“More.Again?”Declan shuddered with the question,againandmorebeing too open and encompassing.It didn’t matter, not with Antonio’s wordless growl, and slow twist of his fingers, just shy of pain.
For a man who enjoyed doing the manhandling, Declan only writhed and nipped in protest when Antonio pushed him back.Not much on either side and bloody worth it as Antonio replaced toying fingertips with his mouth.
Wet heat.Half-closed eyes.Gentle teeth.
Nerves unused to touch flared to life, pulled tighter with every tug and suck.He would askmoreandagain, if not for the twisting, wrecked sounds torn out of him, open mouthed and ragged.Too deep to be a whimper, and impossible to call by another name.
His fist in Antonio’s hair turned clutching, body rocking closer, down, grinding hard against the return rise of Antonio’s hips.His aching cock pressed between them, bloody exquisite, the only thing to ground himself the press of wood under his palm, the whispering creak when he dug his claws in.
Fingers, then, at his back, distant and ignored in favor of the muffled sounds of Antonio’s own need at Declan’s hissing, gasping groans.Curious fingers at the base of his wings weren’t half as interesting as dragging Antonio’s head back–voids,the sound his lips made, coming away from slick skin–nor as distracting as falling into another kiss, obscene and desperate.
“Hold onto me,” Antonio growled, close, a tone and grate to it he’d not thought to hear from the man.“Not the chair.Like the way your nails feel.”
Electric and copper strung, wired with too many sensations from all sides, impossible to keep track of, those places he’d neverneededto before.A wrecked mess in Antonio’s arms, each sipping sounds of pleasure from the other’s lips, about to break the bloody chair, andAntonio–
All that, and Antonio wished to feel the drag of his claws.His nails.To be held onto.The ask,demand, that broke through the shimmering haze of want.And he nearly said,“bloody hell, anything, anything you want.”
But only nearly.All fae, even those near overtaken by lust and affection, knew better than to say those words.
What hedidsay, hoarse and urgent, was: “Voids and starshine.Antonio.”
Said it, and released the chair, hand trailing over the man’s back and shoulder, scratches shallow in the wake.Antonio hissed and bared his throat, marked and asking to be made moreso.
Teeth and nails, asked for and given.Declan pressed a line of toothy kisses along bearded jaw and the beat of his jugular, groaning, low.Again.Once more.Cool lips and heated tongue, here, tasting the heat of sunbaked earth and iron.The sense of him all the more, with Antonio’s fierce kiss to his hair, the roll and tug of his nipple between rough fingers.
“Fucking incredible.”Antonio’s words no more steady than Declan’s, mumbled to the pulled-tight skin of Declan’s shoulder, tongue hot.“Don’t stop.Need to feel you.Need to feel all of you.”
Antonio’s hand moved from his chest, that loss allowing Declan to press flush to him.Thin chest to hard, hips to hips, his legs spread wide to keep his seat.
Searching fingers found the base of his wings, rested there, where skin and bone stitched together.Tightening in a solid, sure grip.
It hit him in a rolling wave of pleasure too foreign to clock for a beat.Deeper than before, slower, not the bright sear of Antonio’s mouth to his chest.A rattling predatory hiss sounded, muffled only some by Antonio’s neck, Declan’s lips peeled back too far to quiet himself.
“Bloodystars,” Declan heard himself say, sharp and low and starving.His nails dragged over Antonio’s back, leaving those lines of praise he’d imagined not too long ago.“Antonio,fuck,fuck,please.”
“Been dreaming about this.”A kiss to Declan’s shoulder, his neck, the corner of his jaw.Fierce joy heady in the bond, possessive without ownership.The slide of his hand, stroking from back to the first joint, up, and back again, had Declan keening with it.“Not planning on stopping.”
The run of his hand like nothing before.How did one describe pleasure somewhere it had never existed, before?Was never supposed to.
Too much.Too much.Not nearly enough, but too much.
“Fuck me?”The tilt of a question to it, just short of a demand.Better to want.Ask.Be given it by someone who liked sharp edges and grit, who polished without wearing away at what made something unique.Red on black, when Declan lapped at Antonio’s collarbone in turn, sucked a bruise where dark bells rang, silent.“Too much.I need more.Need you to fuck me.”
Antonio groaned, dug his teeth in just enough.The serrated edges of his words did nothing to hide the urgency.“Want it like this?Me holding onto you while you ride me?”
“Unless we want me a mere puddle on the floor, yes.”
Shamelessly said, and a gasp of a final word.Antonio laughed, hoarse, and nipped at Declan’s skin, ran his tongue along a line of darkened gray.His grip still firm, kept Declan pressed close.Where he belonged.Voids, where they both did.
“Want you anywhere you’ll have me.”Another squeezing stroke up that first long bone of his wing left Declanshaking.“We’re gonna have to get up, first.”
Declan didn’twantto get up, no matter how uncomfortably his jeans pulled at him with every hitch of his hips.
Faerie, in the way it had, chose that moment to accommodate.
The distant sound of two sets of trousers hitting the floor, followed by the softer murmur of their underthings.Too-tight pressure gave way, denim replaced by bare skin.Declan’s cock, hard and freed, pressed between them, Antonio’s just as wanting against Declan.
Antonio startled, inhaling sharply between clenched teeth, his hands gone slack, then sure again.Lust tangled with alarm, even as he shifted under Declan to bring him closer.
