“Antonio?”Declan called, pushing open the door to the entryway.“Good afternoon.Are you–”
Declan froze in place, staring at the man.‘All but nude.’Thatwas what Antonio happened to bloody-fucking-well be.
Antonio in his skin, bare save for a pair of black gym shorts and tattoos.Protective symbols inked over muscle, as solid at a glance as he’d felt when holding Declan close.And, voids take him, Declan watched with a greedy, helpless hunger as Antonio whirled to face him.
If he traced the line of blackberries at Antonio’s ribs, over the dip and rise of corded strength and bone, would Declan taste himself?The leather of a favorite jacket, of blood and ink spilled under a bright sun.
“Are, ah…” Declan tried to say, dragging his eyes up to meet Antonio’s.Antonio took a step back, looking first alarmed, then relieved.Relieved, even as Declan fumbled for words.“Did you sleep well?”
Antonio rocked in place, bounced slightly on the balls of his feet.Those work rough, dark-tipped fingertips tapped against his leg, curled and uncurled.Gorgeous legs, as well-formed as the rest of him.Declan’s hand wouldn’t be able to span even half.
Stop it.Not the time.Not the tone, for all that Declan knew he focused too much on the sight of Antonio.On how he moved.
“Fine.”Antonio shifted in place, clearly uneasy.“I wasn’t– I should go change.”
No, please, you’re grand just as you are.
Declan kept that to himself.
“If that’s what you wish.”
But Antonio didn’t move, and Declan, helpless, took a half step closer.Antonio’s hand started to lift, then fell back to his side, dropping with his gaze.
“Can we…” Antonio’s words held every bit of that empty, urgent hunger that Declan felt in kind.“Look, I know I sound out of my head, but I need to touch you.Now.If, I mean, Jesus–”
Antonio had enough time to invoke his deity beforeDeclan, patient, measured Declan, stepped in.One hand found Antonio’s, the other rested on the firm plane of the human’s chest.He all but fell into Antonio’s embrace, into that shock of relief and heat.
Somuch heat.Antonio’s blazing hand curled around the sharp jut of Declan’s hip, dragged him in closer.Declan heard himself make a low, soft sound, as he pushed Antonio against the bottom rail of the banister even as he guided the man’s other hand up, under the hem of his shirt.Didn’t stop until Antonio’s palm was pressed to his skin, his waist.
“Not out of your head.”Declan’s hand found the back of Antonio’s neck, the short, fine hairs soft, up on his toes to reach all of him.Bare skin against skin and skin and skin.“Been like ants all morning.”
Lost to it then, both of them.Antonio slipped his hand under Declan’s shirt to stroke the curve of his ribs and line of his spine.Buried his face in the curve of Declan’s neck and inhaled, dragged him in closer.Declan shuddered in relief, near choked on it, that lack of clawing emptiness he’d felt since he woke.
“Is touching you supposed to feel like taking a hit?”Antonio murmured the words against Declan’s neck, his breath and lips soft.
A bit like ecstasy, liquid and euphoric.Declan wanted to touch and touch, hand palming the back of Antonio’s head, keeping him tucked in against his neck.The man felt so bloody good, the weight of him along Declan’s body, pressed and held against the stairs.
He could pretend, for a moment, that there were reasons outside of their bond driving Antonio’s seeking exploration.Fae lied to themselves all the time.
“A post-pit hit.”Tempted by bare skin, and Declan weak, he, too, responded with lips to flesh.Firm, under the touch of unglamoured teeth, dimpled from fangs without breaking.No mark left.“Someone always shirtless and pinned.Shoes lost.Slams like a freighter.”
Usually, it ended with someone getting fucked to the ring of metal in the walls, lost to the beat of music and hands and heat into heat.Antonio probably knew that bit already.
“Something like that.”Antonio laughed, near soundless, pleased.
Just breath against Declan’s neck.That was all.That, and hands over skin.Hips pressed to hips, cocks hard, thighs trembling.
Just that.
“Hangover’s shit, though,” Declan mumbled, just for something to say.
It’d be nothing to sink into that shared bright want.So new.Intoxicating.Declan focused, instead, on Antonio's quiet laughter.It was a good sound.Hearing it had him smiling, satisfied, the way Antonio felt satisfied when Declan leaned into his touch.
Declan nuzzled against his shoulder, breathing Antonio in as surely as the man had him.Took what he could while he was still permitted.Before the high wore off.
Copper and rust and teeth buried into something to keep from making noise.The day dry and hot with no need for shirts.
“Do you, uh, mind taking your glamour off your hands?”Antonio asked as Declan stroked his neck and shoulder.“It’s like pins and needles.Never had a problem with nails.”
