor had just proved once more how completely indispensable he was. There were very few people Boris listened to.
"Yes," he at last replied. He looked up at Hank. "There are several good possibilities. It should be no problem."
"Good." Hank moved to his side. Boris looked up to see the doctor extending his right hand to him. "If that's settled . . . let's get you out of here. You've been holed up in here all day." His mouth curved mischievously, and one eyebrow arched. "I have plans for you, Boris, and they don't involve million dollar business deals."
Hank leaned down to kiss him, the touch of his lips gentle, a caress: a promise. The younger man smiled, and Boris could have sworn that smile blazed through the dark room. The problems at work, the day's stress—all evaporated from the billionaire's mind when Hank was beside him.
Ten minutes later found him sitting outside in a shady corner of the garden, one that few people noticed. Hank was sitting beside him, and they were comfortably relaxed across a soft blanket that the doctor had managed to find somewhere on the estate. Boris could not honestly remember the last time he had shared a picnic with someone, but the fact that his love had actually cooked some of his favorite foods, many of them difficult to find the recipes since they were ancestral dishes, made him smile. They were not as spicy or as well cooked as Boris' own cook would have done, but Hank had cooked for him. It made all of the difference, especially since he knew that Hank did not ordinarily get the time to cook.
As he carefully placed his arm around Hank and drew him closer, Boris reflected that he was happy, truly happy. They had just cleared the remains of their dinner aside, and Hank was relaxing, looking up at the sky with a small smile. The good doctor was leaning against him, completely comfortable—even when Boris leaned over to nuzzle Hank's neck. Hank groaned slightly, but that smile remained; he reached over to kiss Boris, the kiss soft and tender. Contentedly, Boris shut his eyes, enjoying this precious moment with his love: the silence, peace, and relaxation.
Over the past two weeks, Boris and Hank had been exploring their relationship, step by shaky step. It had been both a heaven and a hell for Boris. They had kissed, made out, kissed some more, and groped each other. The chance to actually be with Hank, to show him that he loved the doctor, had been heaven. However, the fact that they were moving so slowly—and for understandable and very good reasons—was outright hell.
One look at Hank stretched the billionaire's already thin self-control. And this was not even mentioning kissing or groping the man. Truly, he had not felt this painfully aware of his own needs in years.
He heard a slight rustle to his side, and then suddenly felt something brushing against his lips. It certainly was not Hank's mouth, unfortunately, but it was cold. Boris inhaled sharply, suddenly smelling something sweet, pungent. He opened his lips to the gentle pressure Hank had placed against them, and he was surprised to find his mouth explode with flavor and texture.
The decadent chocolate-covered strawberry made him smile. He could not imagine how the man had learned of his love of strawberries, but Boris would leave that mystery to his doctor. He opened his eyes, kissing Hank's cheek. "Would you happen to have any more of those, Doctor?" he asked softly, his voice rich and deep, sultry.
With a deep swallow, Hank handed him a small bowl of the wonderful treats, and Boris carefully selected one for his love. His eyes were intense when he met Hank's gaze, the berry pressed against the doctor's moist lips. He kissed those tempting lips, then fed Hank the strawberry. As his love ate the berry, Boris leaned down and licked Hank's lips, nipping at the corners with a leer.
As far as aphrodisiacs went, Boris suspected the little berries were doing their job more than sufficiently.
Somehow, only moments later the bowl ended up knocked to its side as Boris pulled Hank even closer, pressing him against the blanket. The kiss was hungry, almost wild in its heat and passion. Hank's mouth opened for him, wet and needy, and they kissed for several minutes. Boris drifted his hands up and down Hank's sides, exploring the lithe figure beneath him, muscles shuddering at his touch.
It occurred to him, much later than it really should have, that Hank was seducing him. His only excuse for taking so long to understand that fairly obvious fact was that most of his blood had rushed out of his head the moment he felt that strawberry against his lips. Or maybe the blood had rushed out of his head when Hank walked into his room, his clothing a tight caress against his skin, his eyes predatory when he saw Boris.
If this was what Hank was like when he was actively seducing him, Boris wondered if he would survive the night.
Smirking, he decided it was well past time for him to meet Hank half way.
With a grunt, Boris sprawled himself completely across Hank, trying to grasp this wonderful man in his arms. He immediately pressed the smaller body more fully against the ground, wedging his knee between his thighs and running his hands through Hank's hair. His love's arms wrapped around him tightly, his hands cupping Boris' ass until the billionaire growled; he licked and bit at Hank's throat.
Boris pulled back just a moment to glide his hands down Hank's sides until they rested firmly on his sharp hips. He smiled. "I believe we should take this elsewhere, Doctor." He pressed Hank's hips against his own until the young man moaned. "Yes?"
"God, yes," Hank responded, voice deep. "I thought" he kissed Boris' throat "you would never" those lips moved to the German's chin "ask." He kissed Boris once more on the mouth, licking the bottom lip. Boris growled harshly when he felt a hand slide under his waistband, his breath panting when that hot appendage crept steadily lower and lower.
They were up and in the manor in sixty seconds—then in Boris' room in less than five minutes. Their bodies were still heatedly entwined. Boris slammed the door open, pushing his love inside before slamming the door closed once more. Remembering Evan's earlier interruption of their amorous activities, Boris quickly locked the door. He kept his lips on his love's the entire time, refusing to let Hank go for even a second.
Something glowed, flickered, out of the corner of his eye. As he pressed his doctor against him until it was almost impossible to tell where one body began and the other ended, Boris allowed himself to see the candles softly shimmering all around the room. He noticed a bottle of champagne soaking in ice and two glasses on a nightstand . . .
The romantic gesture touched him, it truly did. But right now, all he wanted, all he craved was the wonderful man in his arms. He wanted to devour every hot, needy inch of that lithe body right where he stood.
Hank staggered for a moment, abruptly pushing Boris against the door. The German hissed when he felt the doctor nipping at his throat, those hands now moving to his shirt and unbuttoning it as quickly as possible. Boris quickly turned them around until it was Hank who rested against the door, and the doctor moaned when Boris rubbed his hardening erection against Hank's. They kissed desperately, hungrily, and Boris pulled off his own suit jacket before attacking Hank's shirt. Boris tried unbuttoning the shirt, but ten seconds of struggling with those annoying buttons had him yanking the shirt open with enough force to send the remaining buttons flying. The undershirt was almost gone before Boris even realized he had tugged it over Hank's head and shoulders.
He would buy Hank a new silk shirt later. Maybe an entire closetful so that he could rip them open as needed.
Vaguely, Boris saw his own shirt flying to the side, and he could feel Hank's greedy fingers tugging at his undershirt. When it was also lying uselessly on the floor, the doctor ran his hands up and down Boris' back, the heat short-circuiting what little was left of the billionaire's brain. He felt Hank's hardness against his own, and he pressed his hips up and down, up and down until Hank threw his head back helplessly and moaned at the intense friction. His mouth latched onto his doctor's nipples, moving from one to the other and laving the stiffening nubs with ardor. Hank continued to moan, almost hissing at the feel of Boris' tongue.
They were supposed to be going slow, he knew. He was more than ready to advance to the next stage, but he had worried that Hank might not be ready. Indeed, he was trying to go slowly so that Hank might be ready for their relationship. Besides, he remembered his promise to Evan.
But, God, how was he supposed to go slow now, with the doctor like this: half naked and out of control?
Not even a saint could do it, and Boris was no saint.
There was absolutely nothing slow or saintly about Boris when he unbuttoned and unzipped Hank's pants, yanking them down with need until they pooled at Hank's ankles. His hands were almost shaking when he plunged them down the doctor's boxers, feeling the aching hardness against his own flesh, the heat that palpitated against his hand. A panting Hank thrust into his touch, his own fingers cupping Boris' erection right through his pants. The doctor started to palm him, squeezing until Boris was moaning, desperate for more: for more skin against skin, for more of his doctor naked before him.
Desperate for his lover lying beneath him, writhing and crying for him.
Boris moaned at the image. Hank's pubic hairs teased against his fingers, the curly hair soft and springy. He carded his fingers through it, enjoying the texture, enjoying the chance to finally touch his love here, where no man had touched him before. His beloved doctor had finally managed to open Boris' pants and push them down with his underwear. Cold air slid against the German's buttocks, but heat met his groin: Hank's hand, his thumb now whispering against the head of his shaft. They further explored each other, at last allowed to discover the flesh of their love.
Unfortunately, there was still too much clothing involved. This was something that Boris intended to change as quickly as possible. "Clothes, off, now," Boris demanded, breaking away from their kiss long enough to speak. He bit at Hank's throat, growling and leaving a bruise against that fair flesh.
The doctor's eyes darkened, and Hank kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the pants pooled uselessly around his ankles; he gasped against Boris' mouth. His breathing was fast, wanting and needy. Boris was not far behind, for he quickly toed off his shoes and kicked his pants to the side. Socks flew off next, and then they were there—with only Hank's boxers between them.
Those boxers would not be there long, if Boris had any say on it.
Firmly, Boris held Hank in his embrace and devoured his mouth until the younger man was melting in his arms. His hand traced the heat of Hank's cock, and his beloved doctor kissed him with increasing fervor, biting at Boris' lips. Hank's hips rocked against his own, and his eyes were blown wide with desire.
Meeting the doctor's eyes, Boris slowly began to tug at Hank's boxers. He could feel Hank shudder against him; he was uncertain whether the shudder was from desire or anxiety, though he imagined it could be both. He deepened their kiss, then, completely and thoroughly ravaging his mouth. The fingers of one hand rubbed at Hank's nipples while the other slowly, carefully pulled down his love's last vestige of clothing.
They were puddled on the floor, completely forgotten, only moments later.
Boris inhaled deeply in Hank's hair, then softly kissed him, gentling their passion. His hands firmly gripped Hank around the hips, drawing his love closer to him and grinding their groins together. As he felt flesh on flesh for the first time, their hardened shafts rubbing together, Hank's breathing quickened; he moaned helplessly, eyes shutting as he almost grimaced with aching need.
"You are mine, Henry Lawson," Boris rumbled, pulling away to look at his love. Dazed green eyes stared back at him, so dark with need and want that Boris found himself swallowing hard. "Every" he nipped at Hank's ear "bit" he now nipped at his throat "of you" he finally sucked at his collarbone. Hank gasped and shuddered in his arms. "Mine, all mine."
Hank returned the favor by kissing and biting at Boris' jaw. "Yours, always," he whispered. His tongue flicked over the German's jugular, teasing at the rapid beat below.
As Boris was moaning, staring at his love with lust, Hank ground their groins together and arched his chest, breaking away from the billionaire's throat to lean his own neck back invitingly. With a moan, Boris licked and sucked at his neck, right between his throat and collarbone.
He was teasing his fingers between Hank's legs when the doctor completely surprised him. Groaning, Hank wrapped one leg around Boris' waist, clasping his own arms to the German's back and drawing his hands through his hair. He pulled Boris even closer to him with a powerfully tightened thigh, kissing Boris wildly, his breath coming in gasps.
The only thought managing to work its way through Boris' overwrought brain was bed, now.
Boris was all but growling when he crept his hand over the thigh wrapped around his waist and deftly stroked the skin. It felt hot, creamy under his touch, and he could not get enough of that leg wrapped around him. Hank tightened his thigh, muttering, "Want you, Boris. Now."
The words sent a sharp pulse of hunger, of almost agonizing desire, through his body. Oh, he wanted his love, too, and right now.
With a hot look at his love and a squeeze of Hank's ass, Boris grabbed Hank's other thigh; he pulled it around himself until it, like its mate, was tightly wrapped around his waist. He kissed his love greedily. "Oh, believe me, Doctor, I want every inch of you." He groaned. "I have never wanted anything like I want you, love, my body inside yours."
Hank's groin pressed repeatedly against Boris' while the German caressed his love's buttocks—and neither man was thinking about anything but Boris at last breaching Hank's body.
Boris carefully carried his treasure to his bed, pulling back the comforter and sheet before gently easing Hank down. He wanted nothing more than to worship his love's body, from the tip of his toes to the curly crown of his head.
Meeting Hank's eyes, Boris carefully pushed the doctor's legs open and leaned down to kiss him. Hank encircled Boris' neck, sweeping his tongue against the sides of Boris' mouth and moaning. He could feel his love arching into him, Hank's hips shaking with need and desire. Unhurriedly, as their lips met, passionate and wet, Boris edged himself between the younger man's legs and spread across him. His body pressed into Hank's, and he finally allowed himself to feel the silken canvas of Hank's naked body beneath his.
That slender body, so compact and beautifully made, was perfect for him. They fit together as if they had been made for one another.
In Boris' mind, there was no as if.
Slowly, Boris trailed kisses down Hank's neck. He licked, bit, and kissed the flushed skin, edging further and further down. That delightful collarbone passed beneath his lips, and he kissed then bit it. He grinned smugly when he felt his love arch into the stroke of his lips on that sensitive flesh. Further down he explored, gently kissing the lean but well-defined chest; he caressed the skin with both his hands and his tongue. Boris teased his fingers through Hank's dark chest hair, smiling when the younger man arched into him.
The nipples he gave complete attention to, refusing to do otherwise. He licked, laved, softly bit, and prodded the taut nubs. He caressed them, kissed them. He breathed upon them, watching as the chilled flesh rippled. With care he scraped his teeth against the pebbles, nibbling tenderly and smiling as Hank panted beneath him.
Hank's hands stroked roughly at his hair, and the younger man whimpered. "Oh, so good, Boris," he finally managed. His hands moved down to stroke at Boris' back. The caress slowly drifted lower, to knead the German's ass. At the same time, Hank's thighs eased further open, chest continuously heaving, arching against Boris' own chest.
With a leer bordering on devilish, one nipple still firmly suckled between his lips, Boris slid one hand between their bodies, edging it slowly down, down, until he reached his love's groin. He spread his fingers through the pubic hair, raking through the curly nest and listening to Hank gasp. The fingers then wrapped around the doctor's aching member. Hank moaned as Boris began to pump him, his fist tight, clenching. Underneath him, Hank's entire body squirmed, hips bucking, legs spreading, chest surging from the mattress, nails almost biting into Boris' buttocks.
He ground his groin into Boris', mouth hanging open, lips wet. "Aaaahhh," Hank keened. "Boris, please . . . need you . . ." Hank thrust his hips against his touch.
The whispered words were music to Boris' ears, and he smiled. He leaned up to kiss the writhing doctor, then made his way back to Hank's nipples. His hand he stilled, leaving Hank hissing in desire. He left it tucked between Hank's thighs, nestled against his aching member.
Deliberately, he kissed and licked and caressed Hank's flesh, at last letting the nipple slip out of his mouth. His crawl down Hank's body was slow, that tempting flesh begging for his lips and tongue and teeth. Hank was quivering beneath him, his head thrown back and his spine arched, need striking out from his darkened eyes, when Boris at last reached his target: Hank's groin. Softly, he left one more kiss on Hank's lower abdomen before his lips were working their magic between his legs.
"Boris, love!" Hank all but squeaked when Boris' tongue slithered over his heated, aching flesh. "Oh, God!"
Boris tightly clamped his arms around his love's hips and thighs. "I am right here, love," he assured, smirking rather proudly. After all, not everyone could generate this level of enthusiasm. Indeed, if he were not pressing his love to the bed, he imagined Hank would have been in orbit by now, so energetically was he thrusting his hips. "And I will definitely take that as a compliment," he added mischievously.
Hank muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "shove that compliment down your throat and lick me, goddamnit!"
Smirking once more, Boris found himself thinking that there were much better things to be shoving down his throat. He began to press Hank's thighs further to the side, rubbing his hands over the muscles. As he massaged the soft skin beneath his fingertips, he continued to edge his tongue further and further between Hank's legs, breathing on the heated skin with desire. He could smell the musk of Hank's body, the potent desire unbearably tantalizing. His own erection throbbed sympathetically between his legs.
And he backed off for a moment, not yet ready for his love to come. Instead, he simply caressed Hank's knees, kissing them gently. Leaving one hand to caress those wonderful knees, Boris began to slowly, carefully trail kisses up his hips and abdomen. Hank moaned, eyes almost rolling at the deep pleasure racing through him.
With a delicate touch to Hank's legs, Boris slowly leaned in, dark eyes intent. He tenderly, gently caressed Hank's spread thighs, smiling at his young doctor. At this, Hank licked his moist lips, sooty eyelashes covering his green eyes. He did not move away from the Baron's touches; instead, he lay there, sprawled out and open, moaning when those fingers drifted ever lower. He tried reaching for Boris, but the German simply gentled him with a whispered, "Stay still. Let me love you, Hank."
Hank groaned heatedly, needily at his lover's words.
Boris continued his gentle campaign of kisses and fluttering touches by dropping his lips to Hank's hips and kissing those sharp bones. Hank panted, eyelashes flickering against his cheekbones. Boris smiled, moving his lips down, caressing Hank's tempting skin with his mouth: thighs, knees, calves, and, finally, ankles. The slender ankles he kissed, then carefully massaged. His fingertips pressed lightly into the skin, massaging the skin with increasing pressure. While his love keened for him, whimpering for his touch, Boris began to once more kiss his smooth flesh. He trailed his lips higher, hands pushing Hank's legs open wider.
Helplessly, Hank arched his spine. His hot eyes gazed down as Boris leisurely worked his way back up, the Baron now kissing and licking the inside of his legs. Moist saliva now coated the inner recesses of his legs, and he shook at the feel of Boris's tongue on him. "Boris," the young man whispered. "Please . . ." he begged.
In answer to Hank's plea, Boris's tongue flicked over his sensitive skin. His tongue slicked across that perfect expanse of cream, tracing the folds of his joints, savoring the tastes exploding against his tongue. Cupping the ball of Hank's left foot, he lifted the leg several feet into the air. Seconds later, his tongue adroitly explored the fold behind the good doctor's knee. Hank shook, his body quaking against Boris. At this, Boris smiled in triumph. He repeated the same procedure on Hank's right leg until the younger man was all but a puddle of goo in his hands.
"I need you, Boris," Hank muttered, swallowing hard as he met Boris' eyes. Need and desire shone in those eyes, but so did a tender warmth that touched Boris' heart. Hank reached one hand towards him, never looking away. "God, I don't know how I survived without you. I love you, Boris."
The words struck deep within Boris, and he closed his eyes for a moment, feathering the tips of his fingers over Hank's hips. Hank loved him: this was not just a moment of passion, of need, but a moment of souls coming together through the body. The very thought of Hank loving him hardened his already insanely hard organ and sent him further up Hank's legs.
Carefully, Boris eased Hank's leg down, gently rubbing his thigh while he moved towards Hank's groin. Once there, he immediately reached for Hank's hand; he, too, did not look away, his intense eyes resting upon Hank's face. Gently, he squeezed his love's hand, trying to show Hank just how much he loved and needed the doctor, how much the younger man had changed his life for the better.
"You are everything to me, Hank," Boris spoke back, voice soft. "And I will let nothing take you from me." He could not resist the possessive tone, and he watched, pleased, as Hank's eyes darkened in response.
Moving with intensity that seemed to trap Hank's gaze, Boris further grasped his love's hand and pulled him up, his other hand clasping Hank's spine. Boris wrapped Hank in his arms, cradling him against his chest as he kissed the doctor's neck. He could feel the younger man's pulse thundering under his skin, and he licked against that throb of life. Hank moaned, his head tilting back, his arms coming up to press into Boris' back. Boris all but growled at the feel of his love in his arms at last, naked and open to him. His embrace was abruptly firm and aggressive, passionate, laying claim to the young man he had loved almost on first sight.
Hungrily, he kissed Hank, opening his mouth and bruising the tender lips. His tongue invaded Hank's cavern, shoving the doctor's tongue out of the way and wholly possessing the younger man. Their kiss deepened, and Boris tightened his grip around Hank's waist. One hand caressed his temples, stroking through his dark hair as it curled around his fingers, while the other squeezed his ass. Hank moaned into Boris's mouth, arching against him and tightening his own arms around the Baron, rocking his hips.
With a wicked smile, he moved his hand away from Hank's curly hair, working the hand down between their bodies. He drew the hand up and down Hank's pelvis, lingering over his throbbing cock.
Boris' other hand slowly drifted between his love's buttocks, drawing a hot moan from Hank's throat. He licked his finger, then carefully edged it against Hank's entrance. As Hank was moaning, staring at the Baron with lust, he pushed the finger into Hank, carefully easing into him. Immediately, he felt the muscles tense against his intrusion. Hank hissed in pain, face leaning against his shoulder, breaking their kiss for a moment.
His love was obviously not quite ready for him, not yet.
Carefully, Boris pulled his hand away from his doctor's entry, now tilting Hank's head back to him and once more kissing him. His lips pressed against Hank's until the younger man was once more opening for him, and he gently eased Hank back to the mattress, lying on top of him. He moaned when Hank caressed his cock, pushing it into the doctor's tight grip. They continued to kiss. Boris then fisted Hank's erection with one hand and teased his nipples with the other. The German jumped slightly when he felt Hank's fingers move from his organ to his ass, the man's hands massaging his buttocks. Boris groaned.
Minutes, almost hours seemed to pass before Boris was slowly edging his way back down the doctor's quivering body. Hank moaned for him, his spine arching the further Boris moved down. His moans increased as Boris kissed and licked his way down, first over Hank's throat and collarbone—he nipped the shallow dip at the base of Hank's throat—then down over his nipples and ribs. Boris happily lapped at his love's nipples, watching them harden and listening to Hank's gasps of pleasure. Hank ran his hands through Boris' hair, his entire body arching the further down Boris traveled.
When Boris reached his love's navel, he dipped his tongue inside, swirling it quickly. Quite proudly, he listened to Hank howl as he plunged his tongue into his navel and out, only to jab it back several times. His love was writhing below him. At the same time, he started spreading Hank's thighs, caressing the inner muscles as he did so. His touch became more insistent, much stronger as he started to rub the tops of his love's thighs, edging them further open—and as he finally left Hank's navel to trail down to his pelvis.
Hank stared down at him, needy, filled with passion. The irises of his eyes were almost black, and his mouth hung slightly open. His face was flushed, and sweat glistened from his body.
Boris met those hungry eyes, lifting from Hank's groin to ask permission. He had to be absolutely certain that his love wanted this, that he was ready for it. They truly had already passed the point of asking, but he needed to do so, anyway.
With shaky arms pressed beneath him, Hank edged up until he was sitting. He captured Boris' gaze, then his lips. The kiss was passionate, wet, almost sloppy, somehow demanding, and Boris found himself plunging into that mouth without reservation. His hands continued to press against Hank's thighs even when they finally broke away from each other, both men panting in need.
The doctor's eyes were dark, hungry, wanting. He looked at Boris with those eyes that practically drove the German to his knees, and he kissed the top of Boris' head. "Make love to me, Boris," he told him softly, again meeting Boris' eyes. "Make love to me until I feel you deep within me. Please."
It was everything Boris wanted, everything he could wish for.
The lovely younger man kissed Boris again, deepening their kiss with passion; one of Hank's hands edged between them, his thumb rubbing against the head of Boris' shaft. Those hot lips detoured to rasp against the German's head, licking drops of pre-come. Boris growled at this; those lips felt wonderful against him, but he wanted Hank's tight little body wrapped around his flesh, wanted it so badly that he ached with desire. Hank's lips were wet when he finally moved away from Boris. "I want you, Boris. Make me yours in every way."
Hank slowly drew away, lying back down and looking at Boris. The baron could have sworn his love's eyes were even darker, especially as the doctor lifted his legs to Boris' shoulders and stared at him. Again, he seemed seductive. His next words poured fire right into Boris' blood: "Mark me as yours, Boris. I need you in me."
Boris practically snarled, "You are mine, Hank. Now and always."
And he went on to prove that to his love.
In what seemed like less than a second, Boris found himself perched over Hank's supine body, carefully pressing the doctor's thighs against his chest. He bent down and, refusing to look away from his love until the last moment, bit and suckled against his jugular. Hank gasped, blinking rapidly, fingers scrabbling at the sheets. Boris then moved one leg off his shoulders, working his way down to the thigh and, after once more staring heatedly at his lover, sucking hard against the sensitive fold between groin and leg. One hand he carded through Hank's curly black pubic hair, sinking into the moist hair with a grin, and at the same time he smiled against the hot flesh he was suckling. Hank positively writhed beneath him, the man's spine arching high.
That spine arced even higher when Boris moved his mouth from the now thoroughly marked flesh between Hank's thigh and groin to the good doctor's aching erection. His eyes gleaming, Boris opened his mouth and gently slid his tongue against Hank's slit until Hank gave a breathy, wanton moan of pure lust. Boris watched Hank pant as the Baron slid his lips over the head, his mouth sucking and his tongue licking at the hot flesh. He moved his mouth further down, increasing suction while he wrapped one hand around Hank's base and tugged.
Boris smirked. "Oh, God," Hank panted, legs quaking, body quivering. Hank squeaked—or perhaps it was a yelp—and Boris smiled around the flesh burning in his mouth. "Boris . . ."
His name almost sounded like a benediction on his love's lips, and Boris groaned, carefully inserting a wet finger into his love's entry. He kept on sucking, all the while moving his finger further into Hank. This time, Hank only hissed when he added a second finger, but the hiss changed to a groan, too, when Boris started scissoring his fingers against the entry.
He looked up to see Hank rapidly blinking his eyes, his hands now clawing at the sheets. Apparently, they would need new sheets after this, but Boris was more than happy to buy them. He would buy vast supplies of silk sheets for his love to shred in passion.
Hank was practically leaping from the bed, his hips bucking, when Boris finally jabbed his fingers against his prostate. His love tilted his head back, shaking violently. He moaned in a combination of pleasure and pain when the third finger joined its cousins, now sobbing for Boris to fill him.
Boris smiled at this, pulling his fingers out long enough to ease Hank's thighs against the doctor's chest. From this vulnerable position Hank stared at him, seeming suddenly shy. Tenderly, he caressed the back of Hank's legs, meeting the doctor's gaze before leaning down and suckling one of his buttocks. He bit the firm flesh before licking it to soothe away the sting. After a few seconds, he returned to sucking the spot.
"Fuck!" Hank yowled at this, his thighs jerking. "Borrrisss . . ." the young man keened. Boris smiled against that hot flesh, thinking he was very glad for the nearly soundproof room. He could not imagine Dieter's expression had he heard Hank's fairly vocal passion.
Actually, he could, and the idea outright disturbed him. He shuddered.
Almost to wipe that horrific vision from his mind, Boris began to spread his love's buttocks wide, drawing his fingers down the very sensitive cleft and holding Hank down when he tried to buck his hips at the motion. He trailed kisses from the now fully marked buttock, its white skin bearing a red and obvious love bite.
His love's long, heated moan sang right through Boris' body.
Hank's speechless need called at him, and Boris carefully grabbed the lube from the nightstand. He almost could not quite reach it, but there was nothing on this entire planet that could make him leave his position between Hank's spread thighs, not right now. Boris was shocked to find that his fingers actually shook as he gently eased lube into Hank's entry, adding as much as he could. This would be Hank's first time, and he would not hurt that beautiful body of his for anything.
Once more, Hank moaned, his eyes on Boris. "Boris . . . need you . . ."
That pleading request for him pushed Boris to very quickly lube his own shaft before carefully lowering himself over his love. The blunt edge of his organ nudged against Hank's entry, hard and probing, wanting in. He carefully draped Hank's legs over his shoulders once more, then, watching his love's every expression, he entered his doctor's body.
The heat was unlike anything he had ever felt before, for Hank was incredibly tight. It was sinfully painful, that wicked heat wrapping around Boris' shaft, the channel almost too tight to move in.
Hank cried out at the intrusion, biting hard into his lower lip and gripping Boris' shoulders with all of his strength. His entire body shuddered, almost contorting the doctor's slender figure. The pain his love was experiencing was obvious, and Boris pulled back, soothingly rubbing Hank's ribs. He then leaned down and kissed Hank, trying to take his mind off of the pain.
As the kiss deepened, he edged back in, plummeting into Hank's mouth at the same time he plummeted into his body. Hank whimpered into the kiss, but he slowly eased his hips against Boris, trying to work Boris deeper inside him. At Hank's motion, Boris reached down and began to fist his love's erection. It had wilted somewhat at the pain, but, within seconds, Boris' touch had worked its magic.
He inched further in, this time moving a bit less cautiously. While pumping Hank's organ, Boris finally allowed himself to slide all of the way inside his love. Hank moaned, neck arching back, and the Baron quickly sucked that skin with urgency. He leaned up to kiss Hank again, kissing his eyelids and nose and cheek, paying homage to the lovely body beneath him, and then he ducked down to kiss the doctor's taut nipples.
At this, Hank moaned—and this time, not in pain. His love's body seemed to be accepting him, so Boris began at last to move. He drew back then, with a snap of his powerful hips, pushed right back in, leaving Hank panting for him, crying for more of him. Hank made tiny, inarticulate sounds that could not be called part of any language but the language of intense desire, finally exploding with, "Oh, God, Boris . . . love you . . . but if you don't fucking move, I'm going to tear your throat out!" Hank tore at the sheets, all but whimpering in his need for more friction, more of everything.
Boris smirked at the violent demand. He would give more of himself to his love—with pleasure.
Increasingly, he ground into Hank's body, now lifting his love's hands above his head and clenching them with his own. It would give his doctor something to squeeze as the pleasure completely overtook him. Hank's darkened eyes met his, and they kissed while Boris continued to push into his love. The heat almost made Boris plunge in without reserve, for it was like fire wrapping around him, the tight channel painfully pressing against his length. However, Hank's pleasure was foremost, and he would not hurt him by losing control.
Maybe in the future they could be more aggressive, but right now, that would likely injure him.
The steam built up between them, and, riotously, Hank began to meet each of Boris' thrusts with his own. He screamed and yowled and in general spoke obscenities that the German had never pictured hearing coming out of Hank's lovely mouth. The man was falling apart in complete abandon. His pupils had practically exploded into his irises, they were so black with hunger.
At this, Boris salivated. He wanted all of Hank's body and passion: he wanted to drive into that lovely ass, making him scream for more every day of his life. From now on, he would be the one claiming his hot ass and wringing cries from his raw throat.
Oh, yes, he knew Jill Casey was never going to see this part of his love: ever.
Darkly, the baron grinned at this and continued to claim his love, releasing Hank's hands—they again started clawing at the sheets—and moving one hand back to his lover's shaft. He tugged the heated flesh with increasing passion, just as his own organ pistoned into Hank's body. They heatedly, needily worked towards completion, Hank now scratching at Boris' back and pressing his thighs completely open.
Boris hit straight on his prostate, again and again and again. Hank's eyes rolled in his head, sweat glimmering against his fair skin. His mouth hung open, breaths panting out of him. "Oh, hell . . . fuck . . . damn . . ."
The string of curses on any other day would have made Boris look at his love in wonder, but today, coming out of that hot mouth when Boris was so deeply buried inside his overwrought body, Boris took it as the compliment it really was. If he had asked Hank the sum of 2 + 2 right now, he did not think his brilliant doctor could have told him.
He smirked. Not that he would fare much better.
Roughly, he leaned down and bit Hank's thigh. His heated eyes then met Hank's. "Come, my love," he whispered sensuously. He pressed into Hank once more, now biting Hank's collarbone: hard. Hank let out a long, drawn-out, wanting moan, his entire body shaking. "Come for me, Hank, love."
At his words—at his command, no less—the muscles in Hank's body started to spasm, and his spine arched off the bed. Within seconds, he was coming, his mind completely lost in his body's primal need. As Hank's body tightened around him, spasming, Boris pushed in once more before he, too, found his release. He filled his love's body with his own hot seed, clenching Hank to him and kissing him roughly, passionately. Boris did not think he had ever come as hard as he did, with his love's hot, writhing flesh wrapped around him.
Hank made a strange mewling sound, one that left Boris with no other choice but to kiss his nose tenderly. He carefully slid out of Hank's passage, once more kissing his love when Hank hissed in pain and loss. His kiss was soothing, gentle. "Shh, love," he murmured, "I am right here."
His lips were equally soft and loving when he kissed that delightful entry to his beloved's body, smiling at Hank's gasp. Satisfied, he tenderly eased Hank's legs down, caressing the flesh before sliding to Hank's side.
"Are you all right, love?" he asked gently. Though he had been careful, he wanted to be sure.
Hank cast him an amusingly shy look and curled to his side, placing his head on Boris' chest. The Baron hid a smile at that action. He gently stroked Hank's back, loving the feel of the flawless skin passing beneath his fingers. Patiently, he waited for his love to respond, wondering all the time why Hank would be so shy after such intimacy.
It warmed his heart, making him feel even more protective of his love.
Hank coughed softly, then smiled at Boris' look of concern. "I'm fine . . . both the cough and . . . other things." Boris almost laughed at this innocuous phrasing. God, this man did things to him, things no one else had ever been able to do. He loved that Hank could one moment threaten to rip his throat out if he did not move inside him and another be blushing deeply. Hank's cheeks were now flushed red. The doctor leaned over and kissed him, gentle and loving. "Actually, I am very good, Boris. Very, very, very good."
Boris looked down to see a quirky, almost cheeky smile on his love.
He snickered a moment before rolling them over and pinioning Hank to the bed. "Are you now?" he challenged the doctor, grinning. He nipped the younger man's throat.
"Oh, yes," Hank said, that smile returning, even blazing. After a moment, he added, "You know I'm not going to be able to walk out of this room anytime soon, right?" At Boris' curious but very intrigued and heated look, he clarified, "The hickies, Boris. I'll have to wear a turtleneck!"
The German smirked as he thought of Hank's words. There was probably another reason his love would not be walking out of their room anytime soon, not with what they had just done. Hickies were the most innocent of reasons that came to his mind. At the very least, he imagined his lover would not be sitting comfortably for a while.
Boris studied his love's face, a subtle smile working its way across his lips. With one eyebrow arched, he pulled Hank's left wrist to his lip . . . and bit. When Hank moaned beneath him, eyes wide and so beautiful, Boris sucked the skin. He pulled back to see a dark bruise forming. "I do not think a turtleneck would completely cover everything, Hank. We will probably need to keep you in bed all day and night, then."
And he quickly set out to prove this to his love. His ankles, his shoulder, his forearm, his hips, his thighs, his belly, even his elbows were marked. As last but quite important on his list, Boris slid to Hank's nipples. He firmly clamped the nubs in his mouth, one at a time, and suckled them as hard as he could. The doctor hissed, back vaulting deliciously, but, fortunately for Boris, the action only proved to push Hank's nipples further into his mouth.
"Uhhmmmlllyy," Hank panted. Boris stared at this, eyebrows quirked. Uhhmmmlllyy? Apparently, he had once more driven all coherent thought from his love's brain. That was good, because he was fast approaching that point, too.
His doctor spent far too much time coherent, anyway.
At last, he pulled back, looking at the wet and quite taut nipples below him. "There," he said hoarsely, his own body responding to Hank's. He tapped Hank's thigh, all the time thinking he wanted to ravage his doctor's body forever. "I think we have you completely marked as Baron Territory: off limits to any who ask."
Hank rolled his eyes at this, though he was hiding a smile.
A possessive, jealous, overprotective gleam—yes, it was not pleasant, but it was the truth—entered Boris' heart and worked its way into his eyes. He gazed at his love, looking over every inch of him, eyes lingering over the love bites. This body was his, all his: every wonderful inch of it. That fiery and passionate mind and soul, which he had craved for so long, was his, too. If he had to, he would stamp his name on that creamy flesh so that everyone would know to whom Hank belonged. Anyone who tried to take him away would find the shark tank very quickly.
The next time Jill Casey came by, he would be absolutely certain that she found Hank with enough love bites to irredeemably force the troll to look elsewhere.
However, instead of suggesting anything remotely similar to branding his love with his family symbol—he frankly loved the idea, but he suspected Hank would want to kick him in a certain part of the anatomy for just the suggestion, and he really wanted that part of his anatomy—Boris tread a bit more wisely and simply said, "You are mine, Hank Lawson. You belong with me."
Instead of being half as annoyed as Boris thought he might be, Hank simply shook his head and smiled. "You're absolutely right, Boris." He reached up to kiss the Baron. "I am yours."
And then he outright leered. "What're you going to do about that, Boris?" He, apparently quite knowingly, squirmed right under Boris. The German growled at him, eyes hungry. He wanted that taunting supple body under his once more and now. "I think you need to mark me a bit more."
And for the rest of the day—and evening—Boris continued to mark his love, across every delicious inch of his body.
By the time they emerged from Boris' bedroom well into the next morning, his doctor walking a bit stiffly, no one could look at Hank without seeing whose love he was.
Even better, by the time they both walked into the guesthouse, Evan was greeted with a sight that left him spluttering and once more crying for Clorox.
It might have had something to do with the hickies on his brother's inner thighs, which traced up all the way from his ankles to his knees to . . . well, they did disappear under his shorts around mid-thigh. Of course, Boris was well aware that those hickies continued up much, much higher than could be seen.
He smirked. It had been his idea for Hank to wear shorts today, for what good was marking his love if no one saw it?
His smirk widened when Hank turned to him and whispered, "You'll pay for that, love."
He could readily imagine all sorts of ways for Hank to punish him, and he looked forward to every one of them.
Indeed, he could not imagine a better outcome to his campaign to draw Hank into his life. He had won the war for Hank's heart, secured his love to his side, and kept Hank out of danger's path. With any luck, they would never see Eddie Lawson again, and the next time Hank thought he would sacrifice his own health for some insane reason, Boris would quickly chain him to the bed—naked—lock the door, and have his evil way with him.
Yes, with all that he had won, the least he could do was accept whatever punishment Hank chose to bestow. Not that he was looking forward to said punishment at all, of course.
Boris grinned, pulling his love to him and kissing him thoroughly.
A huge "thank you" for all of the wonderful reviews that I've gotten! There is no better feeling than knowing people enjoyed the story. (HerMajesty, thank you so much for your comment that this was your favorite story! And that cuddling scene in the last chapter was almost my favorite-my favorite is still the "Boris is a dick" part from Evan.) This has been a fun story to write, and I hope the sex scene worked well. It's the first one I've written (well, other than the semi-sex scene written for earlier chapters). It's kind of sad to see the story done!
I wish there were more Hank/Boris fics out there, too, Brage!