“Taking all of me,” Declan hissed.And Antonio was.Christ,he was.“Everything.My cock.My pulse.My marrow.Holding me to the core.Fuck.Taking me so easy, Antonio.All of me.”
All of him.The shuddering pleasure of his thrusts.The new-ink burn of his nails.The bonfire smoke of his soul.
Took him in and in as he struggled against the cuffs, the burn of his muscles familiar and right.He needed more, to drag Declan closer, to wrap his hands around those wings and pull.To cover black lips with his, drink Declan’s words, breathe his breath, and more, and again, harder, deeper, and yeah, he knew how it worked from the other side, but not like this, spread out and held and taking with ravenous need, as Declan snapped his hips and the world wentbright.
“Declan.”The word a pleading, needy moan he barely recognized as coming from him.“Fuckfuckfuck.Please.”
“Fuck,Antonio.Anything.Voids.I’ve got you.”Declan’s hand found his cock, the other at the small of his back.Above him.Beneath him.Inside of him.Everywhere.And hetalkedlike Antonio’d asked him to.Like Antonioneededhim to, that rasping lilt as necessary as air.“Beautiful.Bloody perfect.Right there,rightthere, aye, fuck, that’s it.Give you everything.Anything.Let me give you this.”
Perfect.
They were perfect.They were fucking incredible.Worn leather over needle-kissed skin.Driving all night under a burnt orange sky.
Declan gave, splayed fingers and slick grip, thrust after driving thrust.Brighter and brighter, every nerve lit.
Antoniofought.Taut muscle dragging against unforgiving restraints, shudder wracked with the need to thrust up, to drag Declan deeper (take him to the core, to the marrow).Couldn’t.Couldn’t.Could only moan and pant and beg in wordless desperation.
Had him.
Declan had him.
Gave him this.Gave him everything.Let him shatter in his arms, arch up against him, come with a ragged growl, and collapse, trembling, his heavy-lidded gaze still locked on Declan.
“My wings?”Declan rasped, or something like it.Still moving, but slower now, as he licked Antonio from his fingers.“Your color?”
Colors.
Red tongue.Black lips.Porcelain skin.
Pleasure like a wave that crested without falling, and Antonio carried along with it, kept there by each slow thrust, and his hand closing on air where he wanted bone.
“Yeah.”A thread of sound, quieter than his own thundering heartbeat.“Jesus.Wanna touch you, Murderpunk.Hold you to the bone.Need my hands.‘m green.Better than.You?”
“Green as a leprechaun and eager to finish with your hands on me.”
Declan leaned over him, shivering skin and reaching hands.Salt and smoke.Needed that as the cuffs gave way.Needed Declan close enough that it didn’t feel like falling, losing that drag at his wrists.
Still a weight there, metal bracelets heavy, and those had come from Declan, too.
Not going anywhere.Declan wasn’t going anywhere.
He needed to hold.To touch.To bring Declan to where he was, to feel him shake apart.
First, he needed to move, the lack of tension leaving his muscles twitching.He reached up, traced the lines that ran up Declan’s arms to his shoulders, stopping to stroke fine, pale hair.His breath caught at Declan’s every shift, too high and not yet falling, not with Declan’s cock buried inside him, too much and perfect with it.
And there, as his fingers wandered, were Declan’s wings.Antonio stroked those too, each sharp spar of them, before settling at the point where skin met bone.Christ, he loved this man.How could he not?
“Want that too,” he said, wrapping his legs around Declan’s hips, crossing them behind him to drag him in deeper.“Like this?”He tightened his grip, making a point of where his hands rested.“Or can I pull?”
“Fuck,” Declan breathed, hips jerking, in and in, nails digging into Antonio’s shoulder with that comforting needle sting.“More.Pull.Stars, Antonio,please, pull.Everything.”
“Everything,” Antonio echoed.“Got my hands, Murderpunk.Got my soul.Got anything you ask for.”How had Declan put it?“Freely given.Give me this, yeah?Hold you to the marrow.Wanna feel you come for me.Want you as high as I am.”
Bone.The part of Declan only Antonio got to touch.Got to take him higher with, give him what he needed.Like this, a slow, relentless drag, using it to pull Declan in, press him closer.
“Need you, Murderpunk.Just you.Everything I need.”
“Freely given.”Declan’s low, rasping voice wasmadeto sound like this.Desperate.Raw.Wrecked.
