Draylon closed the door. “I don’t want a performance. I don’t care what you were trained to do as a consort. With me, I want you to be genuine. If you like something, say so. If you don’t like something, say so. This is not about me. This is about us. You being my consort doesn’t allow me to feed my own needs at the cost of yours.”
Yarif silenced Draylon with a kiss, the words sinking into his mind, driving away years of lessons on what a consort should be. When alone, instead of king and consort, they were simply Dray and Yarif.
Never breaking the kiss, Draylon walked Yarif backward toward the bed, an elaborate affair curtained to keep in warmth. Yarif wondered for a moment if his own bed might be better, for he felt comfortable there, before realizing he only felt comfortable there because he had Draylon wrapped around him.
His own room also reminded him of unpleasant dreams. They’d made no memories in this room. Time to start now.
Draylon lifted the hem of Yarif’s tunic. Yarif stopped him with a hand to the wrist. “Please don’t. I don’t want you to look at what she did to me.”
In answer, Draylon removed his own shirt, trousers, and small clothes, standing naked and erect before Yarif. He turned slowly, letting Yarif see every scar: a burn from battle with Verlan, the scar on his face, another from a slash that barely missed vital organs. “What do you see when you look at me?” Draylon asked.
Yarif extended his hand, brushing along a wicked scar. “You’re beautiful.”
“And my scars?”
“Are a part of you.”
Draylon nodded. “I wear my life upon my skin, as do you. I don’t see any ugliness, only the strong will to survive. I’ll admit to being angry when I see the marks, but not at you. Never at you.” He took Yarif’s mouth in a sweet kiss. “If you don’t want me to see, I won’t ask, but believe me when I tell you that nothing could make you less beautiful, less perfect. Without me, you’d never have been forced to endure what you have. You’re strong. You’re a survivor.”
After a moment, Yarif stepped back, biting his lower lip as he removed his tunic.
Draylon ran his fingers over the unmarred skin of Yarif’s chest. “Like I said. Beautiful. Are you in pain?”
“No. I’m mostly healed. But it’s not pretty. Will never be pretty.”
“It is, and it will. It’s a part of you.”
Draylon’s erection offered assurances that, no, he wasn’t bothered. Letting go of fear and humiliation allowed Yarif to focus on the man in his arms, who carefully avoided touching the whip marks.
“You can touch,” Yarif murmured. “It doesn’t hurt unless you press.”
Except for the phantom pains that occasionally struck with no warning.
Draylon ran gentle fingers along Yarif’s healing skin, down to his buttocks and back again, moaning into a kiss. Between their bodies, Yarif’s cock began to stiffen again. Draylon had no idea how images of him, memories, kept Yarif sane during captivity.
Yarif turned and climbed onto the high bed, allowing Draylon a brief glimpse of his ruined back. Draylon embraced him from behind, nuzzling Yarif’s earlobe. They said nothing, Yarif stilling while Draylon explored with hands, lips, and tongue.
Unable to stay still, Yarif turned, wrapping his legs around Draylon’s hips. How easy to sink back into lessons he’d been taught, go through the motions. But Draylon didn’t want that. He said he wanted Yarif present, participating, and sharing pleasure.
Yarif swayed backward, pulling Draylon onto the bed. He hissed as Draylon’s weight pushed him down onto the mattress.
Draylon shot upright. “I’m so sorry. Here, let me lie down.” He stretched out on the bed, wincing. “No, I don’t think that will work either.”
Both their erections had softened. Yarif murmured. “Aren’t we a pair?”
Draylon met and held Yarif’s gaze. “A determined pair. Try again?”
Yarif chuckled, the discomfort in his back easing. “Try to stop me.”
After some maneuvering, Yarif lay on his side with his head on a pillow, Draylon staring down. He settled in front of Yarif, taking both their cocks in one large hand, pumping them together.
How good. How very good to simply enjoy instead of calculating every move to bring maximum pleasure.
“That’s it,” Draylon murmured. “Relax. Do you feel how much I want you? I’ve always wanted you. It just took me a while to realize.” He grew silent except for moans, exploring the recesses of Yarif’s mouth with his tongue.
Yarif pulled back. “Don’t you want to…”
“Shhh.” Draylon kissed the tip of Yarif’s nose. “Neither one of our backs is up to anything strenuous.”
