Takedown

L
uke’s lips
were hot and feverish against Mitchell’s, his body hard and his cock harder.

Mitchell moaned into Luke’s mouth as they stumbled up the stairs. He flattened himself against the door and pulled Luke in by the hips. Luke’s body pressed up against him, and his hips ground in a quick, promising rhythm of thrusts.

The guttural moan of need that came from Mitchell’s throat shocked him. Luke seemed to know exactly what to do with it, though. He unlocked the door and pulled Mitchell inside, then kicked the door shut as they stumbled over to the bed in the corner.

He wanted to see Luke shirtless. Not that he hadn’t a dozen times already today, but shirtless
for him
was a whole new game.

Mitchell yanked Luke’s shirt off just before they hit the bed. In response, those broad, skilled hands plucked his shirttails out of his pants. The callused hand running up his stomach and tweaking his nipples made Mitchell shiver.

He barely had time to appreciate the rippling muscles under Luke’s tattooed skin, and the mosaic of meaningful designs. Luke was watching him like a predator.

Mitchell hauled Luke in by the belt loops until he straddled him on the bed, then kissed the fighter’s hard pecs. He dragged his open lips and tongue along slightly salty, bare skin. He tasted the faint impression of soap from his last post-workout shower, and he loved that, too.

But that wasn’t all he wanted to taste.

Mitchell ached with his desire for not just another man, but
this
man. He wanted Luke Hanson’s cock.

Luke settled on his heels so Mitchell could kiss his way down to the waistband. He didn’t let Luke unfasten his own jeans—he wanted to do that himself, too. He slowly pulled down the denim waistband until Luke’s thick, straight cock popped free.

Delicious.

Mitchell had a pretty damn good idea what to do with this, and even the sight of it made him lick his lips.

Luke must have liked that sight, because his dick twitched. Up close, that was the hottest thing Mitchell had ever seen.

This evening, there was some pretty stiff competition for that title.

He wrapped his lips around the tip of the velvety, firm flesh and sucked it into his mouth. As he flicked his gaze up to make eye contact, he wrapped his hand around the base.

Luke’s eyes were dark and wide, his chest rising and falling in quick, heaving breaths.

Mitchell sucked his cock down further, moaning in the back of his throat. The one thing he thought he’d never do, to the one
guy
he thought he’d never do. Here he was on hands and knees sucking Luke Hanson’s cock.

It made Mitchell want to come in his pants, but then he wouldn’t get to feel Luke’s lips on him. He palmed his own cock through his pants anyway, sucking hard as he pulled his head up and pushed down again.

This
was what he’d been missing out on. Their fragile hold on the searing hot tension between them was broken now.

After tonight, things were never gonna be the same.

T
he city unfolded
before Mitchell Keane in streaks of light and, more importantly, darkness. Mitchell’s eyes lingered on every dark window. How many were uninhabited? How many occupants lived in another home, state, or country?

That was what he did—sold homes to rich people who left the damn places empty most of the time.

It seemed stupid to him. Then again, most things in New York City were bizarre to a boy who grew up in Beatrice, Nebraska. All the clichés were true: when he’d first moved here, he’d smiled at people too much. Their hostility in return still confused him. He’d had to learn how to hail a cab, reserve a table at a restaurant, and get a good suit.

The realty business had been deadly easy to get into, and rough as shit to stay in. It was a scrabble for the leftovers at first, and then a slow trickle of new listings. He’d fought over and over to get the higher-valued properties, the cream of the crop.

And finally, two years after running from his backward town as fast as he fucking could, he’d hit his lucky break. A year later, the luck still held.

“Luck,” Mitchell snorted, turning from the living room window. He flicked on the living room light and headed through to the kitchen. He chose a bottle of wine without thinking about it, then dug out his corkscrew.

The cork popped out easily. He glanced at the clock. Eleven-thirty. Christ, he was going to be awake at seven for paperwork. What was another hour?

He sprawled on the kitchen stool, turning back toward the window. He was too tired to grab the TV remote. City-watching across Hell’s Kitchen was almost as interesting as watching its namesake on TV anyway.

The open house had gone pretty well, he hoped. It was always hard to tell how it went until a few days later when he received—or didn’t receive—offers. The usual crowd of rich snobs had been out in full force. Tonight had featured some actors who thought they were the center of the party. Unfortunately, they were right.

Mitchell eyed the wine bottle, then decided against drinking straight from it. He wasn’t
that
low yet. He grabbed a glass from the hanging rack. After pouring himself a full glass, Mitchell gulped half of it before coming up for air.

A girl there tonight had reminded him of Emily. Dark hair, honest eyes, and a bright smile. She was an actress. She’d go far if the industry were fair. It wasn’t, though. Just like real estate. The best agents didn’t always get the listing. When a property was double-listed, the best agents didn’t always get the sale.

Mitchell was so fucking glad things had worked out this way, though.

He’d have wound up miserable if he were stuck in that hick town with a wife. Instead, he was out here being gay and… well, single. It wasn’t like he’d ever
done
anything about being gay since the split with Emily. At least around Emily, he’d had someone to give him neck massages and cook breakfast.

It was always the little things that made him pour another glass of wine.

A few guys had eyed him up tonight. The word was getting around about him. In a few years here, he’d never brought anyone to a cocktail party, open house, or sales meeting. Rumors
had
to be out there. They were a gossipy bunch, real estate agents. Even if he was mostly independent, he still dealt with the same handful of people from his firm all the time.

Gay realtors were dime-a-dozen, so it wasn’t like there was a stigma to overcome here. Bringing a guy along would be more normal. Everyone probably tittered and drawled to each other in that New York drone about how he must not be
ready
yet.

And fuck, that might just be true.

Mitchell finished his wine, flicked off the lights, and headed straight to bed.

T
he sun rose early
in August, but Luke didn’t complain for a second. He liked being beaten to the punch now and then, and he usually woke up before the sun for all but a few months in the summer. Early morning was his favorite time of the day, especially when it was dark and still outside.

Luke flicked the lights on in the stairwell. He let the iron door slam shut behind himself as he exited to the main gym floor whose familiar four walls contained his livelihood and passion.

The machines sat silent, ready and waiting for a hard day’s use. The punching bags in the boxing training section would be swinging soon, but for now, they were still. Luke smiled at the rows of mats and gloves hanging along the wall.

The cage was his favorite part, though. It was lame—everyone’s favorite part was the cage—but true. It always made a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. The ghost of tape running through his fingers, the rush of blood to his head, the pounding of his heart…

Luke shivered and tried to brush the thought aside. He strode over to the rowing machine for a few minutes’ gentle warmup. He could let his mind wander while he did this—while he did most workouts, actually. The machines were easy compared to the active components of his workouts.

This close to a fight, his routine was even more intense. He scaled down the machine use and scaled up his one-on-one training. He’d been working with Hugh, the lead trainer at the MMA gym, for two years now. Hugh knew his every limit and frustration and accomplishment and still kept pushing him, despite the change in ownership lately.

Luke pushed that out of his head by switching machines a few times. Then he grabbed a resistance band and tied it to the posts. He stepped between the posts, settling the rubber band against his chest and sprinting until he hit the limit. Then he sped up, straining against the band to gain precious inches of ground.

He followed that up with some pushups, both one-handed and two-handed. To finish the session, he did ten jump-up pushups. After each pushup, he sprang to his feet and clapped his hands before dropping back to the ground.

Once those were done, Luke headed straight for the kettlebells. He couldn’t allow himself more than three minutes’ rest. He started with quick, purposeful thrusts of his hands to stretch his shoulders. Once he was prepared for his favorite kettlebell exercise, Luke shifted his stance. He lifted the weight to head level, then swung it down. He kept it moving in a fast, but controlled, arc down the center of his body.

If he didn’t keep it controlled, he’d crack himself in the knee at best. At worst… well, he didn’t want to wind up in hospital with bruised nuts. That would put a kink in his fight schedule.

Luke didn’t let himself slow down. He strode straight to the machines again for a quick leg workout. It made him feel a little smug every time he slid the pin into the bottom weight of the stack.

Luke didn’t need music. He was too focused on his own performance and visualizing his results.

His muscles pleasantly tingled. This was nowhere near the burn he’d feel by the end of the day. Luke unlocked the front door and hit the showers. He had to be out in good time to check guys into the gym and not check them out in the shower.

Not that
he
was uncomfortable being around a bunch of ripped guys whom he’d love to shove up against a locker and cockfight. But they might not be down for that, as hot as it sounded.

Luke scrubbed himself in the shower. He turned his face into the stream to enjoy the moment of peace and quiet.

Then the locker room door banged open. Luke sighed, turning off the water and wrapping his towel around his waist. He padded into the locker area just as Butch and Alex did from the opposite direction.

“Hey,” Butch greeted with a chin jerk that Luke returned. “First in?”

“I think you are.” Luke pulled his day’s outfit out of his staff locker and wiped his face down.

“Sweet. No gross sweat spots you’ve missed.”

Luke snorted. “Fuck off. I don’t miss spots.” He stepped into his clothes as they bantered for a few moments. Once his feet were dry, he slipped back into his fresh socks and sneakers, then went to grab the spray bottles.

Hugh would be in anytime, and then he had to report back on his week’s diet progress and weigh in. A day’s work wasn’t over until late, but Luke didn’t want it any other way.

He prayed it wasn’t going to change anytime soon.