Chapter Fourteen
Zyr
Sacred dark.
The unseelie were made for it. Made of it. But you could lose track of anything. Zyr had, and Robin returned it like a gift.
Mark me here. Touch me like this. Kneel.
One knelt for gods and lords. Zyr knelt for Robin.
Kept his hands on his own thighs, head tilted up, eyes closed. Hard wood under his knees. The scents of sex and skin and old books. The weight of Robin’s hand, constant in the dark. Keeping him here.
The world gone small and close and impossibly vast all at once. Only Robin. But Robin was the universe.
His tail, no longer ill-placed for contact, flicked restlessly, brushed the fabric of Robin’s jeans and retreated, hovering just beyond touch.
“I want to–need to–hold onto you,” he managed to say. Ragged, but hopefully clear. “May I?”
Robin answered with the weight of his hand on Zyr’s horn, pulling him down, until his cheek was pressed to warm denim. A nearness that both eased and fed the clawing, unfamiliar want.
“That’s better,” Robin murmured, voice low and hand steady. The weight of his other hand, on Zyr’s neck, then in his hair. “Wrap your tail around my ankle, beithir, unless you need to use it for my knee.”
“Yes, Raven-Robin,” Zyr’s assent was barely a breath, as he nuzzled into the heat of the human’s thigh.
The world was Robin’s voice and Robin’s scent and Robin’s touch. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed.
He traced the line of Robin’s leg with his tail, barb sheathed, until he felt his ankle. Held there, a shudder running through him as he did so.
“Good, beithir. Now, put the hand furthest from your tail on the outside of my thigh.” A gentle rake of nails punctuated his words.
“Arm on the outside of my leg. If you need to grab my arm or tap, you use that hand. Your other arm, you’re going to wrap around my leg and hold on.
When I tell you to touch yourself, you’ll use that hand. If you have questions, ask now.”
He did have questions.
What is this feeling?
Do you know what you’ve given me?
And: Please? And: Please? And: Raven-Robin, Please?
Questions that flickered in and out of his awareness. There and gone when he tried to grasp them. Easier to listen, move his hands, thumb brushing over the surface of the ring still quieting his sense of Robin’s soul.
What would this feel like, with Robin’s emotions pouring through him? Another question to let drift away. Focus, instead on Robin. Curling a hand around his shin. Leaning in with a shiver.
“There we are.” Robin’s words and touch were the only surety in the dark. “Well done, Zyr.”
Pleased words, and a catch in Robin’s breathing as he caught Zyr’s other horn, guiding his head down with firm pressure. Zyr’s grip tightened, until the tips of his claws caught on denim.
“I can glamour them.”
“No. The only thing you glamour is your teeth. I want you as you are.”
And Robin meant, as a fae, a beithir, horns and claws and scales. Zyr knew that.
But he heard, on your knees, wrapped in darkness and my voice, utterly lost and completely found. Heard it and trembled, whined, a fresh thrum of electricity running over his skin and through his veins.
Head bowed, claws careful against Robin’s jeans, teeth glamoured flat.
“Yes, Raven-Robin.” Instinctively, he tried to tip his head up, to show Robin he’d done as he’d been told. But Robin’s hands remained on his horns, keeping him where he was. Reminding him.
“You’re being allowed to suck my cock. I’m going to hold your horns and direct things to my liking, because you’ve asked, and you did it so well.
So well, that you’re going to come with your mouth wrapped around my cock.
I want to hear you moan around me.” Even roughened by want, Robin’s voice held that same crisp precision.
“Show me what you’ll do if you need to slow down, if you need us to stop entirely, and if you stop being here with me, in that order. Your mouth will be busy.”
Strange, how it felt to give way willingly. To obey from desire, instead of from force. To know that what Robin asked of him now wasn’t caprice but care.
Obediently, he moved through the signs Robin required him to remember, ending with his hand tightening around Robin’s arm as he said, “For wandering. But I will not wander.”
“Wandering isn’t the same as stop.” Robin leaned in as he spoke, until Zyr felt the weight of him against his horns.
“If you need to use one of those, and you do, I’ll be just as pleased as I would be if you finish, swallowing around me.
I’m trusting you. All of this is about trust. Given and taken. ”
There could be no lies in this space. If there were, the space stopped existing. The darkness burned away.
“The difficulty isn’t in believing you,” Zyr answered. Trying to think. To be clear. Difficult, in the dark, with Robin surrounding him and his skin burning. “It’s me. I’m not in the habit of allowing myself to stop or require help. But I will tell you, Raven-Robin. I won’t betray your trust.”
The world began to intrude, as he spoke. The wood once more hard beneath his knees, denim rough under hands and clinging tail. Thought tugging at him. Trying to pull him away.
“Thank you,” Robin said. And he, too, pulled. Pulled harder. Dragged Zyr in, until his cheek was pressed to the warmth of Robin’s now bared thigh. “Luckily for you, you aren’t making the rules. Tell me who’s in control right now. I want to hear you say it.”
Close. Warm. If he turned his head, he would taste the inside of Robin’s thigh. But he wouldn’t.
Because he wasn’t in control.
“You are, Raven-Robin. You’re in control. I submit to you.” That was what Robin called it. Submission. “For your pleasure. And mine.”
He didn’t worry over whether he’d said too much or not enough. That was for Robin to decide.
“That’s right. I’m in control. You asked, and I can say yes or no. I like denying as much as I do obliging. But you marked up my arm like I told you to. You did so well for me, beithir.”
Beithir and Robin said it like he understood what that meant. What he controlled. A beithir. An unseelie dragon. A storm. Wrapped his hands around all that Zyr was and used it as a lead. Tugged him where he wished.
Darkness. Sex. Obsession.
Zyr had forgotten what formed him.
He remembered now.
Remember as Robin drew it out of him, surrounded him in it, fed the truest parts of him. Controlled them.
Beithir.
Head tugged upright, and Zyr heard himself make one of those pleading noises when his cheek no longer pressed to Robin’s bare thigh. He needed it. The contact. The heat of him.
Robin understood. Allowed him the whisper of soft skin and the evidence of his pleasure, wet against Zyr’s lips. There to taste, but not tasted, not licked away by a hungry tongue.
Not yet.
“You asked to taste me. For more. I know it’s difficult for you to ask for things. But you do it so well with me. Use your tongue, Zyr. Storm. Tempest. Taste what you can. You don’t need to ask for more again. You’ll get it.”
Then, and only then, did Zyr part his lips, eager tongue circling the head of Robin’s cock and lapping at the tip, tasting bitterness and salt and most of all Robin. Robin, who was pleased by him. By the way he’d asked.
“Shit,” the human hissed out, grip solid on Zyr’s horns. An unspoken order. Stay.
Stay, and part his lips for Robin’s cock, close his mouth around warm, silken skin. Lap and suck at what he was given, trembling with the effort of holding still, not leaning in or shredding Robin’s jeans to get at skin.
“See? You’re getting more. Lips on my skin. Tasting me. Not undressed but that doesn’t mean you can’t get what you need. Not if you ask the way you did, had me nearly shaking apart in my jeans. I’m glad I didn’t. Means I can come in that–fuck–perfect mouth of yours.”
He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t even meet Robin’s eyes, not with his own obediently closed. He whined instead, hoping that might carry meaning. Tell Robin how he needed this.
Needed the way lightning needed a ground. The way a storm needed to break on a hot day, the sky low and purple-gray with clouds.
Needed, and trusted Robin to meet that need. All of this was about trust. Robin trusting Zyr to warn him if it grew too much. Zyr trusting Robin to…
What? Not as simple as fuck his throat.
To hold his heart without crushing it.
Too many thoughts. Cheating, to seek control by retreating into his head. And he didn’t want to be there.
Zyr gave himself back to the dark. Back to Robin. Lips parting on a groan, tongue busy, and his only thoughts of how good Robin felt and tasted. Like metal after a lightning strike. Like darkness. Like time.
“Don't take the lack of words as–” a shudder and Robin rocked his hips, pressed deeper while guiding Zyr’s head in, “Fuck, god.
Me not talking isn't a bad thing. Keep going, dragon.
Beithir. Fuck. Take your hand from my shin, and open your slacks with it.
Take your cock out. You're going to stroke yourself.”
Mouth open and throat working, sucking and swallowing and begging while Robin took his pleasure, gave Zyr what he needed.
Laid out his commands.
Take your hand from my shin.
Grip easing, fingers dragged away. Reluctant but not hesitant. Robin had made his expectations clear.
Open your slacks with it.
He fumbled the button twice before tearing it off, those below getting the same treatment.
Take your cock out.
His cock, hard and straining against his slacks, the discomfort of it forgotten until now. Eclipsed by his single-minded focus on Robin. Zyr groaned with the relief of it. The heat of his own skin.
You’re going to stroke yourself.
Exhilarating, to move his hand in time with Robin’s next slow thrust, giving himself only what Robin took.
“Move my leg closer to your arm. With your tail. Keep close.”
Wrapped his tail once, twice, three times around Robin’s leg, holding and holding and holding him.
“You're good. That’s right.” Rough reassurance, quick and soft, ragged at the edges. “Doing so good.”