No, Declan was too busy burying his face in sheets that still felt like soft leather on sunbaked skin, copper spreading over his tongue.Too distracted by the curl of his own fingers under his boxers, the touch soft instead of work-rough around his cock.
Antonio, his face pressed to Declan’s neck, arms wrapped around him with abandon, fingers seeking bare skin.Smiling with furious hostility, chin up, protective heat curled through more than just contact, facing things that terrified him, treating–
No.To think of that moment, Antonio’s stalwart loyalty,wouldbe a betrayal.
Instead: pointed, blunt teeth pressed to warm brown skin, that yielded to the slightest of pressure.Gentle indents.And would he moan, if Declan scraped them lower?Tasted his collarbone with a run of tongue, toyed with a nipple against the flat of his teeth or curve of claws?
Hard hunger when pushed against the stairs, back flat, Declan pressed flush, moving him.Could have moved more, slid hands down to solid thighs.Squeezing.Claws not drawing blood, when they went to lift him.
Rough fingers that found every bump and dip of spine under pulled-tight skin, seeking the line of ribs and, maybe, possibly, turning eager.Hands stained dark with oil stroked skin unused to the attention.
Better not to think too long on how it’d twisted, molten, the pretense of being cared about, the not-lie of being sought after, as if the spirit of it were true, not just the words.Safer to sink into fantasy, hand moving with all the desperate need that’d built over the day.
Antonio’s head against the wall, hard muscles and knees spread and spread and spread, hooked over sharp cut hip bones.Air rich with “Declan” and “Murderpunk” and “pin you against–” but he wouldn’t because Declan pinned him first.Pinned, with Antonio’s hands hard at his slight shoulders, in his hair, pulling tight, all while the man asked for more.
More of dangerous teeth nipping lovely skin red, then redder.More of Declan’s cock buried deep, their bond singing almost as beautifully as Antonio’s groans whenever Declan slid in just right.
Antonio on his knees.Mouth fucked open and wet and eyes glazed with want for more.
Spread out on a bed.Declan taking him,takingwhile being taken, holding him down by dark, messy curls, lips slick and uncoordinated, broken with gasps, fucking himself down on Antonio’s cock.Fucking and being fucked, strong hands on Declan’s ass or hair or arm, the sounds of them loud.Obscene.
Velvet heat and Murderpunkand ink spilling over tanned hide, marking it, sinking into every hidden part, losing itself to the new form with every drop.
Declan came with a muffled groan, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.Still curled there, a hand twisted in his own hair, pulled tight, other hand still taking, moving, a mess of skin and spent pleasure until Declan was little more than a thin, shivering thing with too many pictures behind his eyelids and the taste of leather at the back of his throat.
Slow, self-indulgent kisses.Spent passion giving way to a languid embrace.
Moments meant for someone else.Impossible desires.
Stupid.Stupid and crude and Declan regretted nothing.Better this, panting against the side of Antonio’s bed, alone with the floor cold under him, than staring at the man’s back with longing and concern until Antonio woke up.
There were things to do.Such as sleep.Stop having these thoughts.Be grateful that Antonio slept still, unable to feel Declan’s selfishness through their bond.Brace himself for centuries of this.
Declan never had been all that talented at becominglessattached.
Compartmentalization came easier.A half thought to clean himself.The drape of Faerie-weave.An allowance to shiver until he started to feel the weight of exhaustion, quiet in that cloud of white space, skin once more twinging with discomfort.Distance.
When Declan returned to his room–their room–he did so soundlessly.Antonio, his back still to Declan, slept on.
There were wisps to dissuade.Councils to sit at.Worlds to change.And at the root of it all, there was Antonio.And Declan who, at last, wasn’t alone.He could have that.Declan clung to the thought as he fell to the black of slumber.No matter what else, he could havethat.
They simply needed to survive whatever the next day dragged to their doorstep.
Chapter Seven
Antonio
Cornered.
Back to the wall, no exits, nowhere to run kind of cornered.That’s what he was.Calloway was coming for him.Not eventually.Not tomorrow.Any minute.
Antonio paced the length of Declan’s living room.Sitting room.Whatever-the-fuck you called a room with overstuffed chairs, dark wood, and a roaring fireplace.Just about now, Antonio was ready to call it hell.
With every passing minute, the tension ratcheted a little tighter, until Antonio found himself wishing he’d gone with plan A and gotten it over with.
Thiswasn’t going to work.
In a lifetime of stupid ideas, ‘sell your soul to a fae so that you aren’t kidnapped by the fae’ topped Antonio’s very long list.All he’d done by bonding Declan was make himself accessible.
