Chapter 25 25: Now, We're Even 🍆
Their breaths fanned softly against their lips, hot and catching. The fire brtween them burned, setting their skins on fire.
Saint thriat felt dry, he was unable to tear his eyes away from Baby's approaching lips, and his hands fisted on hus sides as he fought the urge to cover the teasing distance between them.
"I'm really going to bite, Saint," Baby's voice was surprisingly soft, like nothing Saint's had ever heard.
Saint licked his lips and inhaled shakily, "Just..." his words died on his throat as he felt Baby's teeth sink into his lower lip— deliberate, slow, dragging the flesh between them until Saint's breath fractured in his chest. Baby's tongue followed, hot and wet, swiping across the sting like an apology and a promise all at once.
Saint froze. Heart slamming so hard he was sure Baby could feel it through both their ribs. Head spinning like the room had tilted on its axis.
Baby pulled back barely an inch, eyes glassy, and lips shining. His voice came out breathless, mocking, soft.
"Oops… I think my tongue slipped," he whispered.
Saint shuddered, his eyes locked on Baby's lips, "Baby..." he rasped roughly.
Baby had his eyes on Saint's, his hand slowly going behind to cup Saint's head, "This is your punishment, Saint... for being an asshole." He whispered and leaned in but Saint moved his face to the side, clenching his jaws.
"Baby, don't... please," He murmured, a sound that came out as restrained.
Baby gently placed a hand on Saint's chin and moved his face back to his, "You said it yourself, I never listen." He breathed out and leaned his mouth in.
Saint thought he was about to brace himself for a forbidden kiss, but it was something he never expected, something crazier.
Baby's tongue, slowly lapping across his lips like a thirsty dog drinking water.
Brain froze.
Body stilled.
Heat rose.
Saint pulled back, breathless. His lips tingling from Baby's slow tongue-licking.
"Baby... you're crossing a dangerous line," his voice cane out thick and trembling.
Baby bit the sound of his lip, "You taste fucking good, Saint, who would have –"
Saint didn't let him finish.
He slammed his mouth onto Baby's.
No warning. No hesitation. Just raw, furious need.
His hands shot up—one fisting in Baby's hair, yanking his head back, the other clamping around his jaw to keep him exactly where Saint wanted him.
The kiss was brutal—teeth clashing, tongues fighting, a growl rumbling low in Saint's throat as he devoured every sound Baby made.
Baby moaned into it, loud and wrecked, fingers clawing at Saint's bare shoulders like he was drowning and Saint was the only thing keeping him afloat. His body arched, pressing flush against Saint's, hips rolling instinctively, shamelessly.
Saint spun them around, Baby's spine hitting the wall with a thud that knocked a gasp out of him. Saint swallowed it, biting down on Baby's bottom lip hard enough to punish, then soothing it with his tongue like a reward.
When they broke apart, both were panting, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked.
Baby's pupils were blown wide, lips red and slick.
"Fuck," he whispered, voice cracked open. "Do that again."
Saint's answer was a snarl as he dove back in.
This time his hands didn't stay polite. One slid down Baby's throat, thumb pressing over his pulse, feeling it race. The other shoved under Baby's shirt, palm spreading over hot skin, digging into his waist.
Baby's own hands weren't idle. They clawed down Saint's back, nails digging in, then slipped between them, fumbling with the drawstring of Saint's pants.
Saint broke the kiss just long enough to hiss against Baby's mouth, "Don't you fucking dare, Baby." He warned darkly.
Baby laughed, breathless and filthy, and shoved his hand inside.
"I just did, Saint. Deal with it," Baby murmured.
Slowly, Baby's hand slid past the tattoo and toward the obvious, aching around that was already hot and throbbing.
Saint's head fell back against with a groan as Baby wrapped confident fingers around him, stroking once, slow and mean. His hips bucked into the touch before he could stop himself.
"God...Saint... you're fucking huge," Baby murmured, lips brushing Saint's throat, teeth scraping. He chuckled, "All that ice, melted the second I got my hand on you."
Saint's response was to tighten his hand on Baby's waist, pulling him in for a bruising kiss.
"This is fucking wrong, Baby. Don't stop," Saint growled, his hip shooting foward to meet Baby's wicked hand.
Baby didn't stop, another stroke, faster, and Saint's knees nearly buckled. "Bet no one's ever made the perfect Saint beg."
"Shut up," Saint growled, but it came out broken.
Baby laughed, low and drunk and triumphant, and twisted his wrist just right.
Saint's hand shot to Baby's throat—not hard, just anchoring—while the other slammed against the wall beside Baby's head, caging him in.
Baby didn't flinch. He leaned into the grip, eyes glittering. "Come on, co-captain. Let me hear it."
Saint's control snapped like cheap thread.
He crushed their mouths together—no finesse, no mercy, just teeth and tongue and pure frustration poured into one bruising kiss.
Baby moaned into it, filthy and surprised, and Saint swallowed the sound while Baby's hand kept moving, relentless, dragging him toward the edge faster than he wanted.
When Saint finally ripped his mouth free to breathe, Baby chased him, biting his jaw, his throat, anywhere he could reach.
"Close," Saint rasped against Baby's temple, hating how wrecked he sounded.
Baby's answer was a dark chuckle and a twist of his fist that tore a choked groan from Saint's chest.
Saint came hard, hips stuttering, mouth sucking hard on Baby's neck as he spilt over Baby's fingers and the inside of his own pants like some teenager who'd never been touched before.
The room spun. Saint sagged against the wall, forehead pressed to Baby's, both of them breathing like they'd sprinted ten laps.
Baby pulled his hand free slowly, deliberately wiping the mess across Saint's abs with a smirk that should've gotten him murdered.
"There," he said, voice lazy and smug. "Now we're even."
Saint stared at him, chest heaving, brain trying desperately to reboot.
Then Baby stepped back, swaying, and pointed at the door. "Get the fuck out of my room, Saint."
Saint opened his mouth—rage, embarrassment, something—but Baby just turned, stumbled the three steps to his bed, and face-planted into the pillow fully clothed.
Within seconds he was snoring.
Saint stood there for a long moment, cum cooling on his skin, heart still hammering against his ribs.
Finally he dragged a shaking hand through his hair, turned, and walked out.
He didn't slam the door. He closed it very, very quietly. And then punched the hallway wall so hard his knuckles split.