No. Fuck. That was what Bo needed to talk to him about. Not fuck there by the water.
(But it’d besogood.)
Bo swallowed and licked his lips, disappointed they didn’t taste like water straight from a frozen stream. He allowed himself the pleasure of stroking Everil’s cheekbone with his thumb, slow and electric. Also allowed was the lie that he had a choice in the matter.
Everil’s eyes fluttered at the caress, though they didn’t, quite, close. A fucking vision, the kelpie naked and hard and almost nuzzling into the touch. Lust mirrored between them and intensified with every new refraction.
“I like it when you touch me,” Bo murmured, voice steady as he could make it. “Like the porch, and how you just did. Thanks for letting go this time so I can keep your shit dry and cat free. And ’cause I don’t want to fuck if it’s only because of where we are.” Fingertips, gentle down his cheek and jawline as Bo made himself gradually pull back. “No matter how much we fucking want it.”
Everil shivered under his touch but didn’t move away. Hewatched, dark eyes intent like he was drinking in each dip and slope of Bo’s face, the way Bo did his.
“You mistake what’s happening,” Everil said, still quiet. Not touching Bo. Not stepping back, either. “The river does not ride me. It only looses the reins for a time.”
“I think the river’s missing out.”
A soft huff from Everil, nearly laughter. Fucking gorgeous.
“If you were not alluring back at the house, I might still wish to … play.” He lingered on the word. Bo shivered with it. “But it would be a somewhat different game.”
Alluring. Bo would’ve laughed if they weren’t by the river that smelled of Everil, tasted like him, with the fae in question bared to the moonlight and so fucking close. Bo reached again, pushing some hair back from Everil’s ear. His fingers were only a little unsteady.
“Knowing you found me attractive really isn’t helping me hold strong on the ‘we aren’t fucking on the riverbank in late autumn’ stance. Playing. Whateveryou want to call it.”
Bo spoke, and Everil took a step closer. Just one, but that was all it took. His arm at Bo’s back, hand against his neck, drawing him close with a deep, shuddering breath. His lips brushed Bo’s hair, an almost kiss, as he spoke.
“A confection.” The bastard almost soundedamused. “You’ve no idea.”
Amused and holding on, his touch a blazing path along Bo’s neck, back, and chest. He felt Everil’s words as much as heard them, all windy winter days and soothing shadows, the curve of his lips almost brushing Bo’s neck.
And, yeah, Bo leaned into him like he’d done on the porch, one hand skating up the length of Everil’s arm in retaliation. And, sure, maybe Bo made a noise. If he did, it was quiet. And he was fuckingallowedwith Everil breathing him in, holding him close, and … yeah … that was the guy’s cock, caught between them.
When Everil stepped away, Bo stayed standing. A little flushed and breathless, but he kept on both feet. Didn’t even fucking waver.
“Uhm,” he said, distant and low to his own ears. “What now?”
Do we fuck? Do you frolic? What the fuck just fucking happened, I don’t tend to neck in the goddamn woods?
“Wait here.” Right. Yes. Or that. “And if you find yourself desiring a swim,don’t. There are limits to my self-control, and we have already exceeded them.”
Any doubts Bo might have had about what Everil meant dissolved in the wake of his heated gaze and quick, flickering look from top to toe.
“I promise to stay dry,” Bo managed to say, half of it on a laugh, “Show me a kelpie in truth?”
Another sound that was little more than an exhale, an almost curve of full lips, their bond loud and clear as the quickening stream. Bright as the night was dark. All sorts of metaphors for the longing and joy of the river in Everil and the sight of his back, flecked with stars, hair a dark tumble with that not-quite laugh on his lips.
He stepped into the river as Bo shifted further back, closer to the grass.
Stars and moon and man became stallion. Or water. Maybe both.
Everilrearranged, the way the coffee table had with the appearance of Bo’s mug of hot chocolate. One second, naked man, the next a horse, and water somewhere between.
Everil made river made stallion, except it was always Everil, wasn’t it? Huge, and pitch as his fucking hair had been. Thick tufts stuck to his hooves when he reared and splashed back down, head swiveling to look at Bo. Everil’s fangs flashed, moon white, seeing Bo.
Only then did it occur to Bo that, not only was Everil’s head now approximately the size of Bo’s entire torso, but he had teeth like a fucking shark.
Robin would say something like,“This is the part where I should get the fuck out of here.”
Funny, but Bo’d figured he was done being shocked. Done having his world twist and resettle. There was the world tilting soulbond, some magic hot chocolate, that thing with Antonio. FuckingDeclanand Talia with her metal-touched power. He’d assumed that he’d wrapped his mind around everything from the last twelve hours. That he was prepared for this.
