Madoc’s lips were cool under Took’s mouth, his breath still flavored with smoke where the ruin of the Aron house lingered in his mouth. Took could be gentle and graze his fingers along the sharp bones of his jaw, the slow growth of stubble just long enough to prickle against his fingertips, or he could push Madoc back against the wall hard enough to rattle the bookcase next to them and not worry that he’d kill him.
He chose both and buried his hands in Madoc’s hair, the clipped nap of it like velvet under his touch as they stumbled into the wall. He worked his knee between Madoc’s legs, the heavy jut of a cock hard against his thigh, and his tongue between the sharp, ivory sickles of Madoc’s extended fangs. He didn’t even feel the sharp edges cut his lips until a second later, when the familiar taste of his own black blood filled his mouth.
Fangs had taken him a while to get used to, more or less.
He hesitated for a second, his bloody tongue curled behind his own teeth, as he foggily tried to work out what the etiquette was. The mechanics of sex between humans and vampires was something he’d spent, maybe, a little more time on that he could really explain away as just work. What exactly two vampires did today had never seemed relevant, personally or professionally.
Did their blood taste good….
Madoc growled into his mouth. The sound vibrated through the bones of Took’s skull and didn’t read as human at all. A misfire of whatever atavistic impulse should have made Took pull back but instead shivered hot, electric delight down his spine and into his balls. Madoc gripped the back of Took’s neck, fingers cupped around the curve of his skull, and chased the taste of Took between his lips and over his tongue.
That answered that question. Maybe he should write a paper on it for the Academy—the normal courting behavior of the undead? That serial killer in Montana who’d turned out to be Anakim, some of his patterns could have—
Madoc bit Took’s lip neatly, a sharp nip with blunt teeth that folded the soft flesh. The little jolt of pain focused Took’s mind back in the ache of the present. “No.” He licked the last drops of blood from the razor-thin cuts on Took’s lips and pulled back slightly. “No thoughts. No plans. Just be here.”
Took licked his lips and wondered if it tasted the same—like bitter honey—to Madoc. Or what Madoc’s blood would feel like on his tongue.
“Make me.”
Heat flashed through Madoc’s dark eyes. It was as much anger as lust, but Took didn’t care. He wanted to feel safe. Nothing could erase the scars that kept him up during the day and restless and unmoored at night because of his fear of what was in the dark. But maybe Madoc could convince him, for a few hours, that there was no monster in the dark inside Took. Or at least if there was, that it wasn’t one Madoc had to be afraid of.
Even if Madoc is the monster?
Took wasn’t sure if that was a jab at his frustration or his lust. He didn’t have time to decide. A foot hooked around his ankle and tugged and both of them toppled to the floor in a tangle of heat, denim, and tangled limbs. The question was lost in a blur of lust and rough, careless kisses that slanted across mouths and down to the jaw. Half foreplay and half tussle, one minute a kiss pressed wet and openmouthed against Took’s collarbone made him groan, and the next he rolled his hip to flip Madoc under him.
It didn’t work, but then it never did. He’d sparred with Madoc to get better, not to win, and that had been without the distraction of sharp-fanged kisses and hands eager for his ass and his thighs.
Not as much of a distraction anyhow.
Either way, it always ended the same—with Took pinned to the ground, although Madoc usually went with his forearm across Took’s throat instead of pinning his wrists to the floor.
“If you paid attention to right now and not the inside of your head,” Madoc said as he straddled Took’s hips, “maybe you wouldn’t end up here.”
Took grinned at him. “Maybe I wanted to.”
Madoc leaned down and teased a featherlight kiss over Took’s mouth. “You could have been here a lot sooner.”
It was nearly dawn, but the dusky grays were close enough to press in against the windows. Took could feel the pressure of everything he should have considered before he kissed Madoc push in against his ears.
“Who isn’t here now?” he asked.
Madoc rewarded him for that with a kiss that pressed Took’s head back against the floor. He slid his tongue neatly between Took’s extended fangs. The twinge of that in his jaw felt different with Madoc’s weight on him, not the usual dry socket burn but an almost pleasant ache that throbbed to the need in his balls.
“I want you to fuck me in your bed,” Madoc rasped as he finally raised his head. He tightened his grip on Took’s wrists, and the pressure of his fingers was enough to make the bones ache as Took reflexively tried to move. The image in his head—the long, hard sprawl of Madoc’s body, the clench of his shoulders, and the sheath of him around Took’s cock—made Took absently lick his fangs. The heady, sweet drip of ichor down his throat made him squirm with wanting more… although exactly what he wanted wasn’t clear. Madoc kissed him hungrily and shuddered as he caught the taste. “I want to bend you over that desk and fuck you.”
Took’s groan was a low, raw noise in his throat. His cock rubbed against the rough denim of his zipper as he helplessly lifted his hips off the ground.
“What do you want?” Madoc asked. He shifted his weight back so his ass pressed firmly against Took’s groin, the pressure of lean, firm muscle enough to drag another groan out of Took. “What do you want, Took?”
“You,” Took admitted. “Any way I can get you.”
Madoc flinched back for a second, a flutter of pain briefly, sharply, visible on his face. A cold little bit of Took filed that reaction away for later, for analysis. He hated that part sometimes, useful as it could be, but he lost track of the thought as Madoc let go of his arms and sat back.
“Then you get to fuck me.” He dragged the borrowed T-shirt up over his head and tossed it away. His mouth curled in a sly, almost shy, smile as he looked down at Took. “See if you can do a better job than you did trying to pin me.”
His stomach was still laced with faded pink scars from earlier, but the almost-evisceration had already smoothed down to not much more than a tint of red and a seed of scar tissue. The bullets had shredded the smoky ink that Madoc had worked into his ribs. The skeletal dragon was splintered, and the smoky lines scattered across white flesh. When he had time, Madoc would get it excised and re-inked. He always did, no matter how many times he denied he was a cardinal anymore. Still, for now, the ruined ink almost felt like Madoc was off-duty, a once-a-decade dose of freedom.
Took ran his fingers over the exposed skin. He traced the web of scar tissue over Madoc’s lean stomach and up across his ribs. Between the faintly rough stripes of pink, Madoc’s skin was warmer than Took expected, a little over room temperature, and smooth as silk.
