He tilted his head into Honovi’s hand, rubbing his chin against warm skin for a moment before pulling away. Sighing, Blaine straightened up and reached for Honovi’s belt. “I want to check your wound.”
Honovi curled his hands over the armrests, not protesting as Blaine deftly undid his belt buckle and the buttons of his pants, then his shirt, parting the fabric to reveal the ugly bruise that spanned his right side over his hip, all that remained of a gunshot wound.
The bullet had been a through and through, missing vital organs by a miracle. The way he’d been standing at the time he was shot had saved Blaine and saved himself from a worse fate. Blaine still felt as if he had Honovi’s blood beneath his fingernails, though. He still saw the way Honovi had collapsed to the floor of the embassy’s telegraph room in his dreams that were little more than screaming nightmares.
Karla, a former star priest and current member of the E’ridian diplomatic corps as well as a magician, had stabilized Honovi before he could be transferred to the hospital, where doctors had finished what healing magic had started. A different star priest assigned to the E’ridian embassy in Amari had stayed with Honovi after he left the hospital against the advice of the attending doctor. The star priest’s magic had been enough, along with the potions and pills, to accelerate the wound’s healing.
The mix of medicine and magic wasn’t something just everyone could afford. A magician skilled in healing was expensive to employ, either on a once-off basis or full-time. Only someone with money could hope to have a magician heal them, and Blaine had never been so grateful for Honovi’s rank than in that moment.
But he wasn’t completely healed because magic could only do so much. Between the medicine and the spells, the star priest hadn’t wanted to overload Honovi’s body, and so what remained were bruises. The strain of captaining the airship in a foreign country while recovering had left lines of pain at the corners of Honovi’s eyes and mouth. Blaine gently touched his fingertips to the deeply bruised skin, finding it warm, though he’d been assured it wasn’t from infection.
Honovi pressed his hand over Blaine’s, flattening both over the healing wound. He took a deep breath, and Blaine could feel the way his body moved with the motion. “I’m all right.”
“I’d rather you never take a bullet again,” Blaine said, rising up on his knees to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss against the edge of the bruise.
A warm hand settled against the nape of his neck, playing with the short braid there. Honovi had done up the plait, and the hairstyle was at once familiar and not after wearing his hair in a queue for so long.
“I can’t promise you that, and I won’t lie to you.”
Blaine dragged his lips over Honovi’s middle, nipping softly at the hard muscle there. “I know.”
He’d kept secrets of his past during their friendship and later, during their marriage. Honovi had never held any of it against him when Lore had come calling to Glencoe, looking for Caris at the behest of the North Star and finding Blaine instead. Honovi had only ever loved him, and Blaine knew any road that didn’t have Honovi by his side or at the end wasn’t one he ever wanted to walk down.
Honovi’s grip tightened imperceptibly over the back of Blaine’s neck as Blaine kissed down his lower abdomen, following the narrow trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath his underwear. Blaine glanced at Honovi, seeing him staring back with a heat to his gaze that made Blaine go warm with want.
They’d never had the luxury of sharing a bed in Amari. The nights he’d met with Honovi in the E’ridian embassy had been quick moments of heated kisses and desperate touches on the floor, against the wall, over a table—anywhere they could before Blaine had to walk away. They hadn’t done anything in the captain’s bunk on the airship other than sleep. Blaine hadn’t wanted to risk aggravating Honovi’s wound, and the swaying of an airship in flight wasn’t a comfortable thing to brace against when one was hurt.
“Let me make you feel good,” Blaine murmured.
Honovi tangled his fingers through the base of his braid and pulled his head back. “You always do.”
Blaine missed the feel of the marriage torc around his throat, but the weight of Honovi’s cock on his tongue more than made up for it once he got his mouth on it. He breathed in the musky scent of his husband as he bobbed his head in a slow glide. The feel of Honovi’s cock growing hard made him shiver, his own desire pooling in his gut. His own cock grew hard, and he reached down to press the heel of his palm against the growing bulge, hips hitching up into the pressure.
Honovi used the grip on his hair to guide Blaine into a rhythm they both enjoyed, allowing Blaine to catch his breath before sliding ever deeper into his throat. When Blaine’s nose finally pressed against his husband’s body, he swallowed around the cock in his throat, air locked in his lungs. Honovi’s grip tightened on his braid, holding him there, as if he’d ever want to be anywhere else.
“I’ve missed your mouth on me,” Honovi said, voice low, filled with a pleasure Blaine knew he was responsible for.
Pulling off just far enough so he could breathe, Blaine looked up through his lashes at his husband before swallowing Honovi back down again. He kept at it until his jaw ached, until Honovi’s hips lifted off the cushion, until there was nothing left to do but eagerly swallow his husband’s release. Honovi came with a groan, spilling down Blaine’s throat, and his own cock throbbed in his trousers.
Honovi pulled him off with a guiding hand, and Blaine let his cock slip from his lips with an obscene pop that wouldn’t be out of place in a brothel. He followed the grip on his hair, making a protesting noise when Honovi tried to pull Blaine onto his lap.
“Your wound—” he protested.
“Will be fine. Comehere,” Honovi growled.
Blaine went, incapable of defying Honovi when he spoke like that, hands firmly guiding him. Blaine settled on his lap, and Honovi made quick work of his belt and trousers, hands sliding beneath his underwear to take him in hand. Blaine swore and dug his knees into the cushion on either side of Honovi’s thighs, bracing himself against the back of the armchair.
“Like this,” Honovi said, pressing biting kisses to Blaine’s bare throat. “I want you to come like this.”
He didn’t try to hold back, taken well in hand and unable to do anything but what Honovi asked. Blaine came with a cry that echoed in the bedroom, back bowed, making a mess of both their clothes. Honovi steadied him with one hand, still sucking bruises in the place where his marriage torc would be as Blaine tried to catch his breath.
“After you finish walking this road the Dusk Star sent you down, when you come home, I’ll marry you all over again,” Honovi said, words pressed against the pulse of Blaine’s throat.
Blaine closed his eyes and dropped his hands to Honovi’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “I love you.”
“And I you.”
Blaine slipped off the armchair and stood, holding up his trousers with one hand, wondering if he could beg a servant to ransack Dureau’s closet for some spare clothes. “We should clean up. Lore said we could use her family’s telegraph machine to contact theComhairle nan Cinnidhean. They need to know where we are since we’re not arriving when Karla told them we would.”
