“It’s your choice,” Lykor said. He swallowed down the fury burning at the back of his throat and extinguished Essence entirely. “Only yours. No one else’s.”
Jassyn blinked, seeming to meet his eyes almost by accident. “I don’t know why I kept them,” he whispered, looking away again.
A tremor shuddered through him—small, but loud enough for Lykor to hear every year he’d kept silent.
“I got rid of the tattoos,” Jassyn continued softly. “I thought that would be enough.” His breath left in an unsteady exhale. “But this…” He shook his head, gaze flicking to the faint glow between their bodies before drifting aside.
“I didn’t know what to do. If I’d taken them out, it would’ve felt like admitting they still had that power over me—like removing them meant I was still reacting to what they did.” His fingers raked through his curls. “But I thought if I kept them…maybe that would make them something I chose. Something they didn’t own anymore.”
A broken scoff caught in Jassyn’s throat. “But now saying it aloud makes it sound like I’ve just been lying to myself.”
The cost of those words split Lykor down the center—because Jassyn, trembling and carrying scars no one could see, was still willing to hand him those fractured pieces.
“There isn’t a right or wrong decision,” Lykor said, brushing his thumb along Jassyn’s cheek. “If you keep them. If you take them out. If you add more. It’syourchoice. No one gets to take that from you again.”
Finally—finally—Jassyn lifted his gaze. Unshielded. Raw enough to cleave Lykor open.
Lykor didn’t remember deciding to move, but he leaned forward, already reaching. He wrapped his arms around Jassyn’s shoulders and pulled him to his chest, holding himas though he could protect him from the entire stars-forsaken world.
That was all he wanted. Just this. Just him.
But Jassyn didn’t stay folded in the embrace for long.A ragged breath escaped him. His lips grazed the edge of Lykor’s jaw as he drew back and planted a hand against Lykor’s chest.
Lykor froze at the sudden friction, realization striking a heartbeat later.
Jassyn wasn’t retreating.
He pressed in, grinding his hips forward in a slow, obliterating drag that stole the breath from Lykor’s lungs. Amber eyes lifted, reflecting starlight, gleaming with desire that burned away every shadow of hesitation.
And then his mouth crashed into Lykor’s—wild, claiming, choosing him with a defiant want that never flinched. It wasn’t soft, and Lykor didn’t think it was meant to be. He didn’twantit to be. Something in him answered that choice, recognizing a pull that had lived between them long before this moment knew how to burn.
Wings tore free from Jassyn’s back with a crack like thunder, fire licking along the membranes. Then they were both reaching—grasping, fumbling—hands frantic with the need to feel eclipsing every other thought.
Cloth vanished into the dark. Heat rose between them, no space left but breath and the gravity dragging them together.
Jassyn’s fingers wrapped around Lykor’s length in one sure, devastating stroke. Lykor hissed, his hips lurching helplessly into the touch.
His own hand closed around Jassyn in return. He meant to be careful, to avoid the piercings studding that fevered length, unwilling to risk even the smallest harm. But his thumb slipped, sliding too high, catching the ring at the tip.
Jassyn choked out a noise—curse or groan, Lykor couldn’t tell—his hips snapping hard into Lykor’s fist.
Lykor’s breath hitched, ready to apologize, but pressure sparked at the base of his spine as Jassyn’s fingers seized around him. Then he understood. That sound hadn’t been pain. Not with the way Jassyn writhed against him now, grinding harder into his palm, chasing that exact touch.
When their hands began to move together, slick warmth rose between their palms. Exploring now, Lykor shifted his grip. His thumb glided lower, brushing the laddered studs in a slow descent before rising again, the pad of his finger skimming the ring at the velvet head.
Jassyn bucked, his cock throbbing hard against Lykor’s palm. The sound he made—gasp tangled with growl, pleasure stripped past control—ignited something primal in Lykor’s gut.
He circled the jewelry again, wringing that sound from Jassyn again before stroking downward. His fist glided along Jassyn’s length, the metal catching just enough to draw out a shudder. With a broken breath, Jassyn rocked against him, grinding down to trap their hands and bodies together.
Desire surged. Restraint fractured.
There was nothing delicate in the way they touched now. Their mouths crashed again, hunger scraping hunger, two bodies devouring the distance until thought dissolved entirely.
The world collapsed to motion and heat, to the feral friction of contact, matched stroke for stroke. Their hands moved in mirrored desperation, every glide driving the other higher, harder, until Lykor swore his mind might rupture under the force of wanting.
A curse tore from Jassyn as his wings snapped shut, slamming their hips tighter. The full length of him pressed hard against Lykor. All breath vanished from Lykor’s lungs assensation surged—molten, blinding, scattering sparks through every nerve.
Jassyn shifted on his thighs, caught Lykor’s wrist, and pulled it down. He curled his own hand over Lykor’s, locking them both around the lengths of each other. Their fingers tangled, grips tightening until warmth slipped between their palms. Every squeeze shot up Lykor’s spine, hauling him higher, until the world blurred at the edges and nothing existed except the relentless way Jassyn steered them.
