He–
It had been a century since–
Gentle fingers. Soft fabric. The promise of friction.
“I also like the idea of getting you off, Ever. Fucking love it.”
Honey on his tongue. Sweet orange trickling down his throat.
And through the bond, Bo’s unmistakable approval.
Pleased.Lust, yes. Amusement. But more. Bo waspleased.With him. With this. Everil hard under Bo’s hand. And Bo waspleased.
Pleased. And touching him.
Everil keened, sinking his teeth into his own shoulder to muffle the sound.
“Let me hear you.” Bo’s voice shook, low and shredded at the edges. “I want to hear you, Ever. Already seeing to my wants. Fucking perfect.”
Unseemly. Embarrassing.Everil’s teeth dug hard into the meat of his own shoulder, panting exhales and desperate gasps kept contained, and Bo tugged at his hair, an invitation to let go.
Pathetic.
Bo’s hand slipped under Everil’s waistband, skin on skin, rough callused fingers sliding over aching heat.
Everil knew he shouldn’t–
Shouldn’t groan Bo’s name with animal want. Shouldn’t press up into Bo’s hand. Shouldn’t grip him more tightly.
But he did. And he did. And he did.
“Bo. Please.Please.“ Selfish to ask, to take, but the reins had slipped Everil’s grip entirely. Words fell, unchecked, from his traitorous lips. “More? I– Forgive me. I shouldn’t–.Bo. Don’t go. I need you. Please?”
“You’re doing fucking beautifully. Nothing to forgive. Just how I want you.” Bo’s fingers found his mouth again, pressed in and deep, like the man knew how he needed the taste of him. “Look at your pretty fucking mouth, ready for me. Keep it open, so I can hear you. I’m not gonna leave you, Ever. Gonna give you as much as I can.
“Want your hands on me.” Words paired with quickening strokes, a sure touch that dragged shameless moans from Everil’s parted lips. “Fuck the boxers. I want to feel you on my skin.”
Shaking, keening, and allowed yet further license. Everil tugged Bo’s boxers down, caressing warm skin. And Bo, still there. Still pleased.
“This is how I want you, Ever.” Bo’s words were sweets shared on a summer night, ice cream at the riverbank. “Fuck,but I need you, too. You’re already giving me so fucking much.”
Two days. Two days, and Bo had Everil panting beneath him, swallowing against his fingers and thrusting up into his hand.
Centuries he’d spent carving away the unwanted pieces of himself. Learning to be what Nimai wanted. Tame enough. Broken enough.
Bo wanted him likethis. Not brought to heel, controlled and well spoken. Not effortlessly answering unvoiced expectations.
Wild.
Everil lost himself to want. To Bo. Bo, who didn’t leave him. Didn’t loathe him. Who gave and gave and gave, fed him on honey and lust.
Too much, too high, begging with each breath and whimper, and he wouldbreaklike this. Shatter under Bo’s attentions, give way entirely to base want. Everil wanted to catch Bo’s fingers in his teeth, hold them to lick and suck and taste while he came.
He turned his head away, instead, just enough to speak. He needed to check himself. To keep Bo from pushing him past the point where he could lock it down.
But what he said was “Bo” and “need you” and, finally, in a desperate whisper, “may I?”
“Ever. Fuck. Yeah, yes.” Bo caught Everil’s lips in a kiss, took his mouth with his tongue as he had with his fingers. “Want you to finish. Beautiful fucking kelpie, Ever, fuck. Done everything perfectly. Give me this, too. Want to fucking see you. Want to fucking feel it.”
