Page 36 of Cassian is Getting Out

They landed in the back seat in a tangle of limbs. Ruari’s head hit the window, and Cassian’s elbow slammed the door handle.

The kiss started soft. Cassian’s mouth was warm and tasted of the sweets he’d been working through since they left the dealership.

Ruari’s sweatshirt was balled up on the back seat where he’d tossed it that morning. He grabbed it without breaking the kiss and stuffed it behind Cassian’s head as protective padding.

“What’s that for?” Cassian asked.

“So you don’t concuss yourself while I fuck you.”

Cassian pulled away far enough to glance at the makeshift pillow, nodded, and hauled Ruari into another kiss.

The back seat of a Range Rover was, in theory, spacious. In practice, with six foot three of Ruari braced on one elbow above an omega who’d wedged himself lengthways with his knees up, it was a disaster of logistics. Ruari’s foot was jammed against the opposite door, his other knee had slid off the seat and was pressing into the footwell carpet, and the angle at which he was supporting his own weight meant his forearm was at risk of giving out.

Cassian pulled his own T-shirt up to his collarbone, showing off the bare stretch of his torso beneath Ruari’s, pale and lean, hitching with every breath.

Ruari dropped his mouth to Cassian’s chest. The omega arched up off the seat, his hands in Ruari’s hair, as Ruari kissed his way down to his stomach.

“Ruari.” Cassian’s hips lifted. “I want—”

“Tell me.”

Cassian shoved the waistband of his own joggers down over his hips. His pants went with them, bunching at mid-thigh where the angle and the limited legroom restricted free movement.

The scent of him filled the car. Cassian’s slick left a wet shine on his inner thighs, and the sight of it sent a pulse of heat through Ruari’s gut so savage that his arms buckled and he dropped his full weight onto Cassian.

“Sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry, I like it when you’re close.” Cassian hooked one leg around Ruari’s hip, his joggers still tangled around his opposite knee, and ground up on him.

Ruari’s cock was so hard behind the zip of his jeans that the pressure had crossed from uncomfortable into genuinely punishing. He got his own fly open, careful to hold his weight off Cassian’s chest. The relief when his cock sprang free made him exhale through his teeth.

This wasn’t how he’d pictured it. He’d had plans that involved clean sheets, the bedroom, enough space to lay Cassian out properly and take his time. Not the back seat of his car behind a skip with his knee going numb and Cassian’s joggers bunched at half-mast.

Cassian wrapped his hand around Ruari’s cock. Every plan Ruari had made about their first proper fuck evaporated on contact. His entire existence narrowed to a single, desperate imperative: get inside this omega.

Today had been perfect. The dealership, the bow, the look on Cassian’s face when he’d kissed him beside the car, all of it clicking into place with the same clean certainty as a hat-trick. This would be the icing on the cake.

Cassian’s grip tightened on him. Ruari pulled away just enough to look down between them, and consider the logistics, because yes, he intended to fuck Cassian silly, but he would do it with Cassian comfortable and enjoying it. Cassian was small, narrow-hipped and fine-boned. Ruari’s cock looked obscene against him, flushed dark and thick where it sat in the cradle of Cassian’s palm, and the size difference gave him pause.

The omega’s eyes were trained downwards, chin tucked to his chest, watching Ruari line himself up to his arse. He bit his bottom lip. His breathing had gone shallow.

Six weeks ago, Cassian had frozen at the first press of Ruari’s thumb inside him. Tonight he dipped two fingers into himself without being asked, twisted once with a sharp intake of breath, and withdrew them trailing a sticky web of slick that he transferred onto Ruari’s cock in one stroke.

“Good omega.” His thumb traced the jut of Cassian’s hipbone. “More? Can you get wetter for me?”

Cassian slid his hand between his legs, working himself open. He copied the twisting movements Ruari had used on him at the flat, his thighs falling wider apart on the seat. His breathing climbed, each exhale catching at the top, and the fresh slick that pooled around his knuckles gleamed.

“Like this?” Cassian whispered, and his hips rocked forward into his own hold.

Cassian’s hand was a fucking mess. His slick had come out thick and white, coating his knuckles, pooling in the creases of his palm, dripping in slow strings onto the leather seat beneath him. He looked like he’d dipped his fingers into a jar of face cream. He wrapped them around Ruari’s cock and dragged the slick down his length.

“Fuck,” Ruari managed. “Fuck, Cass—”

Cassian’s thumb dragged up the underside of the head to the ridge, and pressed. Ruari’s hips bucked forward into his fist.

“I’m doing good, alpha?” His eyes were enormous, bright and fixed on Ruari’s face, studying the way he was falling apart in his grip.

“You’re fucking amazing. Cass, listen to me. You push me in, yeah? You’re in control. You decide how much, how fast, all of it.”