Not Fade Away Quotes

“But all Prophet said was, “Everyone meets their match eventually.” Tom knew their hunger wasn’t something that would level off. No, it was the opposite—it kept rising, twisting, feeding on itself . . . burning stronger, hotter. It wasn’t going to change, partly because of their unpredictability. They were quick to anger. Quicker to forgive. There was so much they still had to go through. Times like this would be few and far between for the next months. But eventually . . . they’d have this again. Hotter than ever. “That’s what I am—your match?” Prophet smiled. Blinked a little, then looked serious. “You don’t know that?” Tom managed to move closer to Prophet, touched his newly pierced nipple, and whispered in his ear. “I like to hear you say it. That’s all I need.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“That’s another difference you and Mal have,” Prophet told him, even as he reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out moisturizer. He leaned forward, feeling for Tom’s wrists, and began to rub the lotion into the sore parts, which made Tom smile and tear up at the same time. “Mal doesn’t do it a lot, but he could.” “I can see that. Be good if he could find someone to do that all the time. The same person.” Tom thoughts immediately went to Cillian. Tom had no clue if the guy was kinky or not, but he definitely didn’t want to think too hard about it. Guess Cillian didn’t mind public sex. But”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Now, there was none of that. Just Prophet, sitting there, holding his hands and watching Tom through the blur and shadow. “You really liked that,” Prophet asked after a long moment. “Fuck, yeah.” Tom’s voice was raw and hoarse.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“All Tom could do was tighten his grip on Prophet’s hand—their fingers were already threaded together anyway and Tom was untied. He was still so floaty that he didn’t register the pain from where the ropes had burned him—his own fault for pulling against them—but he could see the marks. And he loved them. Prophet”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“And finally, Prophet slid inside him, skin to skin—and that never got old. Tom tensed at the first burn—Prophet was careful but not easy—and goddamn, it would be so easy to just come. He bit the comforter hard enough to make his jaw ache in an effort to stop himself. Prophet slapped his ass twice—firm swats that made him want to come even more, the fucker. And then Prophet took the clamps off simultaneously, and holy fuck, the rush of blood back to the nipples was a feeling so fused with his pain craving that it hit every single nerve in his body, like they were all ricocheting off his abused nipples. The pain forced Tom to move, and the only thing he could do semieffectively to get a feeling somewhere else besides the giant ache in his nipples was to rut back against Prophet until he heard the bed creak threateningly. “If we break this bed . . .” “I’ll buy you a new one,” Tom managed, because he was already seeing stars. “I just need you. Lije . . .” At that, Prophet came in hard, hot spurts, his body shuddering, his fingers digging into Tom hard enough to bruise. “Now, Tommy . . .” Tom didn’t have to hear it twice, came with a fierce orgasm that he knew would knock him out in seconds, his entire body one giant throb. It was surrender, complete and utter. It was everything. When”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Just keep touching me.” Prophet did, one hand stroking, the other moving between Tom’s legs. “Come on. Push up on your knees again.” Tom did, his shoulders and face pressed to the mattress, his ass spread and vulnerable. He didn’t bother to protest, not when Prophet was sliding a finger along his ass, brushing his hole. Then he inserted a lubed finger inside him, pressing hard. Tom jolted. Was rewarded with a second finger and a third followed quickly. They twisted and stroked and pushed and he heard himself cursing. He’d ache in the morning from pulling so hard against the ropes, but he was good and bound . . . Prophet wasn’t letting him go anywhere. And for a second, just a second, that scared the fuck out of him, the way it was supposed to . . . But he was safe. Didn’t matter how bad the clamps burned. He could tell Prophet to stop all of it, and Prophet would. But the best part was that Tom would never have to do that. Prophet knew him too well . . . would always keep him safe, even as he pushed Tom’s boundaries. Prophet licked up the side of his neck. Tom shuddered again. “Killing me.” “And you love it.” Prophet put his face down next to Tom’s. “Yeah, I do.” Prophet smiled, a sleepy, contented-as-fuck smile. “Me too, Tommy. Me too.” And”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Out of the shower, T. Right now.” Prophet’s voice was sharp enough to make Tom jump, mainly because he’d been buried in his own head. When he glanced at Prophet, he was pointing. Tom smirked, because it would only make Prophet go harder on him. “Are you seriously ordering me around?” “Are you seriously not going to fucking let me?” Prophet’s words were a growl that went straight to Tom’s dick. “Point taken.” Prophet’s eyes flashed. “Bed. Now.” Tom’s gut tightened in anticipation. His nerve endings tingled, almost to the point of pain. There was nothing better than Prophet’s undivided attention. There was also nothing worse than that, but especially during sex . . . It was the pain-pleasure point most of the time. Prophet”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“He palmed his cock and rubbed along the piercings first, pulling them just enough to make him throb. He hissed at the pain and then fought a groan as he imagined Prophet doing this to him . . . The glass door opened, the steam rushed out, and Prophet stood there, watching. Before Tom could say anything, Prophet ordered, “Don’t stop now—jerk yourself, since you can’t keep your hands off it.” “Since when do you fucking tell me what to do?” Tom demanded crankily. Of course, he kept on sliding his hand up and down his cock, partly because fuck, it was good—better when ordered, sure—and partly because the look in Prophet’s eyes as he watched Tom doing it was just . . . Fuck. Fuck yes. “Don’t come though,” Prophet told him casually, and look who had a second wind. “Until when?” Tom gritted his teeth and slowed himself down. “Until I say. Clear enough?” Tom”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Tommy had wanted to claim him—and he had. Maybe now it was Tommy’s turn to be claimed. “That’s not a bad thing—or unexpected, so don’t worry about it.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Prophet was still half buzzed, although he was waning when they got back to the apartment . . . but Tommy was quiet. At first, Prophet thought he might be tired, which would be understandable . . . but it was more than that. Tommy was restless. He put his hand on Tommy’s knee, which had been bouncing a hundred miles an hour as he sat on the couch, like he was waiting for . . . something. “Sorry,” Tommy said sheepishly. “That wound me up more than I realized.” Prophet”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Prophet finally breathed when the forceps came off—how long he’d been holding it, he had no idea, but fuck, everything was reduced to the feeling of the piercing, the burning throb in his nipple, and that made it hard to focus on anything else. A long moment later, the ring was locked firmly in place, and Tommy was sinking to his knees in front of him, unzipping his pants and taking his hard cock down his throat. Prophet shot immediately—and Tom had to know that would happen. Prophet knew he’d no doubt have come as he was being pierced . . . if he’d had Tom sucking him while Ray did the piercing. But that was interesting as a fantasy only. Because this wasn’t about sharing. Or payback. This was Tom showing him that he understood. That, no matter what, no matter how pissed they got, how much they fucked up . . . Prophet was his. Which was Tom’s way of assuring that he wasn’t going anywhere.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“I know, Proph.” Tom smiled, then turned toward the equipment. He picked up an alcohol pad, but before he swiped it on Prophet’s nipple, he bent, sucked the nipple hard into his mouth, making Prophet give a keening cry. He abused the fucking thing, twisted it until it was hard and angry, and then he wiped it down and reached for forceps. It was only when he pulled Prophet’s nipple out taut that he said, “I trained to do this.” Prophet looked up at him. “I trust you, Tommy.” Tom smiled. Then he picked up the needle and pushed it fast through Prophet’s nipple, and holy mother of fuck, the line between pain and pleasure completely blurred as he saw the long, thin metal pole impaling his nipple. Tom threaded the ring onto the needle and pulled it through the hole, which caused a whole other set of motherfucking pain that made him curse. Loudly. Tom glanced up at him, looking like he was holding back a laugh—the asshole—and then he released the forceps and set about closing the ring, which seemed like it took forever. Prophet”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Prophet stared up at Tommy, in a little bit of a drunken haze, but mostly majorly turned on. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Ray leaving the room. He must’ve looked relieved, because Tom assured him, “Ray staying was never part of the plan.” “With Mal, it’s not like this. I mean, shit . . . It’s different. I stay in the room with Mal and whoever his dom is, because Mal doesn’t have all that much trust.” Prophet glanced at the piercing equipment and decided that it was time to distract. “But I did pick up some tricks.” “Yeah?” Tom looked like he was almost afraid to breathe, then asked, “Is it hard for you to watch?” Prophet frowned and tried to hide a smile until Tom pushed. “Come on—you know what I mean.” “Sometimes. I mean, I get it, the pain stuff. But it’s not my thing. And he likes it rough.” “Needs it,” Tom corrected. “Needs it,” Prophet conceded. “Do I give you what you need?” Tom smiled easily. “Yeah, Proph. Always. And usually before I know I need it.” He paused. “So Mal and I really aren’t all that much different.” “Yeah, you are. Completely fucking different in many ways. Mal loves . . . needs pain.” “What kind of pain?” Tom asked, the interest apparent in his eyes. Prophet shook his head. “The kinds you have to give me credit for knowing you won’t like.” Tom nodded. Waited. A little tensely, and hell, they all had way too much tension these days. Prophet was actually surprised Mal hadn’t called in one of these favors more frequently. Finally, Tom said, “I’d only do it with you. I wouldn’t want anyone else.” “Yeah, like I’d fucking let that happen,” Prophet growled.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Prophet downed the shot and let Tom tug him through the crowded club and into one of the back rooms, where Ray waited. He pointed to the lone chair in the room, and Tom pushed Prophet toward it. Prophet walked to it as slowly as he could. He could do the act of the petulant child better than anyone when he wanted to. And right now? He wanted to. But he did finally lower himself into the seat. Ray stood next to the chair while Tommy came over and took Prophet’s shirt off, tossing it aside. Tommy took Prophet’s left nipple in between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed, then flicked the tip with his nail, making Prophet jump. “Told you that if you were mine, I’d make you pierce it,” Tom murmured as Ray started taking out equipment that looked like . . . piercing equipment. “This.” Prophet pointed a stabbing finger at each of them. Twice. “This was a setup.” “And you fell for it,” Tom said calmly. “I thought you were drunk.” “You definitely are,” Tom observed. “And you weren’t hitting on me?” Prophet asked Ray. “Technically no, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re cute.” Ray smirked, and then gave him a once-over.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Prophet’s brows raised. He looked between Tom and Ray. Ray shrugged and nodded at Tom, like he was planning on simply walking away from this. And no, that wouldn’t fly at all, so he asked Ray, “You’re not going to fight for me?” “You want me to?” Ray asked. “I think you should, yes,” Prophet told him seriously. And with that, Tommy actually goddamn rumbled, a volcano ready to fucking blow. Prophet didn’t care. He was out of control and just wanted to roll with it. “Try it.” Tom pushed Prophet—pushed him out of the way to go toe to toe with Ray. “See what you get.” “Or we could teach him a lesson,” Ray offered. “Okay, hold the phone.” Prophet stared between Ray and Tom, because that wasn’t how this was supposed to go. At all. And how was it supposed to go? He told himself to shut the fuck up, because he never planned shit like this. Knowing outcomes took the fun out of things, mainly because it raised the stakes. Upped the risks. “I like the idea,” Tom was saying. “I most certainly don’t,” Prophet informed them and scanned the bar for another guy to flirt with who wouldn’t turn on him. Tom ignored Prophet in favor of asking Ray, “What do you have in mind?” “I can get pretty creative. Boys like this usually need it.” Ray looked at Prophet like he was some kind of prey. “I’m no one’s boy,” Prophet muttered irritably. Ray smiled. Like he thought Prophet was lying. “Bring him to the back,” he told Tom before he walked in that direction. “I’m not going to the back,” Prophet called after him. Tom motioned to the bartender for another shot, which he promptly handed to Prophet. “Drink.” “You’re not drunk at all, are you?” “Nope.” Prophet”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“With Ray? Only Prophet could manage to get pissed the way Tom wanted him to be and then quickly turn it around, accept the situation, and make it his. Which pissed Tom off. Again. Classic Prophet move. Tom tried to shake the pissed off-edness and went with command instead. “Come with me.” Prophet gave him the side-eye. His gaze held a little drunken amusement—and something else Tom had yet to place. But he would. “He’s yours?” Ray, the big man in leather who was sitting way too close to Prophet for Tom’s comfort looked between them. There were so many ways Tom could answer that, several of them that could spike Prophet right through the heart. But the one that came out without hesitation was, “Better believe he’s mine.” Ray stood. “Don’t get fucking mouthy. He sat with me.” “I’ll deal with him,” Tom promised.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“So his nerves were set on high before he walked in. When he opened the door, scanned the room, he quickly spotted what was his. Flirting heavily at the bar. And obviously waiting and watching for Prophet, since he waved happily to him. Seemed like Tom’s hurt and anger over last night’s admissions had faded away somewhat easily. Too easily. And Prophet wasn’t fooled, but he was pissed that Tom would try to fool him to get him pissed. Because really, Tom was here, the place that was literally the whole source of the fight. And even though it was more of a symbol of a bigger issue, it was still fucking weird being here with Tom, because this wasn’t a place he associated with Tom. He wouldn’t do this with Tom—not in a club, anyway, and not even in a private room. And Tom wouldn’t want it here, either. Having Tom here was . . . Prophet didn’t know how to explain it. Because Tom and Mal needed a lot of the same things, but they weren’t the same. No way. “Hey baby. Looking for a daddy?” Prophet looked up at a big man wearing full leathers. A definite bear. Handsome too. “Saw you here a couple of weeks ago. I’m Ray.” “Yeah?” Prophet had two options here, and the one that’d piss Tom off the most won. “Why don’t you buy me a drink, Ray?” He was a quick three shots in when a hand clasped on the back of his neck. Normally, the urge to grab it, twist it, and slam whoever it was to the bar would hit him immediately. But this place was all about touching. Besides, Prophet knew that touch. “S’up Tom?” Tom moved beside him, eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing?” “You said to come for a drink.” Prophet held up another shot. “’S’what I’m doing. With Ray.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Tom wasn’t just mad. No, the bastard was planning on getting even. Prophet could sense the fuck out of that shit. Two days later, he was waiting on Tom to get home from the EE offices when Tom called him instead. Sounding, if not a little drunk, then definitely loose. “Hey, Proph. What’s up?” “You called me, Tom. Where are you?” “Club.” “Club?” Prophet echoed suspiciously. “Place you took Mal, I think.” What the fuck? “Jesus, T.” Tommy and a BDSM club was trouble. The kind that made his dick hard. “Come meet me for a drink,” Tom demanded belligerently. Pissed and a little drunk. Not a good combo. “Get in a cab and come home.” “Nope. You’ll have to come for a drink.” Fuck me. “Fine. Make it a shot. And then I’m dragging you home.” “And putting me over your knee?” Tommy’s deep, slightly drunk drawl jolted Prophet. How had Tommy wrapped him so thoroughly around his finger? “I’m coming.” “Yeah, you are.” “Tommy, Christ.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“He shifted, leaned against the couch. Thought about sleeping out here tonight, but he’d learned too much about wasted time to let that happen. Instead, he went and got into the bed . . . and wrapped around Prophet, who looked surprised. “Hey. No bad dreams tonight.” Surprised, with a small smile. “You think?” Did he? He’d asked for a truth, gotten it . . . and then gotten pissed, which was always, he knew, Prophet’s biggest fear of the truth. So Tom’s anger had been directed at the wrong person—at least some of it—and hell, he didn’t need to fuck with any more of Prophet’s sleep. “I’ll make sure of it,” he said fiercely, and he’d never meant anything more in his life.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Tom knew that. Understood it on every rational level he had, but irrational Tom rose up, stronger, burning hotter, and decided that he should be completely, irrationally pissed. And jealous. And if Mal were around? Tom definitely would’ve used his hands to talk. As long as they were going for truth . . . “All those times you’ve done this before, did you go out and fuck someone’s brains out after?” Prophet stared at him. “Yeah, I did.” And then, “But this last one? It’s the first time I’ve done this for Mal since you and I met.” They’d never talked about exclusivity. It’d just happened. And while he didn’t feel betrayed by what Prophet had done, his stomach was in knots because Proph hadn’t told him. Then again, it wasn’t only Prophet’s secret to tell. Fuck.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Don’t ask me to trust you. That’s bullshit.” Prophet’s voice softened when he said, “That’s not . . . Mal and I don’t do anything together. I’m just there for him, to make sure nothing happens while he . . . Fuck, he doesn’t always know his limits, okay? It’s not about sex at all.” He paused, realized he was confusing shit needlessly, then broke it down to the basic, “I’m not cheating, T.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“That got Tom to finally ground out, “Really? You’re coming at me with attitude?” “Yes,” Prophet said evenly. Tom tilted his head and pointed at Prophet. “So let me get this straight. We’re supposed to be watching out for danger at every turn. Not going anywhere without backup. Not supposed to leave ourselves vulnerable.” “Your point?” “And you’re out doing favors with Mal.” “Right. So he’s not vulnerable.” “How the fuck do you make this sound so rational?” “Because it is.” Prophet heard the edge in his tone but it wouldn’t matter—Tom wasn’t going to let it go that easily. No, he’d find a way to overanalyze something that was, really and truly, goddamned simple. “Are you fucking kidding me?” And there it was. “No.” Tom threw his hands in the air. “You told me about the favors. It’s implied that they’re sexual. And I’m just supposed to walk away and let that shit happen? Fuck that. Fuck you.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Tom was reaching out to grab Prophet’s ass. At Proph’s words, he pulled back, thought about it, and slapped it. Hard. Prophet howled and turned, and Tom narrowed his eyes, feeling more than a little irritated. And yes, pissed at himself for bringing it all up in the first place. “Really? Two weeks ago?” “Yeah, really. He asked.” “Didn’t realize you owed him so much.” “I’ll always owe him. Jesus, aren’t you two getting along now?” “That’s not the point.” Tom pushed off the bed and Prophet rolled onto his back. “See? You ruined a perfectly good night with the motherfucking truth!” “We are never playing—or talking—about that game again. Ever!” Tom called over his shoulder as he walked out of the room.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“I take him to BDSM clubs. And two weeks ago.” Tom”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“So two truths. I want to know what the favors you do for Mal entail. And I want to know the last time you did one for him.” Prophet”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Because Prophet came to New Orleans for him. In turn, Prophet needed to be shown exactly how Tom felt . . . and Tom would do so, as often as necessary. He also wouldn’t forget that this all started with a game. “Let’s talk about your favors.” “Talk? You’re . . . fucking . . . kidding me.” “I did my dare. Isn’t it time for your truth?” God, it was getting harder to think—he slowed his thrusts, which made Prophet groan with frustration and punch the arm of the couch in front of him. Which made it partially come off, and Tom had to grab his hips hard to keep from sliding out of him. “Tommy, come on.” Prophet dug in, pushing his hips back against Tom, a testament to Prophet’s strength since Tom was pretty much holding him immobile. “Fuck that truth for tonight. This . . . this is truth to me right now.” Tom stilled, wondering how Prophet could just floor him in an instant. He reached around to palm Prophet’s cock. Tugged a few times. “And this is my truth for now, but it’s not where this ends.” Prophet laughed, then groaned. “Is that how it’s gonna be?” “I’ll tell you exactly how it’s gonna be,” Tom drawled as Prophet’s body stiffened under him, then shuddered uncontrollably as Tom held him tight. “Yeah, let go . . . got you.” “I know you do, Tommy.” Tom knew that was the only reason Prophet could actually let go at all . . . and it made Tom at once honored and more fiercely protective of this man than ever.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“I don’t understand why you’re trying to motherfucking kill me,” Prophet growled. And it was an unmistakable show of temper. And it turned Tom the fuck on, more than he’d already been. Tom wound an arm around him, jerked Prophet hard against him, rubbing his cock against Prophet’s ass, prepared to fuck him until Prophet screamed his name. “Smile for the camera.” He yanked Prophet’s hair, not needing to see Prophet’s face to know exactly what he looked like in this moment. Cillian wasn’t seeing any of this, but owning Prophet this way was too good of a dare to resist. He put his hand between Prophet’s shoulder blades, pressing him down to his elbows—they were sliding forward anyway, since the arm on the couch wasn’t holding well under their combined weight—and the angle allowed him to sink into Prophet, so hot and tight. Soon, nothing would come between them. For now, he’d pretend there wasn’t a condom there. Because”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Tom kissed him fiercely. Because he didn’t really need Proph to answer anyway. Prophet didn’t have to ask for what he wanted, because he knew Tom would know how—and when—to give it to him. And that kind of trust? Tom wouldn’t have it any other way. Finally, he broke the kiss, patted Prophet’s ass, noting his legs were trembling. “Come on. Couch. On your hands and knees, bébé.” Prophet half turned his face so Tom could see the clench in his jaw. “You started this, Proph. I’m just trying to finish it. Unless you don’t want to finish . . .” His voice must’ve held the right amount of lust and warning, because Prophet grunted, then grudgingly walked around to the front of the couch and carefully climbed on, the barely reattached arm groaning against his weight. On his hands and knees, head bowed, Prophet managed to look vulnerable and in control at the same time, the muscles on his back bunching under his tanned shoulders. Tom’s fingers itched to draw again as much as his cock wanted to come. The eternal fight between sex and art, he supposed. Which is why he’d always liked combining them. He satisfied himself momentarily by tracing the now-familiar patterns on Prophet’s skin after climbing onto the cushions behind him. The dreamcatcher he envisioned under the right shoulder blade that would run along his side to feather on his ribs . . .”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Tom was precariously close to coming himself and fuck no, he didn’t want this to end. Not yet. Instead, he pulled out and grabbed Prophet around the chest, forcing him to straighten up. He bit the side of his neck, sucked hard. And then he took Prophet’s hand, forced him to fist it, leaving his pointer finger out. Then he took Prophet’s wrist and made him circle his finger around his own leaking cock, catching pre-cum. Then he tugged Prophet’s hand up to his mouth and said, “Open.” Prophet did. Guiding him, he watched Prophet rub his finger along his own tongue. And then Tom moved Prophet’s hand out of the way, turned Prophet’s head to the side so he could put his own mouth on Prophet’s, licking the man’s tongue. Prophet groaned and bucked his ass back against him. Tom knew it was killing him not to come. “Good, Proph. So fucking good watching you like this . . . all easy for me.” “You’re so dirty, T.” “For you.” “You so fucking love this.” “And you push me to it on goddamned purpose,” Tom ground out. Prophet shrugged his answer. Tom”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away

“Tom kicked his legs open more, forcing him to go palms down on the cushions of this motherfucking, no-good-for-anything-or-anyone couch, and he heard the rip of a condom wrapper. Seconds later, Tom pushed the thick head of his cock inside him. Prophet went on his toes, trying to gain any kind of purchase as Tom’s cock filled him. The couch was in front of him, Tom behind him . . . and the rest was a tenuous balance. And Tommy had him. So fucking strong. One of the few men Prophet knew—or could admit—was just as strong as he was. Or maybe stronger. He could feel the strength in Tom’s hold. Knew he’d have bruises. He’d feel this for days, all the reminder he needed that he was cared for. Well cared for. He’d give Tom the same reminder, because Prophet wasn’t the only one who needed it.”
― S.E. Jakes, Not Fade Away