Was the skin there sensitive?Would Declan shiver?
No.Motherfucking Christ–sorry, Mary–he needed to stop.Declan wanted Antonio for power.For status.And, Antonio suspected, because maybe he needed someone at his back.Someone he knew wouldn’t run.
He wasn’t looking to, in his words, ‘mate.’
What would those teeth feel like, grazing his skin?Would Declan groan if Antonio ran his fingers up over the bones of his wings?Did he taste like smoke and flower petals?
“We’re both high,” he said, dragging his hand down from the temptation of Declan’s wings, though he kept holding on.“And I’m about to pin you to the nearest tree.How do people come down from this?”
Declan answered with a low, wanting groan that dragged down Antonio’s back like the fae’s nails didn’t, buried itself under his skin.
Marked him like ink.
Antonio wouldn’t forget this.Wouldn’t forget that sound, or what it felt like to have Declan’s lust beating against his self control, unearned eagerness.Easiest thing in the world to slide his hand down to Declan’s ass, slip a knee between his thighs for him to grind against.And fuck, it’d be sexy.Antonio could tip Declan’s chin back, kiss those ink-dark lips, see what those intense blue eyes looked like when they lit with pleasure.
“Wait it out,” Declan’s answer was as tight as his grip, and he tucked in closer, pressing his face to Antonio’s neck.“Or take said ride against the tree in question.It’s supposed to be less intense eventually.Perhaps twenty minutes.”
Wait it out.Or spend the next four-hundred-years being the bastard that’d abused Declan’s trust right at the start of things, leave Declan oath-bound to protect the fucker who’d used him when he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested.
Not fucking happening.Even if Declan was ridiculously hot.Not pretty like the fae Antonio had known.Stranger and wilder.A tempting nightmare with an Irish accent and claws he wouldn’t let Antonio feel.
“Right.Sure.”His voice came out a little more steady.His hand stayed on Declan’s back, still now, except the stroke of his thumb.“We can do that.Talk to me, Murderpunk.Why do you feel like smoke and ink and … purple?Is that a sluagh thing?”
“Purple?”And yeah, Declan’s smile was pressed to Antonio’s neck, so he could feel those lips curve upward.“The… Ah.No.That’s my … soul.Aura.Magic.It’s how the mind translates the specific thumbprint of a person’s being.It can be a taste, a smell, a sensation.Even an idea.I’m impressed at feelingpurple.Hopefully, you don’t mind.”
“Petals,” he offered.“Purple petals.Like a flower.”
Antonio could breathe, so long as he focused on Declan’s words, instead of trying to translate what his fingers felt into images.Slim hips and a bare white back, traced with lines of gray like cracked porcelain, framed by wings of bone.
He was too old to learn new things about himself.He wasn’t into bones.Or fangs.Or fae.
But Declan wasn’t any fae.He’d come when Antonio needed him.Treated him as an equal.And he held his wings too close, too often.Unapologetic and shuttered, all at once.Sought more for his kind while taking less.
Antonio wanted to kiss him almost as desperately as he wanted to fuck him.
Focus.Just focus.
“A flower?”Declan asked, his grip easing, and the feeling ofhungerstarting to fade.“How surprisingly pretty.Can you smell it?Maybe we can try to figure out which one.”
“Think you maybe bonded the wrong kinda queer.”He shrugged, though only with the shoulder that Declan wasn’t occupying.“Best I can do is ‘it smells sorta sweet and flowery.’I could probably draw you a picture.”
Stupid, to be feeling regret.Just, once they finished coming down, Declan would be thinking clearly.Antonio would go back to being unfuckable.And Declan would still be Declan.Sharp angles and sharper teeth, piercing eyes and that low, measured rasp.
He’d get used to it.He had four hundred years to get used to it.
“A picture would be good.We can look it up.Would you like to know what you feel like?”
Declan leaned heavily against him, his emotions practicallypurringthrough Antonio’s.Contentment.Relief.The sense of an old hunger, finally fed.At least Antonio could offer that.His soul or his presence, whatever it was Declan was getting out of this.
“Me?It’s not a fae thing?”He laughed and that helped.Eased the tension.“Let me guess.Stale pizza, exhaust, and feijoada.”
“Not exactly.You taste of leather, properly done.Rust.Sun baked earth.”Taste.Like Declan was savoring Antonio, letting him linger on his tongue.“I think they’re rather fitting, for all that we’ve only known one another a day.”
Think.Think.That hadn’t been a come on.Just Antonio, twisting it into what he wanted to hear instead of listening.What Declan had actually said wasrust.
Iron.
Declan, who couldn’t get away from him, thought he tasted like iron.Shit.And there it was, at the edge of Antonio’s awareness, nearly buried.
