Patrick’s expression was stony as Fenrir faded to the background and Jono found himself in control again, capable of looking at his lover. He ignored Hera in favor of taking Patrick’s hand in his.
“Let’s go home,” Jono said.
The gods didn’t stop their leaving, and if they had tried, Jono would’ve gone for their throats, Fenrir’s teeth always willing to bite.
* * *
Jono lockedthe door to their flat, watching with worried eyes as Patrick made a beeline for the kitchen. The sound of a cupboard opening and a bottle clinking on the counter made him sigh quietly.
“That won’t do anything but give you a hangover,” Jono said gently when he went into the kitchen.
Patrick hadn’t even bothered with a glass, simply drinking straight from the bottle. “That’s a tomorrow problem.”
“It is tomorrow.”
Because it was after midnight, early on a Friday morning, one week from Samhain, and the warnings they’d received in two cities tonight was stress Jono could’ve done without. When it looked like Patrick would keep drinking until he found the bottom of the whiskey bottle, Jono removed it from his hands with a firm tug.
“Jono—” Patrick snapped.
“No.” Jono turned him around, pushing him back against the counter. “I’m not letting you grieve like this. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Patrick drew in a sharp breath before surging forward, kissing Jono so hard their teeth knocked together. Jono lifted a hand, tangling his fingers in Patrick’s hair to tilt his head back, holding on while they kissed with a ferocity that went straight to his cock.
Desire was salt-tinged between them, whiskey on his tongue, Patrick’s bitter scent in his nose. Jono breathed it all in, licking deep into Patrick’s mouth, swallowing the strangled gasp that tried to escape. He hauled Patrick up into his arms, hands curved over his arse. Patrick wrapped his legs around Jono’s waist, still kissing him.
“I want you to fuck me,” Patrick got out between biting kisses that tasted like whiskey.
Jono wasn’t about to argue because he’d rather Patrick drown in him than a bottle. He carried Patrick out of the kitchen and to their bedroom, dropping him on the bed before turning on the lamp rather than the overhead lights.
Patrick was already divesting himself of his weapons, shoes, and clothes, eyes on Jono. He stripped out of his own clothes, tossing them about the bedroom floor before crawling onto the bed, chasing after Patrick’s mouth. He reached for Jono, fingers frantic in their touch, clawing at his skin.
“Fuck me,” Patrick said, voice tinged with a desperation Jono hated to hear.
His shields were down, scent a mess of emotion Jono didn’t have the time to pick apart, not with the way Patrick moved beneath him. He dipped his head low to lick across the scars on Patrick’s chest, teeth scraping over unmarked skin and scar tissue alike. He slid a hand beneath the pillow, searching for the bottle of lube until he found it, pulling it free.
“Whatever you want.”
Jono would never deny Patrick anything, especially not tonight. So he kissed his way down Patrick’s chest until he reached his cock, taking the half-hard length down to the root. Patrick arched against him, and Jono pinned him down, swallowing hard around his cock. Jono only pulled off when he needed to breathe, sucking at the crown and tonguing the slit as he slicked up his fingers.
When Jono swallowed Patrick back down, he pushed one slick finger into his hole, feeling Patrick’s groan as much as hearing it. Fingers grabbed his hair and pulled, but Jono ignored the sting in his scalp as he worked Patrick open until he could slip another finger inside. The weight of the cock on his tongue couldn’t distract him from seeking out Patrick’s prostate, pressing his fingers against it hard enough to make Patrick cry out.
“Fuck, Jono,” Patrick ground out. “Stop teasing and just fuck me.”
The needy edge to his tone was matched by the hard length in Jono’s mouth and the way Patrick lifted a leg over Jono’s shoulder to dig his heel into his back. The pressure might have bruised anyone else, but Jono pushed back against it as he pulled his mouth off Patrick’s cock. He kept his fingers where they were, still pushing in deep, watching as Patrick tossed his head back, sweat sliding down the line of his throat. He had one hand pressed flat against the headboard, using it as leverage to push back against Jono’s touch.
The salt didn’t diminish in the air, lingering on Patrick’s skin, dampening his lashes. Jono leaned over to kiss him, tasting it on his lips, the bitter flavor washing through Jono’s mouth.
The grief in their bed was born of guilt and war, and Jono did his best to kiss it away, to fuck it out of Patrick when he pushed his cock in sooner than he’d have liked but giving in to Patrick’s want. The hiss of discomfort that escaped Patrick’s mouth was muffled against Jono’s throat where he hid his face. His hands dug into Jono’s shoulders, legs locked around his waist, touch desperate in a way Jono couldn’t soothe.
He still tried.
Jono withdrew from that tight heat partway before pushing back in again, hips flexing with a strength he didn’t try to temper. Patrick bit his whimper into Jono’s skin, and Jono did it again, reminding him they were both alive, both still there.
“I’m right here,” Jono grunted, holding Patrick down as he fucked him with a sureness that left him keening.
Patrick never looked him in the eye, taking what Jono gave him while subsumed in grief and regret, and all Jono could do was love him.
When Patrick came, it was with a full-body shudder, teeth sunk into Jono’s shoulder to stifle his cry, one hand wrapped around his own cock. Jono didn’t stop until he came as well, spilling into Patrick with a groan. He caught Patrick’s mouth in a deep kiss, leaving a wordless apology for the bruises he’d pressed into freckled skin on trembling lips.
