He gets his hands between them so he can work Ivah’s pants open and off, Ivah tangling their arms together to help them both. The moment they’re both bare they’re pressing together again, Ivah’s arms around Bellamy’s back, hands on the globes of Bellamy’s ass. He squeezes once, then twice, then he lifts Bellamy bodily off the ground and Bellamy’s legs instinctively wrap around Ivah’s waist.
“Oh gods,” Bellamy pants, as he kisses over Ivah’s jaw and neck, rubbing his swollen cock over Ivah’s abs. He wants to rub himself all over Ivah until he comes and never stop.
Two hands are prying his cheeks apart, and a large finger brushes over his hole, dry and gentle. Bellamy shivers, trying his best to push back on to that finger, wanting it inside, wanting to be filled up.
“Wait here,” Ivah tells him, pressing a kiss to his clavicle, and Bellamy whines low in his throat.
Ivah sits him back on the ground long enough to grab a bottle from the bedside table, then he’s back in Bellamy’s space, hoisting him back up against him, and Bellamy will never get tired of this. He’s never been handled like this before, just so easily lifted and placed, and he loves it. He can’t believe he’s never done this before. He’s so wet already.
With the oil now in hand, Ivah pours a healthy pool into his palm and over three of his fingers. It falls to the ground when he’s done with it. Then those slicked up fingers are circling Bellamy’s rim withmore intent, pressing lightly against his hole like Ivah is asking permission to come in.
Bellamy undulates his hips, shifting down to get them where he wants them, but Ivah seems intent, for the moment, to go at his own pace. He pops one fingertip inside, pressing with aching slowness until he’s up to the second knuckle. The process is repeated with the second finger, slow and steady, driving Bellamy made with the tease of it all. He doesn’t know how Ivah can stand it. Bellamy is out of his mind with want, rocking himself up and down, trying to chase the feeling of Ivah’s cut abs against his straining, throbbing cock, and the fingers easing him open.
The first press over the bundle of nerves inside of him has him crying out, arms tightening around Ivah’s shoulders to hold himself up. Not that he has to worry about going anywhere, secure in Ivah’s arms, his hold steady and powerful and Bellamy weightless in his embrace. Ivah holds him like he’s nothing, like he could do this all day, and the thought causes a bolt of tingles to sizzle up and down his spine.
There’s another press over that spot, Ivah starting to rub with more purpose now. It drags a long, drawn out whimper from the back of Bellamy’s throat and he shudders. He thinks he could come just like this, with Ivah’s fingers thrusting in and out of him, his cock rubbing against Ivah’s stomach, but he doesn’t want that. He wants Ivah’s cock inside him, filling him up, stretching him open. He wants him so much it’s all he can think.
“Ivah, please,” he breathes, kissing the corner of Ivah’s mouth, his chin, the mole behind his ear. “Please fuck me.”
Ivah pulls his fingers free and lifts him up just enough to angle his cock and slip it in.
He kisses Bellamy roughly as he lets gravity slide Bellamy down the long, thick length of him, stretching him so wide it almost hurts. He sucks Bellamy’s lower lips into his mouth, curling his tongue at the same time Bellamy’s toes curl, every string in his body going taut.
It’s so good. The feeling of Ivah inside of him, so hot and slick and fucking into his sensitive, clenching ass. They both moan in unison, Bellamy using whatever leverage is available to him to milk Ivah’s cock as Ivah meets him thrust for thrust, their breathing growing heavier around them.
“Look at you. You’re so gorgeous,” Ivah says against his wet, kiss-swollen mouth. His hips continue to piston upward, slamming Bellamy down on his cock, one of his hands on Bellamy’s chest, pinching at his nipples.
Bellamy’s own hands are clawing at Ivah’s back, his thighs beginning to tremble as he rides Ivah the best he can from this position. It’s becoming more difficult to keep his legs wrapped around Ivah, so he lets them go, knowing Ivah can hold him up, that he won’t let Bellamy fall. This allows Ivah to then slip his arms beneath Bellamy’s thighs, the door at Bellamy’s back, and fuck him with enough strength that Bellamy is hanging off the end of his cock and still speared on it every time Ivah presses back in.
He’s so close. His fingernails are digging crescents into Ivah’s shoulders, while he bites his lip and tries not to make so much noise that someone might hear them. It’s impossible to stay quiet though, with the way Ivah is pressing into him. He’s gasping into the air between them, desperate for breath and unable to find it, and Ivahseems to sense how close he is. He quickens his thrusts, Bellamy’s dripping dick pressing between them.
Bellamy cries out as he feels Ivah’s thick cock swell even further, drilling into him, and he finally spills onto Ivah’s stomach. He manages to keep holding on, even as his orgasm leaves him feeling boneless and useless, until he feels Ivah’s hips stutter as he comes, his grip on Bellamy’s thighs so hard it will probably leave bruises.
Ivah is covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing heavily as he lowers Bellamy back onto the floor, but he keeps a hand around his waist to steady him all the same. Bellamy lets himself be guided to the bed, where he curls up on his side and tries to remember his own name. Ivah falls onto the bed beside him, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in close.
Chapter 9
Bellamy wakes to sunlight streaming through tall windows and the unfamiliar sensation of being completely warm. For a moment, he lies still, disoriented by sleep and the soft silk sheets that are nothing like the rough linen of his own bed. Then awareness returns in a rush—where he is, what he's done, whose arm is wrapped around his waist like a possessive claim.
Ivah.
The name settles in his chest like a prayer and a curse all at once. Bellamy turns carefully, drinking in the sight of the Barbarian King asleep beside him. In the soft morning light, with his dark hair falling across his forehead and his breathing deep and even, Ivah looks almost peaceful. The harsh lines of command and violence are smoothed away, leaving behind something that seems impossible for someone with so much blood on his hands.
Bellamy lets his hand drift across the expanse of Ivah's bare back, fingers tracing the scars and muscle with reverent touch. He tries to tell himself this is a horrible mistake. That he's been seduced, manipulated, brainwashed by a master strategist who sees him as nothing more than a political asset and source of military intelligence.
But even as the thoughts form, he doesn't believe them. The way Ivah had touched him last night—gentle and desperate and utterly without artifice—hadn't felt like manipulation. It had felt like worship.
"What are you thinking about so loudly?" Ivah murmurs without opening his eyes, his voice rough with sleep and faintly amused.
Heat crawls up Bellamy's neck at being caught. "I... I shouldn't trust you."
"You're absolutely right," Ivah agrees, opening one dark eye to look at him. "You shouldn't."
Before Bellamy can process that response, strong hands are pressing him back into the silk sheets, and Ivah's mouth is on his, hot and demanding and utterly thorough. The kiss steals every rational thought from his head, reducing him to sensation and need and the overwhelming rightness of Ivah's weight above him.
When they finally break apart, both breathing hard, Ivah looks down at him with something like wonder. Bellamy's blonde hair is splayed across the dark pillow, his green eyes bright and dazed, his lips swollen from kissing.
"You need to go," Ivah says quietly, though his voice holds regret.
