Cassian rolled the back of his head into the pillow. The sensation of building pleasure coiled like a vine, slowly wrapping around him, consuming him.
“Always.”
20
MY REAL NAME
Their days endedand began with one another.
After the exasperation of running a city and a realm, Cassian would appear in Finnian’s home. Some nights, Finnian was waiting for him. Others, Cassian would mindlessly sort through the clutter of his house and find places for the objects, or he would attempt to make coffee in the percolator—a mortal task he wasn’t familiar with.
Finnian had a stock of roasted beans stored away in his cabinet. With the mortar and pestle, Cassian ground them to powder. The tricky part, though, was figuring out how to light the stove without the assistance of magic. It appeared Finnian did not have any matches lying around.
“I cannot make your coffee if you do not supply me with a way to create a flame,” Cassian chided him one night.
They were lying side by side in Finnian’s bed, the sheets tangled around their bare legs.
“You do not have to make me coffee,” he said with a crooked smile
“After a long day of work seems to be the most appropriate timetodrink it. That is when I enjoy my beverages the most.”
Finnian turned over on his side, propping an elbow up and resting his head on his hand. The muscles in his bicep flickered beneath the skin, and his long hair brushed over his chest. “All I can think about throughout my day is you in my bed. If you think I am going to stop and drink coffee before kissing you, you’ve gone mad.”
A blush heated Cassian’s cheeks. He hid it by staring up at the ceiling, disapproving of the somersaulting in his stomach.
The next day, he brought his own matches.
When Finnian appeared in the middle of his kitchen, he smiled at the steaming cup on the table, and then devoured Cassian in a mess of wet kisses down his jaw, his neck, over the length of his torso to his waistband.
Cassian’s mind slipped into a fog. He barely registered the sly swivel of Finnian’s wrist magically unfastening the buttons of his trousers, or Finnian dropping to his knees.
“Neat trick, Little?—”
Finnian ceaselessly praised him with his tongue.
The back of Cassian’s head hit the wall. Huffy moans sprang from his throat. His fingers weaved in Finnian’s strands, tugging them at the scalp. Waves of pleasure liquified his insides. He moved his hips, chasing the gathering of nerves and need.
“Finny.” His name left Cassian’s mouth in a scant breath. He fought through the trembling of his limbs and tried to pull out of Finnian’s mouth. “I am?—”
Finnian dug his grip firmer into the back of Cassian’s waist, holding him in place, swallowing even deeper.
A moan fled out of Cassian and the tension gripping his abdomen released.
He shuddered, bliss floating through him.
Finnian licked his lips, smirking as he rose to his feet. He strolled across the kitchen, grabbed the cup, and twisted to look over at Cassian as he took a sip.
“You’re right,” he said. “I feel refreshed.”
Cassian relaxed his weight against the wall and let out a breathy laugh, his stomach dipping at the sight of Finnian’s dimpled smile over the rim of the cup.
At the end of each week, Finnian would spend his nights at a tavern with Eleanor and Isla—a social outing Cassian would join in as Everett. The setting was often loud and rambunctious.
Finnian mostly sat quietly with his drink, the corners of his mouth pulled up subtly as he watched Eleanor and Isla ramble on. Though, Cassian did not miss the way Finnian’s eyes tracked their lips as they spoke, or how he occasionally misunderstood their words and replied to them with something out of context.
Eleanor and Isla simply repeated what they’d said, but Cassian could see the flush of awkwardness under the tan complexion of Finnian’s cheeks.
He easily recalled what Finnian had told him about overcrowded settings with loud noises, and how his brain had to work harder to listen.
