“Oh! You fucker!” He didn’t waste time massaging away the pain, but dashed after Damian and tackled him to the couch. They landed with a grunt and a thud, Damian on the bottom, all of Lenny’s elbows and knees prodding him in uncomfortable places. Lenny managed to get one of Damian’s hands in his grasp and sat heavily on his thighs as he wrestled for control of the singer’s free hand. “You are going to be so sorry you did that.”
Damian grinned. “I doubt it.”
The match was short lived. What Damian lacked in bulk, he made up for in height and reach. He had miles of it on Lenny, but he had to be quick. The little red-head was lightening fast, and Damian was smarting in a dozen places by the time Lenny hopped off him and made a dash for his room.
He didn’t get far. They both landed with a thud against the wall, laughing and out of breath, and then kissing, tongues thrashing hands still grappling for dominance. It ended with Damian’s back to the wall, his lanky frame subdued not because Lenny outweighed him, but because the smaller man could out-manoeuvre him with seduction every time.
He let out a moan as Lenny’s knee pried between his legs and the guitarist’s small, supple hands snaked under his shirt.
“Len—fuck.” He head thudded against the wall under the onslaught of Lenny’s tongue coasting from his clavicle to his jaw.
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