Page 70 of Setting the Break

He gets a hand between them under the water and wraps it around Morgan's cock, and Morgan's smugness fractures into a gasp. His head tips forward onto Bohdi's shoulder and his hips push into the grip, and water sloshes against the rim of the tub and spills over in a sheet that hits the stone floor with a slap.

"We're going to flood the room," Morgan says against his neck, breathless.

"Don't care." Bohdi strokes him slow and Morgan's thighs tighten around his hips and more water goes over the side. He can feel himself hard under Morgan's weight, the pressure of Morgan's body against his cock, and every shift Morgan makes is dragging him along the crease of his ass through the water and it is not enough and it is making him insane. He gets his other hand into Morgan's wet hair and pulls him down into the kiss, open and greedy, and Morgan moans into his mouth and grinds down onto him and the copper rings under them both.

He cannot get enough of Morgan's mouth. He kisses him and kisses him, biting at his lip, licking into him, pulling back just far enough to look at him and then going back in because the sight of Morgan's mouth wet and swollen and parted is worse than the taste of it. Morgan laughs against his lips, a shaky, delighted sound, and water pours over the side in another wave and neither of them so much as glances at it.

Bohdi drags his mouth down Morgan's jaw and finds the hinge of it and sucks, and Morgan's head falls back and his throat is bared and Bohdi's mouth is on it before the thought finishes forming. The skin of Morgan's throat under his lips, the salt and the soap and the heat of him, the way his pulse jumps against Bohdi's tongue. He could eat him alive. He mouths his way down the column of Morgan's neck, open kisses, tongue dragging, and Morgan is making sounds above him that are doing absolutely nothing for his self-control.

Morgan is in his lap with his knees braced wide against the sides of the tub. When Bohdi slicks his fingers and reaches behind him and finds him, Morgan's forehead drops to his shoulder and his breath punches out of him.

Bohdi presses in. One finger, slow, and the water makes everything strange, the heat different, Morgan's body opening around him with a flutter and a clench that he feels all the way up his arm. He works him slowly, one finger and then two, and Morgan's mouth is open against his shoulder, his breath coming in short damp bursts against Bohdi's skin. His hips move in small, rocking circles, pressing back onto Bohdi's fingers and then forward against his stomach, his cock trapped between them, and every movement sends water sloshing.

Bohdi adds a third finger and Morgan bites his shoulder, hard, and then laughs.

"Sorry," Morgan says, not sounding sorry at all.

"No you're not." Bohdi twists his fingers and Morgan's whole body jolts, and the tub shunts an inch across the wet stone floor with a shriek of copper on tile. They both freeze. They look at each other. Morgan's eyes are blown wide and his mouth is a wreck and there is water everywhere, and he looks at Bohdi and his face cracks open and he starts laughing.

Bohdi has never heard him laugh like this. It is helpless and real and shaking, and Morgan's forehead is pressed against his and his body is gripping Bohdi's fingers and he is laughing so hard the water is still sloshing. Bohdi grins against him, wide and stupid, and he kisses him through the laughter, kisses the grin right off his mouth, and Morgan is still giggling against his lips when Bohdi withdraws his fingers and lines himself up and pulls Morgan down onto his cock.

The laughter stops.

It stops because Morgan's mouth falls open and his eyes go wide and he takes all of him in one slow, sinking slide, his body opening, his weight carrying him down, and the sound that comes out of him is not a laugh. It is low and broken and desperate, and his hands grab Bohdi's shoulders and his nails dig in and he holds there, fully seated, shaking.

"Oh," Morgan breathes. "Oh, that's⁠—"

"Fuck." Bohdi's voice is not his own. It is wrecked. Morgan is tight and burning and the water around them makes everything slick and impossible, and he is so deep he can feel the twitch of Morgan's body adjusting around him. He gets both hands on Morgan's hips and holds him there, holds him still, and presses his mouth to Morgan's collarbone. The skin under his lips. The warmth of him. He drags his mouth across the ridge of bone and then down, into the hollow of his throat, and Morgan tips his head back and gives him everything.

Bohdi works his way across every inch of skin he can reach. Morgan's throat, his collarbones, the slope of his shoulder, the scratch along his ribs that he kisses so lightly Morgan shivers. Bohdi cannot stop. He presses his open mouth to the curve of Morgan's neck and sucks a bruise into the skin there and Morgan whines and tightens around him and rolls his hips, and the first real thrust punches the air out of both of them.

Morgan rides him and it’s more than a little graceless. There is not enough water left in the tub for elegance. Morgan braces his knees against the copper and lifts and sinks, and every downstroke makes an obscene sound and sends whatever water remains crashing against the sides. His hands are on Bohdi's shoulders, gripping hard, and his head is tipped back and his mouth is open and his wet hair is hanging down his back. He is a wreck. He is gorgeous. Bohdi cannot look away.

He also cannot keep his mouth off him. He leans forward and catches Morgan's nipple between his teeth and Morgan's rhythm stutters and a sharp cry comes out of him, surprised, his hole bearing down so hard Bohdi's vision swims. Bohdi soothes it with his tongue, then does it again, and Morgan's hand comes up and grabs a fistful of his hair and holds his head there.

"Yes, right there," Morgan gasps. "Don't you fucking⁠—"

Bohdi does not stop. He works one nipple with his mouth and rolls the other between his fingers and fucks up into Morgan with shallow, grinding thrusts that meet him on the downstroke. The sound Morgan makes is the most ruined thing he has ever heard come out of a human mouth. Water goes everywhere. The tub scrapes across the floor again. Morgan starts laughing again, breathless and shattered and joyful, his whole body shaking with it.

Bohdi pulls him down hard and grinds up into him deep, and Morgan's laughter turns into a moan that cracks in the middle. He wraps his arms around Morgan's back and hauls him in close, chest to chest, skin to skin, no space left between them. Morgan's arms come around his neck. They are tangled together in a tub with no water left in it, both of them flushed and shaking with exertion and with laughter that keeps bubbling up between the moans.

Bohdi finds his mouth again. He kisses him deep, all tongue and teeth, and Morgan kisses him back and moves on him, and it is so much. The heat of him inside. The slick tight clutch of him. The taste of his mouth. The bare wet skin under Bohdi's hands. The way Morgan keeps laughing and gasping and saying his name like it is the only word he has left.

He gets a hand between them and wraps it around Morgan's cock. It is hard and leaking against both of their stomachs, and Bohdi strokes him in time with the way he is fucking up into him, tight and wet and relentless. Morgan breaks the kiss and buries his face in Bohdi's neck and makes a noise against the skin there.

Bohdi's rhythm on him stutters.

His hips jerk out of pattern. His grip on Morgan's cock goes clumsy, then still. He buries himself deep with a groan he presses into the side of Morgan's neck, cock pulsing, filling him, coming before he is ready. It rips through him in hard, helpless waves. He can't stop it. He can't even pretend he is in control of it. Everything in him seizes and his hips grind up in small, desperate aftershocks, pumping into Morgan while he is still shaking through it, still holding him too hard, still buried to the hilt.

Morgan makes a frustrated, wrecked sound against his throat.

"Don't—" he starts, and then he doesn't finish it, because Bohdi's hand is useless on him now, slack and trembling, and Morgan takes over himself. He wraps his own fist around his cock and strokes fast and tight, wet with precome and the mess already smeared between their stomachs. Bohdi is still inside him. Still shaking. Still holding him like he might fall apart if he lets go.

He comes apart in Bohdi's lap with a shout he only half manages to muffle against Bohdi's skin, spilling over his own fist and between their stomachs, his body locking down around Bohdi's softening cock so tight it punches another groan out of both of them. He grips Bohdi hard enough to bruise and is entirely past caring about it. His cock jerks in his hand.

They stay like that. Tangled in an empty tub on a flooded floor, Bohdi still inside him, both of them breathing hard and shaking with the aftershocks. Morgan's face is pressed into his neck and his arms are tight around Bohdi's shoulders and his body keeps fluttering around Bohdi's softening cock in small involuntary spasms that make them both twitch.

Morgan lifts his head. He looks at Bohdi. His face is flushed and his eyes are bright and his mouth is bitten red and swollen, and he looks at the room, the empty tub, the flooded floor, their clothes in a sodden heap. He starts laughing again.