For a second, Zach lets him do this, lets him lead; but it can't last, as Chris half-expected that it couldn't. The next thing he knows, he's flat against the elevator wall with both hands pinned above his head, Zach's long fingers encircling both his wrists. It's not a hard grip, and Chris could probably have pulled away from it, but he doesn't want to, he doesn't want to; not with Zach licking and nipping at his throat, unbuttoning his pants. Not with Zach kissing him one last time, hard and deep and wet, before descending to his knees in one fluid movement.
And this was where my unmentionables caught on fire.
Oh. My. God.
And this was where my unmentionables caught on fire.