Chapter 86 86: SportsTalk Live
"Good morning," Saint whispered, kissing the wristband against Baby's wrist.
Baby smiled against Saint's chest, "I want you," He murmured sleepily.
Saint buried his fingers in Baby's hair, tugging very gently, "I doubt we'd get out of bed today if we do that–Baby..." his breath hitched as Baby's mouth covered over his nipple.
Baby hummed, pressing firmer on Saint's nipple as he licked and sucked until it was pebbled.
"Fuck, Baby... Now I'm hard," Saint groaned and dragged Baby over his body, and gently guided Baby's mouth to his, "Kiss me." He whispered.
Baby smiled, satisfied with the result of his seduction.
Slowly, he pressed his lips on Saint's, kissing him slowly.
Saint moaned against Baby's lips, gently thrusting upward to grind their hips together.
Baby shuddered from the contact, his core clenching in anticipation, he deepened the kiss, sulking Saint's tongue into his mouth.
"This is how I want it," Baby whispered huskily, slowly slowly on Saint's lips, "Slow and fucking deep, Saint," he moaned, slipping his hand between them to wrap around Saint's leaking cock.
Saint jerked in Baby's hand, his eyes drawing shut as Baby's thumb circled his slippery tip.
"Oh, my... take it, Baby... it's yours, take all you want," he whispered feverishly, his hand lowering to Baby's waist.
"Come on, Baby, ride me deep and slow, just as you want it," Saint rasped, his fingers digging into the soft skin of Baby's ass.
Baby's thumb kept circling the slick head of Saint's cock in lazy, torturous loops, spreading the steady leak until every stroke felt slippery. Saint's hips jerked once—helpless—before he forced them still, letting Baby set the pace.
"Slow," Baby reminded him in a husky whisper, lips brushing the shell of Saint's ear. "Like this."
He shifted higher, straddling Saint's thighs properly now, knees sinking into the mattress on either side. The sheets were already tangled around their calves from earlier restless sleep. Morning light filtered through half-closed blinds in pale gold stripes across Baby's back, catching the faint sheen of sweat already gathering at the small of his spine.
Saint's hands stayed on Baby's ass—fingers spread wide, kneading the soft flesh without rushing. He watched Baby's face the whole time: the way those blue eyes went heavy-lidded and dark, the slow parting of his lips when he finally lifted himself just enough to notch the head of Saint's cock against his entrance.
No rush.
No frantic stretch.
Baby exhaled long and shaky, then sank—inch by torturous inch—until the thick head breached him. He paused there, inner walls fluttering around the intrusion, letting Saint feel every tiny clench.
"Fuck…" Saint breathed, head tipping back against the pillow. His thumbs dug into the crease where thigh met ass, holding Baby open, steady. "So tight like this… every morning you feel brand new."
Baby smiled—small, wicked, sleepy—and sank another slow inch. The stretch burned sweet; he could feel every ridge, every vein as he took Saint deeper. When he was finally seated—fully, flush, Saint buried to the root—Baby stilled again. Just breathing. Just feeling the heavy throb of Saint inside him, the way his own cock leaked steadily against Saint's stomach.
"God, you're so deep," Baby murmured, voice wrecked already. He rolled his hips in the tiniest circle—barely movement, just enough to grind the head right against his prostate. A soft, broken sound slipped out of him.
Saint's hands slid up Baby's back, fingers tracing the knobs of his spine before settling on his shoulders, pulling him down until their chests pressed together, skin hot and damp. Their mouths met again—open, languid, tongues sliding slow and deep in perfect mimicry of what their bodies were doing.
Baby started to move then.
Not bouncing. Not frantic.
Just long, luxurious rolls—lifting until only the head remained inside, then sinking back down in one smooth, devastating glide. Each downward stroke dragged a low groan from Saint's throat; each upward pull made Baby's breath hitch when the thick crown caught just right.
"Like that?" Baby whispered against Saint's lips. "Feel me taking every inch?"
Saint answered with a rough sound, hips lifting to meet the next slow descent—gentle but insistent, pushing even deeper. "Every fucking inch, baby. You're so wet for me already… dripping down my balls."
Baby moaned at the words, clenching hard around the base. The wet sound of their bodies meeting was obscene in the quiet morning room—slow, slick, deliberate.
Saint's hand slid between them, wrapping loosely around Baby's neglected cock. He didn't stroke—just held, letting the motion of Baby's hips do the work. Every roll forward dragged Baby's length through the loose circle of Saint's fist; every roll back pushed Saint impossibly deeper.
"Gonna come like this," Baby panted, forehead dropping to Saint's shoulder. "Just riding you… slow… fuck, Saint—"
"Do it," Saint rasped, voice gravel and heat. "Come on my cock without rushing. Let me feel you shake apart around me."
Baby's rhythm faltered for the first time—hips stuttering as the pleasure coiled tighter, low and molten. He kept the strokes long, deep, grinding down hard on every downstroke so the head of Saint's cock pressed relentlessly against that spot inside him.
When it hit, it hit quietly.
Baby's breath punched out in a soft, broken sob. His whole body locked—inner walls rippling in long, slow pulses around Saint's length as he came untouched, spilling hot and thick between them. He trembled through it, riding out every wave with tiny, helpless rocks of his hips, milking Saint with every flutter.
Saint's control cracked at the feel of it.
"Baby—fuck—" His hands clamped down on Baby's hips, holding him still as he thrust up once, twice—deep, deliberate—then buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, guttural groan. Heat flooded Baby in slow, heavy pulses; Saint's cock throbbed inside him, filling him until it leaked out around the base with every tiny aftershock roll of Baby's hips.
They stayed like that—locked together, breathing hard against each other's necks—until the tremors eased.
Baby finally lifted his head, lips brushing Saint's in a lazy, sated kiss.
"Morning," he murmured, smiling against Saint's mouth.
Saint huffed a wrecked laugh, arms wrapping around Baby's waist to keep him close, still buried deep.
"Morning, menace."
Neither of them moved to separate.
Baby's phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand, but they ignored it for another long, slow minute—content to stay tangled, full, warm, and quietly owned by each other—before the world outside demanded they remember how to pretend again.
They had their therapy in two hours and weren't in a rush to leave.
They took their time in the shower, enjoying each other's company. After a while, they emerged, smiling as they dressed.
"Man, I'm hungry," Baby groaned as he pulled his black shirt over his head.
"I'm always available, five-star cuisine," Saint hugged Baby from behind, kissing his neck.
Baby chuckled, "Trust me, I'm always hungry for you, but right now, my tummy needs something hot and spicy." He turned his head and kissed Saint's lips, "Let's go, I know a good spot." He whispered and stepped away from Saint's possessive arms.
Saint sighed, "Fine... I guess we could use some food." He murmured.
Baby's phone buzzed again, more insistent this time.
Saint groaned, "I bet it's Cam, he's trying to distrust the cosy morning he knows we're having –"
"Not Cam..." Baby said, staring at the email on his phone.
Saint turned serious, his eyes sharpening, "Who?" He had a guess, but he didn't want to believe it could be.
"It's Sloane, she sent an email," Baby said, facing Saint.
"And what does it say?" Saint questioned, his voice low.
"They want us on SportsTalk Live," Baby muttered, walking to the corner to lean against the wall; the leather wristband Saint had given him felt like a lead weight. "The 'shipping' didn't die down, Saint. It's trending. The top comment on Marcus's photo is: Find someone who catches you the way Kross catches Danvers."
Saint's jaw clenched so tight he looked like he was ready for a brawl, "She wants to clarify?" He asked.
Baby nodded, "Yes. She demands we clear the netizens of their delusions." He replied.
"We... we have to deny it. Not just deny it—we have to make it look ridiculous. If we look defensive, they win." Saint stated.
"And how do we do that?" Baby asked, his eyes flashing with a mix of fear and defiance. "I can't even look at you without wanting to touch you, Saint. How am I supposed to sit on a sofa in front of a million people and pretend I don't know exactly what you taste like?"
Saint looked up, his grey eyes cold and calculated. "You use the hate. You make it a joke. You tell them that I was just protecting the THC's investment, not a person. We play the 'Unified' contract to the letter."
"I'm getting scared, Saint. I really hope we don't mess things up for us," Baby murmured.