Page 47 of Crown of Ash

Andre crossed the kitchen slowly, each step echoing softly against the tiled floor. It was the same kitchen he'd crossed in a rush once, days ago, before either of them had known how close they'd come to running out of time to say everything they never said. The memory hung in the air between them, a ghost of their past selves.

"That scares you more than Drakov ever did," Andre said. His voice was soft, not a question but a statement of understanding.

"Yes." Marcus let himself say it plainly, no hesitation. His voice was raw and honest, stripped of all pretense. "I know how to survive a threat. I've had years of practice. I don't actually know how to do this part. The part where nothing's coming for us and I just get to have you again."

"Well." Andre's hands found his waist, steady and unhurried, the opposite of every touch that had come before it. His fingers traced circles on Marcus's skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, grounding him in the moment. "I hear it's mostly the same as the other part. Fewer guns."

Marcus laughed then, surprised into it by Andre's dry humor. The sound came out rougher than he meant it to, a raw echo in the quiet kitchen. "Fewer guns," he agreed, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm not sure I can commut to that. I'm not giving up the work. But… there's a place in it for you, if… if that's something you could want."

"Good." Andre's forehead came to rest against his, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. His voice was a soft whisper, a promise wrapped in two simple words. "Because I meant what I said in that house. Nowhere else to be tomorrow. Just you. However long you'll have me."

"Six years was too long to lose you," Marcus said, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers traced the line of Andre's jaw, his touch gentle and reverent. "I'm not planning on finding out what more feels like."

He kissed him then, slow and unhurried, their bodies melting together in the dim light of the kitchen. Morning was already threatening gray at the edge of the window, but neither of them were in any hurry to notice it. For once, time was on their side.

Andre walked him backward through the apartment, their lips locked in a kiss that was unhurried, languid. Each step was measured, deliberate, a dance that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with the newfound luxury of time. The apartment was quiet around them, the only sounds their soft breaths and the occasional creak of the wooden floor under their weight.

Marcus found himself slipping into old habits despite the tranquility. His mind began calculating distances - the length to the bedroom door, the sightlines from each window. The ingrained instincts of survival hadn't yet received the memo that they'd been granted a reprieve.

"Stop." Andre's voice was a gentle command, pulling Marcus back from his thoughts. He retreated just far enough to look into Marcus's eyes, his gaze as perceptive as ever. "Wherever you just went, come back."

"Sorry. I'm here." Marcus's voice was a whisper, a promise.

Andre studied him for a moment, his thumb tracing the line of Marcus's jaw in a soothing rhythm. "You're doing inventory. I can see it happening behind your eyes." His voice held no accusation, only understanding. "There's nothing to count, Marcus. Nobody's coming. It's just us and about seven hours before either of us has to be anywhere."

"I know that." Marcus's words were firm, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty.

"Knowing it and believing it aren't the same thing." Andre's voice was soft as he leaned in to kiss Marcus again. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate. It was a lesson in patience and trust, teaching Marcus's body a new rhythm one kiss at a time. "So let me help you believe it."

And he did. Andre's words echoed in his mind as he allowed himself to be led through the apartment, each step taking him further away from his old habits and closer to a new reality as they shed their cloths. A reality where there was no need for calculations, no looming threats. Just them, in their quiet apartment, with nothing but time on their hands. The work would continue, it had to because the need hadn't gone away nor was the world suddanly free of monsters. But, the guillitine of Drakov was gone, and Marcus hadn't understood how that threat still out in the world had been a silent blade at his throat all this time.

The moment Marcus’s back hit the mattress, Andre’s mouth was on him like a starving man. His lips traced the curve of Marcus’s throat, sucking, biting, leaving behind a trail of reddened skin that throbbed with the heat of his attention. Marcus gasped, his hands clawing at the sheets as Andre’s tongue flicked over his pulse point, teasing every nerve until Marcus’s cock strained against the fabric of his boxers, leaking pre-cum like a faucet.

“Fuck,” Marcus hissed, his hips jerking up as Andre’s teeth scraped over his collarbone. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

Andre grinned against his skin, the fucker, his hands sliding down Marcus’s sides to grip his hips. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the kind of sound that made Marcus’s stomach twist with want. “Not until I’ve had my fill of you.”

Marcus groaned, his head falling back against the pillows as Andre’s mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing the lines of Marcus’s chest, flicking over his nipples until they were hard and aching. Andre sucked one into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, and Marcus’s back arched off the bed, a strangled cry escaping his lips.

“Andre-” Marcus’s voice cracked, his fingers tangling in Andre’s dark curls, tugging hard. “Fuck, just… just get your mouth on me already.”

Andre chuckled, the bastard, but he didn’t waste any more time. His hands slid down Marcus’s thighs, spreading them wide as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Marcus’s boxers and pulled them down in one swift motion. Marcus’s cock sprang free, thick and throbbing, precum dripping down the length of it. Andre’s eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he leaned in, his breath hot against Marcus’s skin.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” Andre murmured, his hands gripping Marcus’s hips as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the base of his cock. Marcus shuddered, his fingers tightening in Andre’s hair as Andre’s tongue slid up the length of him, lapping up the precum like he was starving for it. “Taste so fucking good, Marcus.”

Marcus groaned, his hips jerking up as Andre’s mouth finally closed around the head of his cock, sucking gently. Andre’s tongue swirled around the tip, teasing, tormenting, and Marcus’s thighs trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Andre’s mouth sank lower, taking more of him in, his throat working around Marcus’s cock until Marcus could feel the heat of it all the way down to his fucking toes.

“Andre,” Marcus gasped, his fingers tightening in Andre’s hair as he thrust up into the wet heat of his mouth. “Fuck, Andre, I’m gonna-”

Andre pulled off with a lewd pop, his lips slick with spit and precum as he looked up at Marcus, his eyes dark with desire. “Not yet,” he said, his voice rough.

Marcus groaned, his head falling back against the pillows as Andre’s hands slid under his thighs, lifting his hips off the bed. Andre’s mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin of Marcus’s inner thighs, biting, sucking, leaving behind a trail of marks that would bruise later. Marcus whimpered, his cock throbbing with need as Andre’s tongue dipped lower, teasing the crease of his ass.

“Andre-” Marcus’s voice broke, his thighs trembling as Andre’s tongue pressed against his hole, licking, teasing, driving him out of his goddamn mind. “Fuck, Andre, please-”

Andre didn’t respond, too focused on eating Marcus out like he was a goddamn feast. His tongue pressed inside, fucking Marcus’s hole with slow, deliberate strokes, his hands gripping Marcus’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. Marcus gasped, his back arching off the bed as Andre’s tongue fucked him open, each stroke driving him closer to the edge of insanity.

“Andre-” Marcus’s voice was a ragged moan, his fingers clawing at the sheets as Andre’s tongue pressed deeper, fucking him so good Marcus could barely think. “Fuck, Andre, I’m gonna… gonna…”