Soft, begging noises dragged from his throat and caught by Bo’s tongue.Unseemly,and it was, but Everil did it anyway, stole the honey from Bo’s lips, and whimpered, leaning up, pleading for more.
And Bo, sweet Bo, generous Bo, swallowed the noises from his lips, giving him more. And more. And more.
“Went just where I wanted you to.” Impossibly, Bo’s voice was soft with approval. “Almost there. Taste you first, then I’m gonna tell you exactly how to sit and where I want your hands.”
“Thank you,” Everil whispered.
There was an unfamiliar thread in the bond, an emotion Everil didn’t recognize. It felt the way Bo’s hand did, as it tightened again in Everil’s hair, guiding his head back further. It felt like not needing to run.
“Already so fucking eager.” Words that should have hurt but felt like a caress.
Guided. Sheltered. Bo left no room for questions, held his head and kissed him like he, too, was eager. Everil met demand with ready acquiescence, let himself dive into the burning rush of desire, vanilla scented and honey sweet, bright as the bite of citrus.
“More,” he breathed, when he could speak. Then flinched, trying to lower his eyes, grip tightening around his wrist. He forced his next words steady, if only just. “Too eager. Selfish. Forgive me.”
“No such thing as too eager,” Bo answered, close and warm. “Want you eager. Told you, sign me the fuck up for selfish. Just because I’m not going to make you ask doesn’t mean you can’t.”
Before Everil could answer, Bo’s hand dropped from Everil’s face to his wrist. He tugged, just lightly, until Everil forced his fingers to uncurl.
“If you need more than the bond to remind you, I’m happy to keep saying it.” Bo kissed the words against Everil’s cheek, onto the corner of his parted lips. “I can do physical, too.”
And Summer save him, but Bo followed through with that intention. Pressed Everil’s palm to the hard, waiting length of him, only a few bare layers of fabric between them.Permitted to touch, and he took what license he was given, palm sliding up and back, the careful evenness of his breath lost to a shaking exhale.
“Mind, soul, and body are allreallyfucking into you being selfish and hungry and eager.” There was a catch in Bo’s voice and fresh heat in the bond.
Eager. Everilachedhe was so eager. Ached for Bo’s mouth and his touch and his skin. He’d wanted him at the river. Before that. When he’d seen him standing in the sunset, painted gold, lacking only a crown of oak leaves. He’d wanted to take him in a field, his pleasure a solstice sacrifice. Had wanted to press him down against the riverbed, kiss air into his lungs.
Feral.
Wild.
Cinnamon and clove.
Orange and vanilla.
“Please.” A whispering thread of sound, hesitant but not unsure. Trusting Bo in this. That he’d be offered sugar instead of the crack of a whip. “Please, Bo. More of this. Of you.” He traced Bo’s length again, staring up through strands of dark hair. “Help me be selfish. Please?”
“Fuck yeah, Everil. Anything.” Bo rocked against Everil’s hand as he spoke, answering need with undeserved generosity. “Undo my pants. Button and zipper. Use both of your hands and take your time. I can’t feel you enough through my jeans.”
There was a hint of laughter in the man’s voice, and the start of a crooked smile on his lips.
“You’re amused?” Everil asked.
“I don’t usually give a play by play.” Bo’s hand found his jaw, thumb resting below Everil’s lip.
It hadn’t occurred to Everil that this was as new to Bo as it was to him. Bo surely had lovers but not fae. Not one bound to his soul.
Everil lifted a shaking hand from his knee, letting his fingers trail up the inside of Bo’s thigh. Taking his time.
“I would be lost, otherwise,” he murmured, leaning into Bo’s caress. “You’re very kind, Bo.” His fingers brushed metal, and he drew in a shaking breath. “Very sweet.”
Fresh heat flared in Bo’s gaze, and a rush of what Everil could only call affection poured through the bond.
“Won’t make you guess,” he said, a promise Everil knew he could trust. “Open your mouth for me again. Just a little, like before.”
Eager, the way Everil met that heated look. The way he let his gaze trail down from there, over Bo’s chest. Lower.
Selfish. The way his fingers stole up to brush over Bo’s stomach as he worked the button loose. The ready way he parted his lips at Bo’s invitation.
