Unseemly. All of it. His own aching arousal, and his awareness of it. The way he kept returning to Bo’s words:Think I got your number, Everil.The way he didn’t stop. Wouldn’t, unless Bo changed his mind.
“That’s the way,” Bo said, rough voiced, his thumb on Everil’s tongue. “Going to fucking indulge. That’s just what I want. It’s fucking hot.”
More.
More, and Bo didn’t deny him. Didn’t despise him for his unsteady breathing or shaking touch. Everil still tense, as much from eagerness as caution, hyper-aware of the bond, waiting for any sour shift in Bo’s emotions.
Desire didn’t always equate to pleasure.
“Zipper next. You’re doing fucking beautifully, Everil.” The slide of Bo’s zipper, down. The press of his thumb, in. The rough drag of his words, everywhere. “I can’t wait to have you bent over and spent.”
Everil trembled, eyes wide as they met Bo’s. No words, his mouth busy, only a helpless noise, as raw and open as the way he shook.
What did it mean to break? Was one broken, if the desire remained, no matter how many times the whip fell? If one learned to obey, but could never quell the need for swift water and heated blood?
Everil had held so tightly for so long. Kept himself in check, first in fear, then in penance.
“Push my jeans down, off my hips.” Bo’s thumb, almost out. In, again. “Did fucking good with the zipper.”
Everil couldn’t stop trembling. Not as he caught Bo’s waistband, tugging his jeans down with more speed than grace. Not as he swallowed around Bo’s thumb, tasting him. Not as he followed after it at the next slide back, wanting more, teeth scraping blunt over skin.
Greedy.
“Fuck, but you’d look pretty with your mouth around my cock.” Bo’s words came on a low, shivering groan, as Everil caressed him through his boxers. “I want to see you. Need to get your shirt off. Sweater. Both.Fuck.”
Everil nodded, desperate to please, then pulled back, hands and mouth both. He favored loose clothing. Light materials in gray or black, simple and comfortable. Easy to slip out of.
“You’re making a habit of interrupting your intentions,” he murmured, as he reached for his collar. His gaze darted up, searching Bo’s reaction to the cautious teasing. No anger there, so Everil continued, making good on Bo’s request. “There’s still my hair, your pants, and your….” His gaze fell to where his attentions had so recently focused. “You had thoughts regarding how….” The attempt at a jest a sudden stumbling block. He was not so adept as Bo at pretty obscenities. He licked his lips and swallowed hard. “Regarding my … mouth.”
Unsure, he let his gaze drop to his shirt and sweater, tugging them apart so he might fold them properly. The attempt was interrupted by Bo’s hand on his chin, tilting his head back up.
“I get distracted by looking at you,” Bo said, catching Everil’s lips with a quick, firm kiss. “Touching you. And you sucking my cock would probably mean me not being in any sort of shape to fuck you.”
Everil swallowed, tasting the words. He needed, desperately, not to lose this. The curl of Bo’s pleasure. His affection. One night. One night where it was only good. Where Everil wouldn’t be made to loathe himself, after.
“Bo, don’t deny yourself what you might wish for the sake of my satisfaction.” Everil spoke carefully. Wanting to make it clear to Bo that he meant it. That his selfishness needn’t be read as an ask. “If you’d have me see to your wants, I would very much enjoy that. I don’t require you to … reciprocate.”
“See to my wants.” Bo stepped out of his jeans as he spoke, sounding puzzled. But, at least, not angry. The man’s shirt followed his pants, dropping to the floor, and Everil lost the thread of his thoughts.
Bo wasn’t pretty or soft, as Lawrence had been. Nor was he beautiful, in the manner of a fae. Nimai was stunning.
Bo was, well, the word Bo would likely use washot.Solid and muscled, though not aggressively so the way the Hollow had been. Lean with it, notbulky. A scar ran down his side; Everil wanted to trace it with fingers and tongue. Fae almost never scarred; they simply healed themselves.
The urge to touch was one Everil knew how to control. Control, yes. But not stop feeling. The desire catching fast, a fresh burn, only to be interrupted by the warmth of Bo’s hands on his shoulders. Pressing him back, and Everil made no effort to stop him, followed the unspoken guidance until he was lying on the bed and Bo…
Bo was on top of him.
“Everil,” Bo murmured, grinning. “Ever. Ev. Put your hands on my ass. Over the boxers. Make sure to have a decent grip, so I don’t fall.”
Ever. Bo made his name new. Unweighted by old pain.
“Ever. Please?” Everil murmured. Sweet Bo. Letting Everil touch. Feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of his boxers. “I like it.”
“Ever. It suits you.” Pleased words and Bo’s kiss, the rough brush of his fingers, leaving shivering trails over Everil’s skin. “I like it, too.”
Warm and close and real and Bo kissed like he spoke, with unrepentant desire. Everil, dizzy with pleasure, kissed nothing like he spoke. Insatiable and leaning up, quiet sounds of pleasure every bit as obscene as Bo’s explicit commentary.
Teeth and tongues and hunger reflecting hunger, building like a river in a summer thunderstorm. Broken only when Bo’s drifting fingers–
