“Pull that trick again?”Antonio dragged him in, knees pushed up, forward in the chair so Antonio could lean back himself.“Need some lube, get you ready for me.”
Realization clicked, if only just enough for Declan to put his head on right to speak a proper sentence.He ran his lips over Antonio’s jaw, the curve of it, let his teeth graze so the man shivered.
“Wouldn’t magic you without permission.”Declan settled his slight weight firmer on Antonio, rewarded with a blown black stare when the human tugged, sent his own back, arching on a groan.“Near out of my mind with you, mo chuisle, but not enough for that.Me word on it.Bond.Not an object.”
The flicker of irritation gave way to relief and affection, an eagerhungerthat rivaled Declan’s own.He’d said something right, with Antonio’s mouth on his, again, again, speaking between each kiss with a spill of oil and leather and heat.
“Gonna ride me,” heated, growled words, and Declan shivered, fingers flexing, “Gonna give me all of you, Murderpunk.So fucking incredible,” and a slide of his hand again, a gentle tug, and an answering, guttural hiss, and and and, “I got you.You’re so damned hot.”
Antonio leaned in, his teeth on Declan’s neck, a hand on his wing.And Declan?He continued to layer biting kisses everywhere he could reach, panting, erratic pulse matched beat for beat with Antonio’s.
Another flicker of irritation, there and gone, then slick fingers followed the curve of Declan’s ass.Declan whined, that raw, urgent sound, trying to lean back into that soft touch that teased, never giving way to pressureproper.
“By the voids,Antonio.”Not even impatient.Aching.Needing.Teasing fingers traced circles over heated skin as Declan decorated the back of his upper arms–and the bloody chair–with fine scratches all over again.
“Don’t want you to hold back,” Antonio said, as if that answeredanything.Almost pressure, the dip of his finger and Declan leaned back, got held fast and still by his wing.“Want all of you.Thisyou.”
All of Declan, stripped of glamour and clothing, laid bare and eager and spread-legged, about to claw at Antonio and whine about not getting fucked.Not pretty.Hot, per Antonio, and he felt it, that wave of midday sun, under Antonio’s horribly unfair, gentle touch and bruising bite.
It tasted of copper.Blood, like that under his nails (more, then, at the taunting brush of Antonio’s not insubstantial fingers against him, more red and heat to match his wrecked, low snarl of desire).
“Unless you use those fingers properly, all you’re going to get of me is some shaking and ridiculous noises.”
“I like you shaking.”Antonio’s grip eased on Declan’s wing, but only to reach for the other.His arm spanned Declan’s slight back, kept him held hard against his chest.“And you sound hot as hell.”
A tug on that new hold, an emphasis, holding on.Declan squirmed against him, tucked close unless he used his true strength.He didn’t want to.He liked this, secure, with Antonio’s skin there to kiss and suck and bite and pant against, that gorgeous hand wrapped firm around the base of one wing.
“Show me you have me?Please.”Please, gasped rough, just under his ear, nails slow up his sides, his ribs, whatever Declan could reach.Not quite a dare.Just shy of a demand.But far be it from him to deny Antonio, if the man liked how he sounded.“Voids.Been imagining how it would feel to be yours for a bloody week.I need to feel it.To feelyou.I–”
Whatever the bloody hell Declan was could wait.Antonio cut him off with a growl against Declan’s neck, a near-feral rush of possessive lust crashing between them with the words.Teeth on skin, copper in the air, and that tight, unyielding grip on bone.
“I’ve got you,” Antonio repeated, and finally, bloodyfinally,put weight behind his teasing, pressed in.Deeper.More.Out and in again,taking, rough with need.“Won’t let go.”A second finger, following the first, andyes, fuck.“Gonna take everything you’ll give me.”
“That’d be all of me,” Declan answered, words caught and lost and raw.HisAntonio’s, there, in that moment, those deep strokes of impatient fingers, breaking Declan down bit by bit.“Give you that.All of me.Stars and pitch black voids.”
There should be words for this.Declanalwayshad words, even when he didn’t say them.None lurked then, behind his lips, parted as they were.
Sweet-smokey pleasure.Affection, light and crisp.Savory lust, with a flare of something darker, sharper, teeth on his skin and his on Antonio’s, nails bright and shaking, shallow.
“More,” he said, broken.And, “don’t let go, all of me,” a third finger, Declan gasping, and, “Antonio.”
Chapter Eleven
Antonio
Real.
More than anything else, that’s how it felt.Sharp nails over Antonio’s skin, heat around his fingers, and Declan’s voice, broken and urgent.Declan: fucking fae, revolutionary Murderpunk, sluagh.Declan, begging his name.Begging formore.
Antonio didn’t do possessive.Knew too fucking well what it meant to belong to someone.But fuck if he couldn’t feel it now, that feral rush of possessive lust.He wanted to mark and be marked.Claim and be claimed.Bury himself in Declan until he screamed.
And maybe, yeah, he’d gotten a little keyed up over the last week.Wanting and not letting himself want.Dreaming of pointed teeth and wings of bone.Believing he’d spend multiple damned lifetimes bound to what he couldn’t touch.
He was touching him now.
Declan shivered in his arms, uncut cock rubbing against Antonio’s abs with his every breath.Antonio held him hard against his chest, kept him there for the further drive of greedy fingers, pressing deeper, taking more.All of him.Declan had said he could haveall of him.
Would have to let up, just a bit.To get more than this.Needed a little space to maneuver.
