The buzz of a tattoo gun; the bite bite bite of the needle into skin.Ink mixed with blood, as he claimed another piece of himself in the only way he knew how.A charm against memory, and he didn’t care if it worked, he only knew he felt better for it.Ink to keep the monsters away, to show that he wasn’t afraid.
Declan stepping out of the shadows.Declan smiling, small and careful.Declan tucking his wings tight against his back.
“Blue ink.”
In the ashes of reality, there was Declan.Declan’s relief.Declan’s apprehension.Declan’s head on Antonio’s shoulder, his breathing unsteady and his hand curved around Antonio’s bicep.Holding on like he was afraid Antonio might disappear.
The wash of relief, of euphoric joy and fascinated desire to touch, was weirdly familiar.Like the rush he used to get from ecstasy, but more intense, his thoughts not drifting into fog.
He’d expected to lose his soul.He hadn’t expected Declan to replace it with smoke and ink and purple petals.He hadn’t expected the bastard to fit so perfectly against him.When has his hand found the small of Declan’s back, fingers spread to touch as much as he could?
It didn’t matter.The important thing was to hold on, because heknewwhat it’d do to Declan if he pushed him away.Didn’t know as in heunderstood.Knew like he could taste that touch-hungry loneliness, ebbing away as they held each other.
Florian cleared his throat.
“I think we need a minute,” Antonio said.“Without the witnessing.”
“I’ll make sure no humans see him without the look.”The wisp’s voice sounded like it was coming from very far away.“Come find me when you’re done.”
Declan leaned in, as the wisp walked away, his wings resting loosely against his back.Not that tight, nervous pose of earlier.This was more like another way to be close.
“They should’ve warned us that it’d punch like a handful of club candy,” Declan whispered, once the wisp was gone.“‘Intense.’Bloody understatement.I didn’t know.”
Laughter cut through the quiet.Giddy, unsteady, and genuine.Antonio’s laughter.Oh.They were both high.And he’d sent away the only sober person in the park.Great.
He didn’t regret it, though.He didn’t want the wisp around, not when Declan’s voice was shaking, that pleasant, smoky rasp dropped to a whisper.
“Just need some obnoxious music.Maybe a smoke machine.”
“Colored lights,” Declan added, with a snicker.
Antonio pressed Declan more firmly against his chest, then let his hand trace upward, under his jacket, following the sharp jut of his spine.The man’s skin was no warmer than the night.What would it take to warm him up?
Antonio wanted to bury his face in Declan’s neck and inhale him.He wanted to find the place where pale skin gave way to wings of bone.He wanted to taste–
Shit.Bad thought.Very bad thought.Especially with Declan pressed against him, their hips tucked close.
He was high.They were both very high.
“Could be worse.Could feel like speed.Or coke.”Antonio kept his palm on the line of Declan’s spine, and Declan didn’t seem to mind, still leaning into Antonio’s shoulder.“Fucking hate coke.”
“Can’t handle coke,” Declan agreed, and Antonio could feel the brush of his teeth over thin cotton, the heat of his breath.“Or acid.Voids, at least it’s not like acid.”
“Yeah, not a big fan of anything that makes me see shit.Do that enough on my own.”Should’ve laughed, but the words came out ragged.
A building thrum of want.Cool skin under Antonio’s palm.Hard lines and sharp angles.Bones and teeth.Fucking murder punk.
The murder punk had his fingers curled into Antonio’s shoulder, the uncomfortable tingle of glamour in the touch.Antonio tried to focus on that, but he couldn’t.Not with Declan’s hips tucked close, and the sluagh wouldfeelhow this was hitting.Feel it andfeelit.Fuck.
Thing was, he could feel Declan too.Need spilling like red ink into the wash of his emotions, heady and raw.It was so damned tempting.
Think.Think.Antonio’s hand kept stroking up and down Declan’s spine, andChristbut it felt good to touch him.They were both high.On each other, on what they’d done to themselves.
Why did bad ideas always feel incredible?
A joy ride in a stolen hot rod, top down and laughing.
Fuck, the sluagh fit against him so well.And if he just spread his fingers wide, he’d be able to touch the spots where flesh gave way to bone.
