Archive of Our Own ^beta

Odin Anderson stands in front of a large glass wall, swirling his tumbler of whisky, admiring the incredible view. The blazing lights of Los Angeles stretch on for an eternity before him, illuminating the night sky with their golden glow. He brings the tumbler to his lips and swallows the remnants of his drink, the expensive liquid leaving a pleasant trail of burning warmth as it slides down his throat.

It’s his third or fourth trip to LA in the six months since the red carpet premiere of Tom the Poet. Odin never imagined he’d find himself at a Hollywood event like this when Thomas Zane first approached the Old Gods of Asgard about collaborating on a project, a rock opera set to film. It seemed like a crazy idea at the time, but Zane stayed true to his vision and now here they all are, famous beyond their wildest dreams, partying in the enormous living room of an outrageously lavish mansion high in the Hollywood Hills.

Odin left the iconic leather coat and eyepatch behind in Bright Falls, but he’s still wearing a costume of sorts tonight. Tight leather pants, see-through mesh shirt, heavy eyeliner. He’s already been asked by multiple partygoers about the eyepatch. He laughs, says something he hopes comes across as witty rather than annoyed, and moves on.

He turns back towards the party and isn’t surprised when he catches several guests staring at him. Odin knows he looks good. He’s worked for it. When it became clear the film had the potential to catapult their little trio to fame and fortune, he began exercising. Ran country mile after country mile, started using the old weight-lifting equipment sitting long-forgotten in the barn. His scrawny farmboy frame put on muscle, gained definition. He started going shirtless underneath the heavy leather coat on stage, wore makeup, played up the sex appeal. Men and women scream his name, now, as he fingers his bass and sings, nearly faint when he reaches out and grabs their hands.

It is intoxicating as hell and just a little bit creepy.

He crosses the room, intent on fixing himself another drink. He’s not nearly drunk enough for this kind of shindig. He knows his role on stage and in the studio, but here, schmoozing with Hollywood bigwigs and making polite-if-not-slightly-stilted small talk? He hates it. Tried his best to get the three of them out of it, said that they were too busy recording and preparing for their tour in three months, but their agent reminded him of bullshit contractual obligations and this producer, Jeremy… something, is really important, apparently, so here they are.

Not that Tor and Bob seem to mind. Tor disappeared with some leggy redhead an hour ago and Bob’s chatting with two seriously gorgeous women, sisters by the look of it. One of the women is caressing his left hand, staring at it like it’s some kind of holy relic that belongs in a museum. Which, fair, maybe it does.

He clinks some ice into his empty glass, then pours in a generous serving of whisky. He settles against the wall and takes a sip of his drink as he surveys the room.

It’s hard to miss Zane, the natural-born entertainer. He stands in the center of the room, a crowd of people flocked around him, hanging on his every word as he gesticulates wildly, recalling a particularly lurid story from a party overseas a few months back. Odin’s heard the story before - several times by now, actually - and it’s a good one, sure to keep Zane’s audience engaged.

Zane’s decked out in a very tight pair of navy corduroy bellbottoms and a form-fitting white satin shirt with the top three buttons undone. His pendant necklace hangs low on his chest, drawing attention to the smooth patch of tanned skin between his pectoral muscles. Odin keeps glancing over there, trying to catch his eye, but Zane refuses to even look at this corner of the room.

He is most definitely, very purposefully, ignoring Odin.

It’s a dance, this thing between them. Some kind of messed up tango-turned-wrestling match ever since that day in the Old Gods’ studio ten months ago when Odin fucked Zane for the first time. That one quick dalliance was a lightning strike in a bone-dry field, igniting a wildfire that’s raged out of control, consumed acre after acre, left Odin reeling and breathless and confused. They fuck, then Zane pulls away. They fuck again, Zane pulls away. Odin knows he should stop it, put an end to this recklessness, but he can’t. He knows that time and time again, he’ll end up here, hungry for Zane’s attention, for his embrace.

Barbara knows about them, Odin is sure of it. Zane keeps nothing from her. It’s her he returns home to, after all, when he’s done with every press tour, every film festival. Besides, she has her own playthings. She’s off in New York right now, the lead actress in a theater production, no doubt with plenty of suitors to warm her bed while Zane entertains the Hollywood elite. Zane and Barbara’s bohemian relationship makes headlines, but Odin thinks that’s part of the allure, part of the public’s obsession with them.

“You look bored.”

The voice is warm and deep, like crushed velvet, with a pleasing British accent. Odin looks from Zane to the man standing before him. He’s about Odin’s height, with curly light-brown hair, olive skin, and stunning green eyes. He’s fit, wearing a white polyester suit and a dark green shirt that’s unbuttoned just enough to display a smattering of downy curls on his toned chest.

“Aaron,” the man says, and offers his hand. His smile is dazzling, teeth blindingly white. His handshake is firm and his hand is soft and uncalloused, unlike Odin’s own, still rough from decades of farmwork.

“Odin.”

Aaron’s pupils dilate ever-so-slightly when he hears Odin’s name. His generous lips part and he gazes into Odin’s eyes with a renewed interest.

“Ahh, the rockstar. I heard you might show. Where’s the rest of your band?”

Odin glances over to where Bob was standing just a few minutes ago. He’s vanished, the two women gone with him.

“Well, they were here. They’re, ah, otherwise occupied at the moment.”

“Leaving you, alone, to deal with these vultures. Not quite fair, if you ask me.”

Aaron pauses and looks around the room. He inclines his head at a group of women standing near Zane.

“That tall blonde chick’s been making eyes at you all evening. I’m surprised you haven’t gone over there. I thought rockstars love models.”

Odin snorts. He noticed her earlier, of course, the fourth or fifth time she made eye contact with him. She’s objectively stunning, most definitely a model, and lord, if he were into women, he’d be all over someone like her. Normally he makes an effort to play his part and at least flirt. He can’t be seen at too many public events rebuffing women, especially when he always leaves alone. People start to talk. Tonight, though, he doesn’t have the energy to pretend he is something he’s not.

His eyes flick back to Aaron and he takes a large sip of his whisky. It’s no Anderson-family moonshine, but it’s doing the trick. He’s tipsy now, well on his way to being drunk.

“She’s not really my type.”

Aaron’s breath catches in his throat and his smile widens. His pink tongue darts out to lick along his top lip as he considers Odin’s answer.

“Oh? And what is your type?”

Odin flashes him a polite grin and takes another sip of his drink.

“How do you know Jeremy?”

Aaron’s emerald eyes sparkle at the question. If he’s bothered by the deflection, he doesn’t show it.

“Ah. Jeremy’s the bastard unlucky enough to be producing my new film. I’ve done quite a few films in England, but this will be my Hollywood acting debut. Apparently some idiots think I have what it takes to be America’s next leading man. Must be the accent.”

Odin laughs, his first real, genuine laugh of the evening. He looks Aaron up and down, drinks in the sight of him, tanned and built and stylishly tousle-haired with those enchanting green eyes.

“I hardly think it’s just the accent, Aaron.”

The energy in the room shifts and Odin senses Zane watching them; the laugh must’ve done it, finally attracted his attention. He leans closer to Aaron and he isn’t quite surprised when Aaron mirrors his body language, then takes a step towards him. He catches a whiff of Aaron’s cologne and it’s a clean, pleasantly woodsy scent. Their eyes meet and there’s a crackle, a small surge of electricity. God, this man is attractive. Odin steels himself, hopes, prays, he hasn’t completely misread the situation.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to fuck a movie star,” Odin says, his voice a low murmur.

The line catches Aaron mid-sip and he coughs, sputters, then recovers and takes another long sip of his drink. There’s a slight flush to Aaron’s cheeks, now, and he takes another step towards Odin. They’re standing close enough that Odin could lean in and kiss him, if he wanted to. And fuck does he want to.

“Are you always this forward?”

Never.

“Sometimes. When I know what I want.”

Aaron moves his hand to Odin’s hip, digs his thumb into the soft flesh there as he leans in to whisper in Odin’s ear.

“Funny thing is, I’ve always wanted to be fucked by a rockstar.” Aaron’s breath is hot upon his ear and Odin’s cock twitches at Aaron’s closeness, his words. “My god, the filthy things I’ll let you do to me, Odin.” He tightens his grip on Odin’s hip, grazes his teeth against Odin’s earlobe. “My hotel’s not far from here.” He drops his hand and looks at Odin, eyes hopeful and lidded with desire.

Odin slams back the rest of his drink. Zane’s loss is most definitely his gain.

“Give me a few minutes to freshen up. I’ll meet you outside in five.” Odin glances around the room, but no one’s paying attention to them. All eyes are on Zane, and Zane’s facing away from them now, his back turned to Odin. “We’ll take separate cabs.”

Aaron’s grin is positively wolfish, so very hungry, and god, Odin’s looking forward to kissing those lips, sliding his tongue into that sultry mouth. Aaron turns and walks away, showing off his very tight, very perfect ass. Odin sways on his feet a moment, then sets his empty glass down with a clunk and sets off to relieve the uncomfortable pressure in his bladder.

The house is huge - must be 6,000, 7,000 square feet - and Odin decides to explore a bit. He’s never been in a house like this before. He traces his fingers along the sparsely decorated walls as he makes his way deeper into the mansion, swaying occasionally as he walks, his boots clomping on polished hardwood floors. He’s definitely more than tipsy now. Not quite drunk, just very happily buzzed. He thinks of Aaron’s mouth, of that perfect ass, and his cock twitches again.

After what feels like forever, the hallway comes to an end and he tries the door to his left. He steps into the room, fumbles around for the light switch, and finds himself in what must be the master bedroom. He knows it’s a major party foul, being back here, but whatever. He just needs to pee, then he’ll be out of here, off to stick his dick into that gorgeous fucking movie star.

“What is it with rich people and all these fucking windows,” Odin says to the empty room.

The bedroom is massive and smells faintly of incense. Surprisingly tasteful modern art adorns the white walls on either side of the room. There’s a king-sized waterbed to the left and a sunken living room to the right. The entire back wall is, like the rest of this house, made of glass. He spies a door to the right and tries the handle, finds it unlocked.

The bathroom is the size of his and Tor’s living room back in Bright Falls. The toilet’s to the right of the door. Next to it is an expansive double-sink vanity that extends nearly the length of the room. There’s a jacuzzi tub and tiled walk-in shower to the left. Straight ahead of him is another glass wall. In the fucking bathroom, of all places.

He approaches the toilet and flips up the lid and the seat. He unzips his pants and takes his cock in hand. He breathes out a sigh of relief and then groans as he empties his too-full bladder.

Odin’s nearly done when he hears the door open and close behind him.

Shit.

“Uh, there’s someone in here,” Odin says. “One second.” He shakes, then zips up his pants and flushes the toilet. He braces himself to get yelled at, get kicked out of the party he was already about to leave, and turns.

Thomas Zane stands behind him, leaning against the bathroom door, staring intently at him. Somewhere along the way here, he undid the remaining buttons on his shirt and it hangs open, revealing the soft bronzed skin of his stomach.

Odin’s heart leaps, catches in his throat but he forces himself to narrow his eyes, fix his mouth into a frown.

“Zane.”

“Odin.”

There’s a pause as they stand there, eyeing each other. Odin swears the air between them shimmers, blurry with volatile fumes just waiting for a lit match.

“Your mother ever teach you to knock?”

Zane smirks, shrugs. “Maybe next time you should lock the door behind you.” He reaches down and turns the lock, illustrating his point.

“There’s no need to lock the door, now, since I’m about to leave.”

Zane shifts and crosses his arms, makes no moves to unblock Odin’s exit.

“Are you now? But the party’s just getting started, my darling Odin.”

The way Zane emphasizes his name, rolls it off his tongue in that sonorous, lightly-accented voice of his sends a shiver vibrating down Odin’s spine. Zane’s blazing eyes bore into him, pupils dilated and heavy with lust. Odin knows, then, that this’ll go down one of two ways: he’ll either be strong and push past Zane to leave this godforsaken party with Aaron or he’ll be weak and end up fucking Zane in yet another bathroom.

At least this one is really nice.

“Who is your new friend?” Zane rakes his gaze up and down Odin’s body. He shifts his position again, pushes himself off the door and takes a step towards Odin. He stands directly under one of the recessed lights and it’s impossible to miss the outline of his cock pressing against the front of his tight corduroy pants.

“You mean the guy I am about to go fuck? He’s none of your business.”

Then it dawns on him. He didn’t think it was possible, considering Zane’s disinterested attitude towards him of late, but he’s also never flirted with another man in Zane’s presence.

“Why? Are you jealous?”

Zane scoffs, waves a dismissive hand, but something like anger blazes in his eyes for a split second and he takes another step towards Odin.

“Hardly. You can fuck whoever you like. You know I do. I’m just making polite conversation.”

Holy shit. Thomas Zane is jealous. Odin’s breath catches in his throat and he struggles to keep his expression neutral.

“Right. That’s why you followed me in here, to make polite conversation?”

“Not quite.” He grins at Odin and looks him up and down again, slower this time, not even attempting to be subtle. “The eyeliner’s a nice touch, Odin. It suits you. Really brings out those exquisite blue eyes.” Zane pauses, rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. “How did it feel, knowing everyone in that room was watching you?”

“Everyone except you, apparently.”

Zane is on him in a flash, a cobra uncoiling to strike its prey. He shoots out a hand to grip Odin’s jaw and pulls, hard, yanking Odin towards him, their mouths crashing together. Odin is so stunned, so buzzed that he forgets himself and opens his lips to allow Zane’s tongue to slip in, relishing the familiar taste of gin and campari that fills his mouth. The long fingers of Zane’s other hand trace the outline of his cock through his leather pants and he groans, his hips desperately wanting to jerk forward into Zane’s touch. Odin thinks, then, of Aaron’s face, remembers why he was about to leave with Aaron in the first place.

“I don’t think so.” Odin smacks Zane’s hand away from his cheek, plants his palms into Zane’s chest and shoves him backwards. He takes a step back, putting even further distance between them. “You’ve been ignoring me. Again.”

Zane sighs and rubs his thumb along his bottom lip.

“I’ve been busy. You know how it is.”

“Bullshit. I saw you at the diner a few days ago, although you conveniently ignored me then, too. I know you’ve been home these past few weeks. I’m not your plaything, Zane, you can’t just fuck me whenever you want and ignore me the rest of the time.”

Zane’s chuckle is so low, emanates from so deep within his chest it’s practically a growl. Goosebumps ripple along Odin’s forearms and his cock throbs, the crotch of his leather pants growing increasingly tight.

“I’d like to remind you, Odin darling, that you’re the one who left the door unlocked.”

Of course he did, because a part of himself hoped things would play out exactly as they are. That Zane would notice him, see him flirting, follow him in here. And now he’s standing right in front of Odin, grinning that wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing grin of his, erection positively straining against the front of his blue trousers and fuck, this is exactly what Odin wants.

He makes a mental note to find Aaron’s agent, profusely apologize and ask for a rain check next time he’s in town.

“Come here.” Odin’s voice is low, rough, commanding.

The air ignites when Zane pounces on him, his hands tearing at Odin’s shirt, yanking it over his head as he pushes Odin backwards until he bumps up against the vanity. Zane presses himself against Odin, invading his space, palming his dick through thin leather fabric, mouth hot and hungry upon his neck. Odin clenches his fists in the smooth satin of Zane’s shirt, uses it to pull Zane closer, the bare skin of Zane’s chest touching his own, warming him up.

“I need your pants off,“ Zane says, panting into Odin’s neck, “right now.”

Their fingers scrabble at belts, at buttons, at metal teeth. They kick off their boots, slide skin-tight leather and corduroy down their legs, Zane staring at Odin with an intensity that sends little currents of electricity sparking through his veins. Zane’s shirt flutters to the floor and then he’s on Odin again, pinning him against the vanity, the hard granite edge digging into his ass. Zane weaves the fingers of one hand through Odin’s hair, reaches down with the other to lightly stroke Odin’s cock with dry, graceful fingers. He kisses Odin, his tongue aggressive and insistent, licking into every corner of Odin’s mouth.

Odin’s seen Zane frantic before, but this intensity is new. Whatever this is, this jealous, possessive energy that’s coursing through Zane - it’s fucking hot.

“How did it feel, seeing me about to leave with someone else?” Odin rakes his fingers over Zane’s shoulders and down his back, digs his fingernails into the generous curves of Zane’s ass.

“You and I both know that was never going to happen.” Zane sucks at the skin just above Odin’s collarbone hard enough to leave a bruise, marking him. “You and I both know I’m the one you really wanted to fuck.” Zane pauses to leave another wet red mark on his skin. “You are mine, Odin. You belong to me.”

Zane’s right, of course, but Odin’s not about to admit that out loud. He tightens his grip on Zane’s ass and grinds their hips together, trapping their erections between the tight press of their bodies. Odin adjusts his position, then thrusts upwards so his cock slides against Zane’s and oh god, the friction, the sensation of Zane’s cock rubbing against his own feels fucking amazing. He rocks his hips again and Zane moans into his neck, low and breathy and needy, his fingers curling into Odin’s scalp and his hip.

“You forget yourself, Thomas.” He draws Zane’s hips closer with his next thrust, the increase in pressure causing them both to groan. “In a room like this, when it’s just the two of us - you belong to me.”

Zane snaps his head up, moves his face so close to Odin’s that their noses are practically touching. The flinty anger in Zane’s eyes is gone, replaced with a familiar mischievous defiance.

“God, I love it when you try to control me.”

Odin smirks and cocks an eyebrow.

“Try to?” Odin looks over at the glass wall. An idea comes to him and he turns back to Zane, leans in close enough that their cheeks brush, his mouth right next to Zane’s ear. “I’m going to fuck you so hard against that glass you’ll be begging me to come.”

Zane moans again and his cock jumps, spurting a string of precome against their abdomens.

“Fuck, Odin, you know me too well,” Zane says. “Hold that thought." Odin gives him a curious look as he moves away to rummage through the medicine cabinet next to Odin. He swears, closes it, then ducks, muttering to himself as he tears through the shelves under the vanity. He makes a triumphant noise, then pops upright, tube of prescription KY jelly in his hand.

Odin snatches the lube from Zane’s hand and returns his lips to Zane’s ear.

“Go to the wall and put your hands on the glass. You can’t remove them until I come.”

Zane makes a noise that’s halfway between a purr and a whimper. He reaches down to give Odin’s cock a hard yank, then turns and walks towards the wall of glass.

Odin crosses the bathroom and turns off the light. He’s not above a little exhibitionism - he is a performer, after all - but there’s enough risk in what they’re doing and the last thing he wants is some peeping paparazzi with a telescopic lens snapping photos of Zane pressed up against the glass, getting fucked by a man. Trysts with women is one thing, but a man? Times are changing, but for a celebrity like Zane, or hell, even Odin himself, they haven’t changed all that much. Not yet.

Light pollution from the city bathes the room in a soft glow, providing just enough light for Odin to see as he returns to Zane. Fuck, he is stunning, standing there naked and braced against the glass, legs spread, ass ready and waiting for him. Odin kneels behind him, places the lube on the floor and spreads his cheeks.

Zane lets out a surprised groan when Odin licks along his perineum. He flattens his tongue and drags it over Zane’s hole, lapping at it, soaking it with his saliva. He pushes the tip inside and a strangled cry fills the air as Zane rocks his hips back, urging Odin to go deeper.

“God, yes, fuck me with that talented tongue of yours.”

Odin licks harder, thrusts his tongue in further, sucks at the sensitive skin, his cock twitching with every whimper, every exhalation of pleasure he wrenches from between Zane’s lips. His head spins with the divine scent of sweat and Zane’s musk, so familiar now yet just as sublime, just as alluring as the first time he knelt behind Zane and speared him open with his tongue. He rakes his nails down Zane’s thighs, his calves, then drops his hands and picks up the lube, slicks his fingers without breaking his rhythm of licking and thrusting and sucking. Odin moves his mouth away, kisses the soft contours of Zane’s ass as he slides his finger into the tight, wet opening before him.

He works Zane open, pumping his fingers in and out until Zane is begging, pleading for Odin to fuck him. Odin squeezes a dollop of lube into his palm and strokes himself, his cock aching and dripping precome onto the marble-tiled floor. He nips and licks at Zane’s back as he slowly rises to standing.

The need to be buried inside Zane is so strong he feels lightheaded, but he forces himself to wait. He grips his dick and slides the slick head up and down the cleft of Zane’s ass. Zane swears, rocks his hips back as far as he can without removing his hands from the glass wall.

“Is this what you want?” Odin teases the head of his cock around Zane’s hole, then presses against it without fully pushing inside. His legs shake, his body dizzy and drunk on whisky and smoldering arousal, but he somehow manages to keep his voice steady.

Zane whines and slaps his palms against the glass.

“Your cock being inside me is all I’ve been able to think about this entire fucking evening.”

Odin’s heart slams against his ribcage, Zane's confession so unexpected it nearly causes his knees to buckle. He suppresses a moan as he pushes forward a fraction of an inch, his dick now just inside that tight ring of muscle.

“Is that why you wouldn’t even look in my direction?”

Zane's body trembles beneath Odin’s touch, anticipation hanging heavy and thick in the air between them.

“Yes! Damn it, Odin, how was I supposed to think about anything else when you showed up wearing that outfit?”

Zane’s words send pure, unadulterated lust tearing through Odin and he can’t wait another second.

They both cry out as Odin rocks his hips forward and thrusts into Zane. Odin pauses, gives Zane’s muscles a moment to adjust, then pushes in deeper, his teeth biting into the soft flesh of his lower lip, savoring the sensation of his cock being enveloped in the perfect tight heat of Zane’s body. He bottoms out with a groan, his pelvis flush with Zane’s ass.

“Oh, god, you feel so fucking good.”

Odin laughs and leans in to graze his lips against Zane’s shoulder blade. “That’s my line you just stole.”

He presses his chest against Zane’s back, brushes the dark hair away from his neck and nips at the newly uncovered skin there, Zane’s pulse thrumming against his lips. Odin wraps an arm around Zane’s broad chest and places his other hand on Zane’s hip, gripping it tight.

They gaze out at the sprawling, twinkling lights of Los Angeles as Odin fucks into Zane with slow, controlled thrusts, his cock never fully leaving the warmth of Zane’s body. It’s the opposite of what Zane wants - Odin knows by now exactly how he likes to be fucked, and it’s not slow or controlled - but he’ll have to wait. Odin wants to enjoy this, possessing him in this way as the party rages on nearby, the guests no doubt wondering where the celebrated auteur has disappeared to.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it,” Zane says, his breath hitching when Odin kisses his shoulder.

“This city could be yours, someday, if you want it,” Odin whispers into Zane’s ear. He bites down on his earlobe, then flicks it with his tongue. “You’re talented enough to make that happen, Zane.”

A shudder rolls down Zane’s back, his white hot skin rippling against Odin’s chest.

“Fuck, Odin, don’t tease, a man can only get so hard,” he says. He arches into Odin’s touch, moves his hips back in time to meet Odin’s thrusts. “You would like that, wouldn’t you, knowing you had a world-famous director wrapped around your little finger.”

Odin’s heart stutters, skips a beat.

“Do I?” he says, trying to keep his voice even. He angles his next thrust a little to the right, eliciting a groan and a string of muttered curse words.

“Keep fucking me with that magnificent cock of yours and you just might.”

He chuckles into the nape of Zane’s neck, watches in the dim light as the fine hairs there stand on end and Zane’s skin prickles with goose flesh.

“That won’t be a problem, I assure you.”

Odin releases his hold on Zane’s chest and twines his fingers through his curls. He turns Zane’s head to the side, then leans forward and slides his tongue between Zane’s lips, flicking playfully at his teeth. He groans, tightens his grip on Zane’s hip as the kiss deepens and Zane starts sucking on his tongue, devouring it, worshipping it. The dual sensations of Zane’s hot, wet mouth and the tight, slick muscle clenching around his cock threaten to overwhelm Odin, their bodies so perfectly connected it’s impossible to tell where he ends and Zane begins. He keeps up his slow, pounding rhythm, Zane emitting small moans of pleasure into Odin’s mouth with every thrust, every roll of his hips.

A sigh leaves Zane’s lips when Odin finally pulls away. He drags his tongue along Zane’s jawline, tastes the hint of sweat and his aftershave. He sucks at the sensitive skin where his jaw meets his neck. Zane smells incredible, his aftershave and cologne melding, forging a scent that makes Odin feel high as he inhales, spicy and citrusy with just a hint of cold winter air.

Without warning, Odin yanks on the soft hair wrapped around his fingers, pulling Zane’s head back. Zane jumps, a low hiss slipping out between his clenched teeth.

“You’ve been so patient while I fuck you nice and slow,” Odin purrs next to his ear. “It’s time for your reward.”

The noise Zane makes is so borderline animalistic it causes Odin’s cock to throb, sending tiny shockwaves of pleasure radiating out into his body. He releases his hold on Zane’s curls and leans back, traces his fingertips down the outline of his spine, Zane shivering under his light touch. He brings his hand to rest on Zane’s other hip and grips it tight. Odin takes a deep, shuddering breath.

Zane stumbles forward when Odin slams into him, his slick palms slipping down the thick glass, leaving wet, cloudy streaks along the crystalline surface. Odin digs his fingers into Zane’s hips with bruising strength, steadying Zane before he rocks back and slams into him again. His heart races as he picks up the pace, begins fucking Zane with hard, quick thrusts, every muscle and tendon in his body taught, straining with effort, beads of moisture trickling down his neck and back. It’s a stupid thought, he knows, but fucking christ he’s glad he’s been working out so he can please Zane in this way, give him what he wants for however long he wants it.

Odin looks down, watches in the soft glow of the city lights as his cock slides in and out of Zane’s ass and god, he wishes this moment would never end, that the two of them could stay here, intertwined and suspended in time. His lungs gasp for air, his nostrils fill with the scent of sex and sweat and Zane’s cologne. His eyes roll back as he loses himself in his frantic unrelenting rhythm, in the sounds of their sweat-slicked skin slapping, in the gasps and moans and cries of pleasure escaping Zane’s lips. He feels his orgasm building, the wildfire that burns deep within his core threatening to break containment, flames already licking sky-high into his chest. He makes a strangled, needy noise as Zane’s muscles tighten around his cock and fuck, he’s so close, just has to hold on…

“Odin, please.” The absolute desperation in Zane’s voice drives him straight over the edge.

The needy noise turns into a guttural cry when Odin comes, slumping forward against Zane’s back, his teeth sinking into the sweaty skin of Zane’s shoulder. He thrusts into Zane, slow and deep, his cock pulsing, the wildfire within him raging, burning, consuming every inch of his body.

The split second Odin finishes coming he pulls himself out of Zane’s tight grip. He drops to his knees and spins Zane around, slams his ass back against the glass wall.

Zane’s cock is swollen, so fucking gorgeous, precome dribbling down the length of his velvety flushed foreskin. Odin laps at the head, Zane groaning and shivering when Odin draws his tongue along the slit. He forms a tight ring with his thumb and index finger around the base of Zane’s shaft and takes his length into his mouth. Zane’s hips buck forward when Odin hollows his cheeks and sucks, slides his lips down, swallows more and more of him, the solid weight of Zane’s cock pressing down upon his tongue.

The harsh panting of Zane’s breath is deafening in the quiet bathroom. Odin watches through hooded eyelids as Zane throws his head back, his open mouth sucking in ragged breath after ragged breath, the tendons in his neck straining against his skin and fuck, Odin wants - needs - him to come. He tightens his grip on Zane’s cock, swirls his tongue against the tip and is rewarded when Zane sighs his name like a devout prayer.

Zane threads his fingers through Odin's hair and rakes his fingernails along his scalp. Zane’s head falls forward and he looks down at Odin, watches him slide his stretched and dripping lips up and down the length of his cock. His hips stutter and jerk and his face contorts, twists into a grimace of pure pleasure as he stares into Odin’s eyes.

“Odin, fuck, I’m going to…”

His cock twitches, jumps, then come spills onto Odin’s tongue and down his throat, Zane’s fingers digging, tearing at his scalp as he frantically pumps into his mouth. Odin moans at the noises Zane is making, the way Zane keeps saying his name over and over again, the taste of him filling his mouth. He keeps sucking, keeps swallowing until Zane pulls himself out of Odin’s mouth with a wet pop.

“Come here,” Zane says, gazing down at Odin with half-lidded eyes, still glassy as he comes down from his orgasm and the aftershocks roll through him.

Odin surges to his feet and frames Zane’s face with his hands, captures his mouth with his wet lips.

There’s danger in this kiss, just a little too passionate, a little too intimate as Zane licks into Odin’s mouth, tastes himself on Odin’s tongue. Odin sighs, can’t help it, when Zane slides his arms around Odin’s back and pulls him close, the burning, sweat-slicked skin of their heaving chests touching.

The fucking - the release of that jealous, pent-up energy - was hot, but this, this is what Odin craves. He melts into Zane, a snowman coming undone in the radiant warmth of the midday sun. The way Zane is kissing him now, like Odin’s lungs contain the only air in the room, ignites the smallest spark within Odin’s chest, a tiny seed of hope that this is the start of something real, something meaningful, not just frantic sex in bathrooms or closets or hotel rooms.

Zane abruptly breaks the kiss and something indecipherable flickers across his face. The seed doesn’t take root and bloom, but neither does it wither and die. Odin carefully boxes up the fragile kernel and promises to keep it safe, for however long it takes.

“My god, that mouth of yours really is incredible, isn’t it,” Zane says, dragging his thumb along Odin’s lower lip.

Odin says nothing, just keeps gazing at Zane, trying and failing to conceal whatever fucking sentimental emotion this is that’s boiling, magma-hot, within his chest.

There’s a shift in the air as Zane’s expression softens, like he’s actually seeing Odin and not just his lips or his incredible mouth. Zane leans in and kisses him, gently this time, with a tenderness that makes Odin’s heart sing and ache in one fell swoop.

“Stay with me tonight, Odin,” Zane says when he pulls away. “I want to watch as the first rays of dawn’s light filter through the curtains to kiss your golden crown, the luscious pale contours of your naked body.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but Odin’s not a fool; he knows that in a handful of days, things will go right back to how they were before. This emotional whiplash, this push and pull - it’s not what he deserves, probably. But in this moment in time, with Zane caressing his face and looking at him with those soft, arresting eyes, all he wants to do is fall asleep with Zane’s breath tickling his neck and Zane’s arms wrapped around his chest, holding him close.

“Okay,” Odin says. “But promise me something.”

“Anything,” Zane purrs.

“No more fucking poetry.”

Zane inhales and scoffs, holds a hand above his heart in mock indignation.

“Odin, you wound me. But fine, I promise. I’ll restrain myself from rhyming about that beautiful cock of yours.” He drops his hand, trails his fingers down Odin’s abdomen and through his coarse curls to his softening shaft, sticky with semen and lube. “I think you will learn to appreciate my poetry in time.”

There’s truth in Zane’s words, Odin can sense it, and he smiles. He draws Zane’s face close so he can kiss those sensual lips one last time before leaving this room and returning to that insufferable party.

“Perhaps. C’mon, let’s get you back to your adoring fans before they tear this house apart looking for you.”

Zane sighs and rubs his thumb along Odin’s cock. He presses himself off the glass wall and kisses Odin’s shoulder.

“And Zane? You should try being not jealous more often. That was fun.”

Zane laughs, deep and rich, and lands a hard slap on Odin’s ass as he walks away.

Odin yelps, then turns and grasps Zane’s wrist. “I’ll make you pay for that later.”

Zane’s delighted eyes positively twinkle in the dim glowing light.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”