Masked Collision

The ballroom of the Ashworth house had been dressed like a secret and then filled until the secret had nowhere to hide. Candlelight crawled over crystal and over bare shoulders. A quartet sawed something old in the corner while a lower, meaner beat leaked in from the terrace. Feathers, velvet, lacquered leather, masks cut from gold leaf and black silk. The air smelled of orange peel, warm skin, and perfume that cost more than most cars. Nobody here needed an introduction. Everybody here wanted to be looked at anyway.

Emmett Vale was twenty-two, and he had already learned how to stand in a room like this without being swallowed by it. Tall, athletic, dark hair pushed back from a face the Vale money had not needed to improve. His suit was black, cut close enough to map the width of his shoulders and the lean line of his waist, the jacket open over a shirt he had left unbuttoned at the throat. A dark red mask covered him from brow to cheekbone, expensive and plain, the kind of thing that hid just enough to make the mouth underneath look indecent. He held a glass of something pale and did not drink it. He wanted his head clear. He had come because his family expected the Vale name on the guest list, and because he had heard Reid Calder would be here, and because for two years he had been done pretending that fact did not matter.

They had known each other since the summer they both turned eighteen, thrown together at the same foundation dinners, the same university galas, the same rooftops where old money practiced being young. Four years of circling. Polite hellos. Inherited jokes. A handshake that lasted one second too long at a charity auction last spring, Reid's fingers brushing his on a bidding paddle, neither of them moving. Emmett had gone home that night and gotten himself off with his jaw clenched and Reid's name behind his teeth. He had not been a boy when it started. He had been a man who already knew exactly what he wanted and had been too careful, for too long, to take it.

Across the crush, gold caught the light.

Reid stood near the tall windows in a suit the color of wet ink, tailored so severely it looked poured onto him. Twenty-two, same as Emmett, heir to a shipping fortune that did not bother advertising itself. Athletic through the shoulders, narrow through the hips, a body that moved like it had never once been unsure of the space it occupied. A matte-black mask edged in a thin thread of gold hid the upper half of his face. His mouth was bare. Emmett knew that mouth. He had watched it smirk through too many toasts. He had imagined it other places, late, alone, with his hand wrapped around himself and the city humming outside his apartment.

Their eyes met through the slits.

Reid did not wave. He let his gaze drop, slow and unashamed, over Emmett's open collar, the red mask, the way the suit held his chest. Then it came back up. His mouth curved. Emmett felt the look land low in his gut, hot and immediate, his cock giving a heavy, traitorous twitch against the fine wool of his pants. He set the untouched glass on a passing tray and started across the room.

The crowd was a living thing. Danielle Lang turned in a silver gown and a feathered mask, laughing at something her date had said, and Emmett slipped past the cloud of her perfume with a nod she barely caught. A man in devil's horns tried to hook him into a conversation about a yacht in the harbor. Emmett gave him a polite nothing and kept moving. On the other side of the ballroom Reid was doing the same, cutting through sequins and capes, one hand in his pocket, never quite looking away. Every time the crowd closed, Emmett lost the gold edge of the mask. Every time it opened, Reid was closer.

Emmett's pulse sat high in his throat. He could feel his own skin under the suit, too aware of it, the way want made the fabric feel like a hand. He thought about the auction. He thought about Reid's throat when he laughed. He thought about how Reid had looked at him tonight like the masks were a permission they had both been waiting for. Twenty feet. Then fifteen. A knot of guests in matching Venetian masks drifted between them and Emmett watched Reid's jaw tighten, watched the flush rise above his collar. Neither of them was smiling now. The tension had its own weather, thick as the perfume, and Emmett was done standing in it.

A hallway opened off the ballroom, narrower than it had any right to be, lined with closed doors and a runner the color of old wine. Emmett took it because the ballroom had become unbearable. He did not have to look back to know Reid had taken it too.

The collision was stupid and perfect.

Someone behind him laughed too loud. Emmett stepped sideways without looking, shoulder first, and Reid came around the corner at the same moment, moving fast. They hit chest to chest, hard enough that Emmett's breath left him in a grunt and Reid's palm slammed flat against the wall to keep them both upright. For a second there was only impact. Solid muscle. Expensive wool. The heat of another man's body through too little cloth. Reid's thigh drove between Emmett's. Emmett's hand caught Reid's hip on instinct and stayed there, fingers digging into the tight line of it.

"Fuck," Reid said, low, almost laughing, almost not.

Emmett looked up into the mask. Hazel eyes. He knew them in any light. "Reid."

"Emmett." Reid did not step back. His palm stayed on the wall beside Emmett's head. Their chests rose against each other, breath mixing, the red mask and the black-and-gold one nearly touching. "You always walk like you own the hallway."

"You always stand in it."

The contact was brief and it was not brief enough. Electricity ran straight down Emmett's spine and settled heavy between his legs. He was already half hard. Reid felt it; Emmett could tell by the way Reid's fingers flexed on his hip, by the slight, involuntary roll of Reid's hips that pressed them together for one filthy second before Reid caught himself and did not quite pull away. Their eyes locked through the masks. Recognition, and under it a hunger neither of them had the manners left to hide.

A burst of party noise spilled from the ballroom. Footsteps. A woman's voice, bright, calling someone's name. Brigitte, maybe, from the terrace. Neither of them looked.

Reid's gaze flicked to a door on the left, then to the one beside it, both shut, both dark at the seams. "Empty," he said. His voice had gone rough. "I checked earlier. Adjacent rooms. Nobody's using them. Staff's all out front."

"You checked."

"I saw you when I walked in." Reid's thumb pressed into the bone of Emmett's hip, a small, deliberate pressure. "I've been trying not to do this for two years. Since that auction. Since before that, if I'm honest, and I was already a grown man when I started wanting it. I'm done trying if you are."

Emmett's answer was his hand tightening, dragging Reid a fraction closer so Reid could feel exactly how hard he was. "I'm sober. I'm sure. I'm done. You?"

"Sober. Sure." Reid's mouth was close enough that Emmett felt the words. "I want you. Say yes and get in the room with me."

"Yes."

They moved together. Reid shoved the first door open on a sitting room gone dim, one lamp burning low, a couch in green velvet, the connecting door to the next room standing ajar on a dark, unused study with a bare desk and drawn curtains. No one. No glasses left out. No coats. Reid kicked the hallway door mostly shut—barely closed, a thin slice of light still under it—and Emmett was already on him.

The first kiss was not careful. Masks bumped. Emmett tasted mint and the heat of Reid's mouth and made a sound he would have been embarrassed by anywhere else, a low, hungry noise that Reid swallowed and answered. Reid kissed like he had been waiting in that hallway for exactly this, tongue sliding in, one hand fisting the front of Emmett's jacket and hauling him closer. They stumbled. Emmett's back hit the connecting door and it swung wider into the second empty room, shadows and unused furniture, and they did not care which room they were in as long as the party stayed on the other side of that barely closed door.

"You want this," Reid said against his mouth. Not a question. His hands were already under Emmett's jacket, palms hot through the shirt, mapping ribs, waist, the hard line of Emmett's stomach. "Tell me anyway. I want to hear it."

"I want it." Emmett dragged Reid's jacket off his shoulders and let it fall. He got his hands on Reid's chest, thumbs brushing nipples through the thin shirt, and felt Reid shudder. "Both of us. Here. Now. I've wanted your mouth on me since last spring. I've wanted to bend you over something expensive and fuck you until you can't smirk. Say it back."

"Yes." Reid bit his lower lip, then soothed it with his tongue, eyes bright behind the mask. "I want your cock. I want you to use me. I've jerked off thinking about this—about you holding me down and not being polite. Do it. I'm asking."

Emmett laughed once, breathless and wrecked, and kissed him again, deeper, filthier, tongues sliding, teeth catching. Hands roamed without hesitation. Reid got Emmett's belt open with impatient, sure fingers, the leather whispering free, the button, the zipper. Emmett shoved a hand down the back of Reid's pants and gripped his ass, firm and full and hot through the briefs, and Reid groaned into his mouth like the sound had been living there all night.

"God, your hands," Reid muttered. He rocked back into the grip, shameless. "Harder. I'm not glass."

Emmett squeezed, spread him a little through the cloth, and felt Reid's cock jump against his thigh. "Couch is right there."

"Not yet." Reid's voice cracked on it. He looked down at the open front of Emmett's pants, at the thick shape straining the fabric, and his throat worked. "I want this first. Let me."

He dropped.

He went to his knees on the rug between the two rooms, the dim lamp painting gold along his mask and the bare line of his throat. The hallway door stayed barely closed. The party was a muffled roar. Reid looked up, eyes bright behind the black and gold, and dragged Emmett's zipper the rest of the way down. He tugged the pants and the briefs just low enough. Emmett's cock sprang free, thick, heavy, already flushed dark, a vein standing along the shaft, a bead of precum shining at the head. Reid's breath hitched. His own hand went to his belt without looking away.

"Jesus. Look at you." He wrapped one hand around the base and gave a slow stroke, thumb smearing the wetness over the head. Emmett's hips jerked. "Thick. I knew you would be. I still wasn't ready."

"Don't just look." Emmett's voice came out rough. His hand hovered, then settled in Reid's hair under the edge of the mask, not forcing, just there. "You said you wanted it. Take it."

Reid did. He opened his mouth and took Emmett in one hungry slide, lips stretching around the girth, tongue pressed flat along the underside. Heat. Wet. The obscene, perfect suction of a man who had thought about this and meant to be good at it. Emmett's head thudded back against the doorframe. A curse tore out of him. Reid sank deeper, greedy, until the head pushed into his throat and his eyes watered and he held there, swallowing around it, throat fluttering, then pulled off with a filthy wet sound and did it again. Spit shone on his chin. His other hand had shoved into his own open pants. He stroked himself in the same rhythm, cock hard and leaking in his fist, hips twitching, the head of it flushed and slick.

"Fuck, Reid—your mouth—"

Reid hummed and took him deeper, nose brushing the trim muscle of Emmett's stomach, throat working, greedy for it. He stroked himself faster, shameless, kneeling in a suit that cost more than most people's rent with another man's cock buried in his throat and loving every second. Emmett watched the mask, the wet mouth, the way Reid's fist moved on his own cock, and felt his control fray at the edges. He tightened his grip in Reid's hair, just enough to guide, and Reid pushed into it like he wanted the direction, like being used a little was part of what he had asked for.

"Good," Emmett rasped. "Just like that. Take it. All the way. You look so fucking hot on your knees for me."

Reid moaned around him and sank down until he gagged, pulled back, spit stringing from his lip to the shining head, and went down again, messier, hungrier. His fist flew on his own cock. His thighs trembled. Emmett could feel the orgasm gathering at the base of his spine, too soon, too good, Reid's throat clutching him every time he swallowed.

"Stop—fuck, stop, or I'm going to come down your throat and I am not done with you."

Reid pulled off slow, lips dragging, and licked the string of spit away, eyes locked on Emmett's. His mouth was swollen. His cock jutted from his open pants, wet at the tip, his hand still loosely wrapped around it. "Couch," he said, voice wrecked. "Fuck me. I want it hard. I want you to bend me over and not be polite about it. I'm ready. I want you inside me. Yes. Now."

"Get up."

Reid stood on unsteady legs. Emmett kissed him once, tasting himself, then turned him and walked him into the lamplight of the sitting room. Reid shoved his pants and briefs down to his thighs, kicked one shoe off so he could get a leg free enough, and bent over the arm of the green couch, chest down, ass up, mask still on, looking back over his shoulder with his mouth wet and his eyes dark. The sight hit Emmett like a hand around his cock. Reid's ass was perfect, pale against the dark suit bunched at his waist, the cleft already a little open from Emmett's earlier grip. His cock hung heavy between his legs, dripping onto the rug.

"Spit," Reid said. "Or use me wet from your cock. I don't care. Just get in me. I want to feel it tomorrow."

Emmett spit into his palm, worked it over himself, then pressed two fingers to Reid's hole and pushed in slow enough to feel him open and fast enough that Reid cursed and shoved back. Tight. Hot. Reid's body gripped him and then yielded, a broken sound ripping out of his throat.

"More. I'm good. I'm ready. Do it. Please—fuck, Emmett, do it."

Emmett lined up, the thick head nudging, and pushed in.

Reid took him. Inch by thick inch, breathing hard through his teeth, one hand fisted in the velvet cushion, the other braced on the seat. Emmett watched himself disappear, watched Reid's hole stretch around his cock, and had to stop when he bottomed out or he would have come on the first stroke. He gripped Reid's hips, thumbs digging into the dimples above his ass, and held there, buried to the root, feeling Reid flutter and clench.

"Move," Reid gasped. "Hard. I said hard. I want you to pound me. I can take it. I want to take it."

Emmett drew back and slammed in.

The sound was obscene. Skin on skin. The couch shifting under them. Reid's moan, high and filthy, ripped out of him as Emmett set a pace that was deep and relentless, hips snapping, balls slapping Reid's ass. He fucked him the way he had imagined in his apartment with his fist around his cock and his teeth in his lip—no audience, no manners, just the wet clutch of Reid's body and the way Reid pushed back to meet every thrust like he was starving for it.

"Harder—fuck, right there, right there, don't you dare ease up—"

Emmett gave it to him. He hauled Reid back onto his cock and drove in, again, again, watching the red mask tilt as Reid's head dropped, watching sweat darken the collar of that expensive shirt. Reid's own cock swung and dripped, untouched now, smearing the front of the couch. Emmett reached under and gave it one rough stroke, felt Reid jolt, then let go and went back to gripping his hips, pounding him, the angle brutal. The door to the hall stayed barely closed. The party roared somewhere far away and did not matter. All that mattered was the heat, the grip, the broken stream of filth coming out of Reid's mouth.

"You feel—fuck—you feel huge. Don't stop. Use me. I want your load in me. I want to walk back out there with you leaking out of me under this suit."

Emmett's rhythm stuttered, then came back harder. "You're going to. Look at you. Bent over, taking it, begging. You were made for this."

When Reid's moans went thin and desperate, thighs shaking, Emmett pulled out. Reid made a wounded sound at the loss. Emmett flipped him, hands sure, and Reid went willingly onto his back on the couch, pants tangled at one ankle, shirt rucked up to show the toned plane of his stomach. Emmett shoved his thighs apart and pushed back in, one long, deep stroke that seated him to the hilt. Missionary. Masks inches apart. Reid's legs hooked around his waist and locked.

Their eyes met through the slits and held.

"Look at me," Emmett said.

"I am." Reid's hands gripped his shoulders, then slid down and grabbed his ass, pulling him in harder, heels digging into the backs of Emmett's thighs. "Don't stop. Don't you fucking stop. I want to come with you in me. I want to see your face when you fill me up."

Emmett fucked him like that, deep and grinding, then pounding, the angle different now, the head of his cock dragging over the spot that made Reid's eyes roll and his mouth fall open. They kissed between gasps, messy, teeth and tongue, masks knocking. Reid's hand dropped to his own cock and stroked fast, slick sounds mixing with the wet slap of Emmett driving into him. Sweat gathered under Emmett's collar. His thighs burned. He did not slow down. Reid's stomach flexed, toned and shining, his cock leaking over his fist, his hole clutching Emmett on every stroke like it was trying to keep him.

"Close," Reid panted. "Emmett—fuck—I'm close. Look at me. Stay in. Stay deep."

"Come. Come on my cock. I want to feel it."

Reid's eyes locked on his and did not look away. His hand flew. His back arched off the velvet. He came with a choked shout he bit down on too late, spilling hot across his own toned stomach in thick white stripes, cock pulsing in his fist, ass clenching so hard around Emmett that the world went white at the edges. Emmett drove in deep and stayed there, buried, and came with a groan he pressed into Reid's mouth, hips jerking, filling him in heavy pulses, load after load, the heat of it obscene and perfect. Reid whimpered and took it, legs locked, milking him, whispering yes, yes, give it to me, don't pull out yet.

They stayed like that, joined, chests heaving, the lamp painting them gold and shadow. Emmett's cock twitched inside him, still spilling the last of it. Reid dragged him down into a kiss that lingered, slow and filthy, tongues sliding through the aftertaste of sweat and sex, both of them breathing hard through their noses, masks askew. Not sweet. Satisfied. Hungry even now.

Emmett pulled out at last, careful, and watched his cum leak from Reid's used hole onto the green velvet, thick and white. Reid looked down at the mess striped across his stomach, at the shine on Emmett's cock, and smirked behind the crooked mask, wrecked and pleased and nowhere near ashamed.

"Jesus," he said, voice hoarse. "Worth the collision."

They cleaned up with a stack of unused napkins from a side table, quick and practical, wiping stomach and cock and the worst of the couch. Reid winced, grinning, when he tugged his briefs back up over sensitive skin. They tucked themselves away. Belts. Jackets shrugged on. Masks straightened with knowing fingers. Emmett's hair was a mess; Reid fixed it with a rough hand and then fixed his own. They looked at each other, smirk to smirk, two twenty-two-year-old men in expensive costumes who had just fucked each other stupid in a pair of empty rooms while a party went on ten yards away.

No speeches. They did not need one.

Reid opened the barely closed door. The hallway was empty. Music and laughter rolled out of the ballroom like nothing in the world had changed. They slipped back into the masked crush as if they had only stepped out for air, shoulders brushing once, then separating by a polite foot. Danielle waved from near the quartet. Someone offered champagne. They took nothing. Across a gap in the crowd their eyes met once more, masks hiding everything except the fact that they were not done with each other, not really, not after this.

Emmett passed close enough that his mouth nearly touched the gold edge of Reid's mask, and he did not bother with tenderness.

"Next time I bend you over, I'm going to fuck my load back into that sloppy hole and make you lick it off my cock while you beg for another."