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"Well. This is it." Toby unlocks the door and pushes it open.
"Home sweet home." Chris walks into the foyer. "So this is where my lawyer lives."
Toby reflects that Chris seems to slink into the house, eyes sweeping the rooms from top to bottom, as if he's casing the joint. Closing and locking the door, he shrugs off his overcoat and sets down his briefcase. He follows Chris, pausing in the doorway as he watches the other man roaming around the living room, touching books, nudging the coffee table with one booted foot, trailing his fingers along the back of the couch and finally circling back to him.
Chris grabs Toby's tie and tugs, grinning as Toby stumbles toward him. "Toby," he whispers, his lips brushing against Toby's jaw. "Did you miss me, Toby?"
"Yes," Toby's voice is scratchy.
"I made that good an impression, huh?" A coy smirk from Chris.
Toby looks steadily into Chris's eyes. "Yes."
Chris holds his gaze, intensity replacing the coyness on his face. Slowly, he backs up to the couch, stepping around the corner of the coffee table and avoiding bumping into anything else. He sprawls onto the couch, arms outstretched and resting along the back, his legs akimbo. A line of bare skin shows along the waistband of his jeans where his shirt is rucked up, and Toby's mouth waters.
"Show me. Show me how much you missed me."
Toby steps forward, but Chris holds out his hand, palm out. "Show me."
Toby seems confused, so Chris unzips his jacket and tosses it to onto the carpet. He looks back at Toby. "Now you."
Taking off his blazer first, Toby loosens his tie and starts unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers tremble a little, and he has to stop and take a deep breath.
"Yea, slow, like that." Chris says huskily.
Toby fumbles his way out of his clothes, letting Chris instruct him – "Push your shirt back, let me see your chest" and "Hands behind your back, look at me" – and Toby's almost embarrassed at how hard it is to follow them, to go slowly, to feign nonchalance as if he does this every day.
"You're doing great," Chris says gently, as though reading his thoughts, and then he doesn't feel so exposed.
"Lean back against the wall." Chris hasn't even touched his dick yet, but Toby can see it, thick in his pants. Chris catches him staring. "All for you," he says, and Toby flushes with excitement.
The wall is cool against his heated skin, and he shoves his pants and boxers down to his ankles.
"Touch yourself," Chris says. "Show me what you did when you thought about me."
Toby groans. His tongue flicks out along his bottom lip, searching for Chris's taste, and he closes his eyes, thinking about the dreams he had about Chris, the DVD he watched, the way that he felt when he first saw Chris at the precinct. The amazing kiss they shared in the alley. During lunch, how he stared at Chris's throat working when he swallowed, talked, laughed. Heat coils up through his thighs and reaches his nipples, then unwinds slowly to settle low in his belly. His dick is impossibly hard. Even the lightest touch makes him gasp, and there's a rushing sound in his ears, he feels light-headed, he's losing control from a few strokes and his imagination.
Toby's eyes fly open at the feel of a warm breath on his cheek. Chris stands in front of him, still clothed. He's more out of control than he thought since he didn't even hear Chris get up.
"Don't you dare come." Chris says firmly. "You don't come until I say so."
Toby's dick throbs in his hand. Chris's voice winds around him, burrows into his head, wraps him up tight and safe.
"Stop," Chris whispers, and Toby's hand judders to a stop.
His chest is tight.
Chris laughs. "Breathe, Toby."
Toby can't look away from Chris's face, and he's transfixed by Chris's mouth, how his lips slide into a smile and all he can think is how much he wants a kiss from this stranger, someone who may have killed a man and Toby can't bring himself to care.
Chris studies Toby's face, his expression knowing, as if he can read Toby's mind. He lowers his stare, looking at Toby's hand clutching at his cock. He reaches out slowly and with purpose, brushing his knuckles down over the hard nub of Toby's nipple. Again and again, he repeats the movement, and Toby bites at the inside of his cheeks, at his lips, and squeezes his dick tighter. He's a specimen under a microscope. Keller measures Toby's erratic breaths, catching each reaction and filing it away for future tests.
"Keep going," Chris murmurs, still stroking lightly at Toby's nipples.
His limbs are tense. Toby has to concentrate on relaxing his arm enough to start moving again. Chris leans in closer, his shirt still on, his pants still zipped, but his eyes are wild, his pupils dilated. He grunts softly as he rests his palm flat on Toby's thigh. Chris holds Toby's gaze as he pulls his hand from Toby's chest and sticks his middle finger between his lips, sucking on it. His cheeks hollow. Toby's entranced by the glistening slide of Chris's finger slipping in and out, and then Chris licks delicately at the pad, his head bobbing forward. Imagining his dick replacing that finger, Toby throws his hand back and then groans aloud in pain. Chris is suddenly even closer, right next to him, slipping his hand between Toby's skull and the wall. It's the hand with the freshly licked finger and Toby can feel that tiny bit of wet pressure on his neck.
"Faster," Chris whispers, tilting his head down to watch Toby stroking his cock. Chris crowds his body closer, his hips rocking just enough to brush denim over Toby's bare thigh.
"Oh," Toby moans. "Oh."
"Stop," Chris orders.
Toby ignores him.
"I said, stop," Chris repeats, and then he grabs Toby's wrist and squeezes, hard.