Though Peter’s length and breadth weren’t often found, the brief stab of pain—pain Martin wouldn’t burden Peter with—subsided after a moment of careful relaxation. For a long moment, they stared at each other.
Peter grinned. “This is even better than I dreamed.” Taking Martin’s mouth in a near-bruising kiss, he gave a tentative thrust.
Martin met each thrust, communicating what he wanted, letting Peter know he caused no discomfort. Oh, yes. Amazing. The feel of taut muscles flexing against Martin’s skin, the slick slide of Peter rocking into and out of him, setting a slow but sure rhythm.
Wrapping his legs around Peter’s hips, Martin angled upward. Oh, yes, oh by the fates, yes! Clinging to firm shoulders, he fell into the moment, the kiss, the connection. Never before had he experienced such closeness, like they were indeed two parts of one whole, moving in perfect harmony. His muscles trembled.
The rightness of the moment. Martin groaned when Peter lightly nipped his earlobe, gently scraped teeth over his shoulder, and sucked at his neck.
Chills raced over Martin’s skin.
Peter’s movements grew more frantic, and he wrapped his arms around Martin’s shoulders, pinning their bodies so closely together. Friction between their bellies stroked Martin’s needy cock, sweat making him slide.
So good. Yes. Right there. He wasn’t going to last. Putting all his focus into Peter’s enjoyment bought precious seconds.
“I’m going to… I’m gonna…” Peter’s pace faltered.
Martin leveraged arms and legs to keep the tempo going.
“Ahhhh…” Peter froze, muscles seizing beneath Martin’s hands.
Peter shuddered and groaned for what seemed a lifetime, finally collapsing onto Martin, only to raise himself on shaky arms. “Am I too heavy?”
Speech eluding him, Martin shook his head, reached between their bodies, and frantically stroked his cock. He had to come. Now. Why couldn’t he…
Peter shimmied down the bed, taking Martin into his mouth. Oh, damnation! Yes! Martin’s body defied his attempts to hold still, shoving into blissfully wet heat.
Digging his fingers into Peter’s hair, Martin thrust, again and again, pressure building to the tipping point. No, he didn’t want to let go, wanted to experience this moment forever, the sultry look in dark eyes, the sex-tousled hair, the perfection that was Peter.
But no, Martin couldn’t hold back. He threw his head back on a husky moan, giving a final thrust. Body tight as a bowstring, he stilled, hovering on the edge, caught in the fleeting moment between torture and ecstasy. Groans escaped him, low, throaty, needy.
Martin fell, pulsing down Peter’s throat.
Floating. Blissful. Martin vaguely registered Peter moving him, spooning against his side, raining kisses on his face and neck.
In a trance, Martin watched Peter extinguish the lantern, pull him close, and murmur, “Good night. Rest well.”
In that moment, Martin visualized the eternally wonderful place the Father once promised his faithful, yet could also clearly see the land of everlasting torment.
For Martin could never enjoy an eternity of wonder in Peter’s arms.
Fate wouldn’t let him.
Sometime later, Peter quietly said, “The other night, you saved me from those… those… things?”
“Things I will protect you from.” Though Martin had no idea how much the protection might cost him.
“Addie too?”
“Any within this tavern.”
“What are they? Those… things. They said they wanted to take my soul, use me for bait.”
“An evil most cannot see.” Martin kissed the top of Peter’s head, resting against his cheek. “You should know that I have quit the city guard. If you ever have need of me, find a priest of the Father.” Bait. Yes, they’d planned to use Peter against Martin. All the more reason to leave and never come back—if the sacrifice kept Peter safe. “I protect the city from those things, along with the Father’s priests.”
Peter stayed quiet a few moments, then nodded against Martin’s shoulder. “You’ll tell me if there’s more I need to know?”
“I will.” May the Father grant that Martin never have to.
