Sunday Snog 219: Resurrection (#mm #erotic #romance)

Happy Sunday! It’s time for another snog. Since today is Easter, I went looking for a kiss excerpt with a hint of resurrection. This one’s from my M/M science fiction erotic romance Quarantine.

When you’re done with my snog, I hope you’ll visit Victoria’s page, which has links to many more Sunday kisses! (Click the "more" link to see the list of snogs.)

After the sunlit brilliance of the outdoors, the room was dim. At first Rafe thought it was empty. A faint moan drew his attention to the far corner.

“Dylan!” Rafe raced to his lover’s side, almost tripping over the cable stretched across the floor. Dylan twitched like an epileptic. His head snapped back and forth, as though he was trying to shake off the goggles hiding his eyes. Every few seconds his spine arched, spiking his rigid, drooling prick towards the ceiling. He gasped like a drowning man, sucking in air then releasing it in throaty sobs that sounded more like pain than pleasure.

“Dylan! Baby!” Rafe tore the pod off the other man’s arm. Blood oozed from the disturbed needle ports the unit hadn’t had time to seal. Dylan’s voice rose to a wail as his pelvis jerked wildly. Rafe snatched the mask away. Dylan’s eyes stared into nothingness as he gulped air and screamed. A jet of cum erupted from his cock, spattering Rafe’s chest. Then his tight, lithe body slumped into immobility.

“Dylan!” Rafe shook his unconscious lover, who was limp as a rag doll. “It’s me, baby! Wake up!” Dylan did not respond. His face was pasty white, his lips bluish. “Please…”

Rafe’s fists clenched, fingernails digging into his palms. He gathered the naked man in his arms. As he arranged Dylan’s inert limbs on the bed, he noted the bound ankle and the bolts fastened to the headboard. He’d been right. That fucking pervert bastard Randall wanted his boy for some kind of kinky sex. He’d slice off the fag mayor’s balls and stuff them down his throat…

“Urgh…” Dylan released a groan that turned into a cough. His eyelids fluttered open. “Rafe…” he whispered. “You found me.”

“Damn straight I did. You think I was going to just let you go and be some white honcho’s sex slave?” Rafe hid his concern in gruffness. Dylan looked really ill.

“But how—?”

“Never mind. We’ve got to get out of here.” Rafe pulled out a penknife and began sawing at the leather ankle-cuff.

“Um…I don’t know if I can move just yet.” A shadow of Dylan’s usual cheeky smile flitted across his face. “Anyway, Kevin won’t be back until tonight.”

“Kevin? You’re on a first name basis with the prick?” Rafe halted his attack on the cuff to glare at Dylan. All his insecurities came flooding back. “Did he fuck you?”

“No, no… I told him no, Rafe.” Dylan voice was edged with anxiety.

“And he listened to you? When he had you hogtied and at his mercy? You expect me to believe that?” A haze of red clouded Rafe’s vision. “A slutty little perv like you? I saw you in his eP rig, humping away—”

“It’s true, baby.” With obvious effort, Dylan pushed himself to a sitting position and held Rafe’s accusing gaze. “I won’t say he didn’t touch me. And I won’t claim I wasn’t tempted, especially when it seemed like it might help me get away. But I told him I belonged to you. Honestly, Rafe. He said you’d been captured, but I refused to listen.” Dylan’s eyes had a liquid gleam. “I’m so grateful you’re okay. I was worried…”

“You think you were worried?” Rafe leaned in, raised Dylan’s chin and claimed a kiss. The familiar taste scattered his negativity. “Oh, God! I thought I’d lost you forever.” He sealed the other man’s mouth with his once more.

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