Chapter Sixteen #3
“I make us something.” A flick, and Declan’s hand slipped past shredded cloth, found heated skin. Antonio’s fingers dug into his shoulder, hard, his groan unfettered. “Not a glamour. Proper magic. Lube’s easy enough to get.”
“Christ.” Antonio growled the word through clenched teeth, his head back, eyes once again closed. “Fuck, Murderpunk. Make something. Long as it’s you. Not fucking glamour.”
“Not a glamour, fucking or otherwise,” he promised, words rough and Antonio’s breathless huff of laughter making it rougher still. “My magic. Only me. Faerie has other people it can talk to tonight.”
“No goddamn sex flowers,” Antonio groused, breath catching. “Lube’s in my bag. Grabbed it with the car.”
Declan would have manifested lube from every corner of the town, if it meant giving Antonio what he wanted.
Would have poured every bit of his magic into making what they needed.
There would be no glamour for Antonio. Only Declan, kissing his way down Antonio’s neck, lips and tongue and teeth in time with the hungry stroke of his hand.
Antonio shuddered at every touch. Each exhale. He didn’t remain still or quiet under Declan’s ministrations; his hips bucked up with each downward stroke, his breath came in hissing gasps. Fingers as iron as the bracelets he once wore, where he clutched at Declan’s shoulder.
“Would you like to hear a secret, Antonio?”
Perhaps it wasn’t kind of Declan, to ask the question with gentle edged teeth scraping along the intricately inked bells that danced across Antonio’s collarbones. Antonio’s story, his protection and claim to his own skin, blazing hot under Declan’s affection.
Ink on iron. Leather heated by a bonfire. Pale flowers pushing through desert earth.
“Yeah,” Antonio gasped. “Yeah, Murderpunk. Wanna hear a secret.”
Music. Bloody music, Antonio’s voice gone sharp and tight, all taut desperation. Their bond shimmered bright, heady and all encompassing.
“I want you on my tongue as I open you up. And I’ve not the first clue what to do with your hand,” was what he admitted to, rubbing his thumb over the tip of Antonio’s cock just to feel those blunt nails dig into his skin.
Antonio didn’t treat him as if he were fragile.
“My first inclination was to pin your hands above your head,” and perhaps he still would, with the twitch of Antonio’s cock and jerk of his hips at that comment, “but you’ve more reach than I do. ”
Antonio started to laugh, cut off to a sharp cry with the flat of Declan’s nail along the length of him.
Declan flexed his wings, tucked them against Antonio’s bent knees.
The flare of them guided his legs apart.
There were benefits to being shorter, slighter, with subpar reach.
(And wings of bone that Antonio watched with open lust.)
“Cuffs. Need something to pull against.” Words illustrated with another sharp tug against Declan’s hold. “Make cuffs. Tie my hands to, fuck, wherever. Don’t care. Long as I can see you.”
Cuffs.
Salt and skin and sunshine licked from inked blackberry branches, momentarily forgotten in favor of Antonio’s words. His intense, intent gaze.
The image of Antonio bound to the bed came …
very bidden, if Declan were an honest fae.
Easily conjured, those images of hard, capable muscles straining as Antonio pulled at cuffs, tattoos shifting at each slight struggle under Declan’s attentions.
Held there with his legs spread, Declan’s hands on his knees, or leaning in to hold them open with the hard drive of his hips, cock buried deep and wings flared so Antonio could see them.
He’d never have thought to put Antonio in restraints. No bindings. Not on a man who’d spent much of his life confined.
Antonio wanted it. Asked for it. Told Declan why.
“Do you have a safeword?” Breath sharp and shallow, question pressed into a slender, thorny branch. “I trend toward red-yellow-green.”
And Antonio…
Something lit in the wake of Declan’s question. Poured through the bond in a shower of sparks, brilliant to the point of blinding and still not hiding the raw, vulnerable truth that, impossibly, lay beneath.
Not something to discuss when they were mid-negotiation with Antonio talking cuffs.
(Love. Love, coarse in the way they were together. Love like metal studded leather under the midday sun, and all the more perfect for it. Not gentle. Not sweet. Simply theirs.
Love.)
“Good with colors,” said the man who loved Declan, and was loved in turn. He smirked, play and purpose, and tugged, hard, once more. “Long as you know how a stoplight works. Fucking fae.”
“Far too high tech for the nineties.” Declan clicked his tongue, then leaned up to steal another brief kiss. “You seem to enjoy how strong I am.”
“Yeah.” That single word sounded so very sweet when half sigh, half groan, Antonio arching up under him. “Fuck yeah, Murderpunk.”
“Brilliant.”
With a final stroke to Antonio’s cock (and answering hiss of pleasure), Declan stood, nearly pulling Antonio off the floor with the grip of the man’s thighs. He did pull him up by their clasped hands, easy and smooth.
Antonio’s shredded clothing fell to the ground, left him bare and grinning and more than a little off balance. Fair play.
He caught Declan in a kiss, free hand tangling in his hair. Messy, all of it, and Declan still clothed, supplies needing to be made. He mumbled as much against Antonio’s lips, leaning back with no little amount of reluctance.
“We’ve plans that need props,” he endeavored to remind Antonio, flashing a smile even while twisting in his arms to not get caught in another kiss. “You’d not want me attempting to conjure something last minute with my head already between your legs.”
“Can’t suck cock and do magic at the same time?” Taunting, as was the press of bare flesh against his back.
“My teeth and your cock is not an arrangement we want distractions from. Though it’s more ‘licking’ than ‘sucking’ at that point.”
‘Lick cock’ didn’t have quite the same ring to it.
There was just enough time to toss his shirt over a chair and dream up a set of thickly padded leather cuffs before large hands circled Declan’s waist, fingers spread. Soft lips pressed against the line of his throat and hard muscles tight against his now bare back and tucked in wings.
“You owe me a pair of jeans,” Antonio said, leaving a nipping trail of affection down to the shoulder he’d held in a vice grip moments earlier. “Think I’ll take yours.”
Declan laughed, relaxing into him, eyes closed. He needed to focus. “How do you imagine you’ll do that?”
“You’re gonna let me. Can’t be comfortable, hard in those fuck-me jeans.” Tan skin over pale, talented fingers already working at the button. “Lucky I’m here to help.”
Declan watched a film with elements of the moment, once. A larger, muscular, tattooed man telling a smaller, slighter one ‘you’re gonna let me’ as he took to touching him from behind. Declan’s counterpart had made a token protest full of fluttering lashes until eventually succumbing.
The sluagh himself stifled a groan behind his teeth and tipped his head back to give Antonio more room.
“I don’t recall offering you my jeans.” Declan ground slow into Antonio’s palm, pleasure and temptation.
“Do you ‘recall’ shredding mine?” Antonio pressed smiling lips into the curve of his neck, followed with a deliberate drag of teeth. “Looks like I got mauled by a tiger.”
“You startled me,” Declan protested.
His button gave under determined fingers. No soft hum of a zipper. Instead, hard fingers on his hip, pulling his ass back against Antonio’s cock. And still, the magnificent bastard continued to stroke him, drawing a low, rattling hiss from his lips.
“Not gonna sit docile while you cuff me, Murderpunk,” Antonio growled the words in his ear. “Gonna have to pin me first. Or,” a slow stroke up, worn denim and hard need under rough fingers, “distract me.”
How fun. A game of give and take, push and pull, touch and be touched. Play with me, that growl said. Play rough.
“I don’t want you docile,” he murmured, rocking up against Antonio’s hands.
He flexed his wings, flared just enough to force an inch of space between them.
“How would you suggest I distract you?” Textured bone firm against Antonio’s chest, his stomach.
“Put on a show, my hand around my cock? Around yours?” Declan brushed his fingers over his fly, relaxed his wings to allow Antonio close.
“Ask whether you minded when I spread your legs with my wings?”
Another minute flare, pressure, space, and Declan pulling the zipper down, tooth by tooth. Antonio didn’t make it easy, that gorgeous, determined hand intent on stroking him, drawing out tendrils of shivering pleasure with every touch.
Declan had a horrible, tragic life. Truly.
“Nah.” Antonio turned when Declan allowed him closer, pressed his lips to bone and rocked in. “Definitely didn’t mind your wings on my knees. Under my hands. Open so I can see ‘em. Fucking incredible.”
One more sure stroke, then the teasing rise of fingers trailing over stomach and ribs and nipple. Left Declan shivering, leaning back against Antonio despite his determination not to yield.
“They can be useful at times.” Declan licked his lips, shifting his weight to be closer still. “Apparently.”
“Mmhm. Gonna need your hands. Gonna need mine, too.” He bit down slow at the curve where Declan’s neck met shoulder, sucked hard. Deliberate. And again. “Barely had my mouth on you though. Like how you taste.”
Declan didn’t quite whine into the intent dig of teeth. His hand dropped to cover Antonio’s at his hip, fingers wrapping firm about his wrist. It was Antonio’s nail scraping soft along his nipple that dragged the rasping keen from him, wings closing to keep the man close.
“Again,” Declan demanded. Breathed. Both.
“I want you to see it when I’ve you on your back and thighs spread wide, held by my wings.
Fucking into you for the first time.” Antonio’s nails dug into his hip, his groan muffled by Declan’s skin as he bit down slow and hard, sucking at singing skin.
“I need to feel it while I bury myself in you. Deep as you can take me.”
All of me.
Want like a lit match and a dry forest. Everywhere. Everything. Fingers tightened, to keep Declan in place, held for Antonio’s pleasure.
“Yeah?” Antonio’s voice shook, but he still managed a smirk. Declan could feel it. “That what you want, meu paix?o? Want to feel me on your skin while you fuck me?”
He rolled Declan’s nipple between his fingers, gentle now. Gentle as the kisses he trailed along Declan’s shoulder.
Declan might actually perish, should Antonio keep with the soft touches and light brushes of his lips. No little death, no poetic anything. Simply crumble to ash in Antonio’s arms, where he shook and did his best to bite back his groan.
“Yes.”
“Think I’d like that. Seeing my mark while I’m tied to the bed for you, coming apart on your cock.” Another kiss. Another tender, soft kiss. “Like blood spilling through cracked porcelain.”
“Voids, yes, Antonio.” Desperation colored his words, spread tight and thin. He wasn’t too proud to beg.
Antonio’s lips pressed a little higher, until he was at Declan’s neck again. Bit there, a slow increase in pressure. Gentle until it wasn’t. And again.
And again.
Declan shook. Shook and shook and shook. He would have Antonio’s mark on his neck and his hip, with how tight he held on. The knowledge alone nearly unmade him then and there.
Focus. Voids, he needed to focus, or they’d not get around to the tying, nor using whatever Declan managed to conjure.
“Fuck, Antonio. Mo chuisle. Again? Before I get you down.”
Busy mouth on heated skin. Careful teeth and eager lips. Careful, but not gentle. Each bite a little higher than the last. Wet, eager tongue tracing impressions after each hard bite.
Fingers around wrists, tight.
Antonio didn’t struggle. Didn’t speak. Just growled as he bit again, and dragged his nails over Declan’s nipple as his hand was tugged away.
“Fuck fuck fuck.” Declan managed, lost to nails and teeth and that damned growl. “Fuck, Antonio.”
Strong hands captive in Declan’s stronger grip, nerves singing, and Antonio taking a shivering breath. In that moment, with only Antonio’s breath on his skin, it was Declan’s voids begotten turn.
Now or he’d lose himself entirely, and it would be him with his chest to the wall and legs spread. (Another day. Not this one.)
“No one trusts me like that.”
He dropped Antonio’s wrists. Turned to face him. Grabbed the man’s hips and held on tight. (Pushy. Getting what he wanted. Taking it.)
“I wonder if you growl like that when getting fucked,” Declan rumbled, that deep lilt Antonio liked so much, just for him. “I look forward to finding out.”
Just that, and he pushed Antonio back onto the bed.
All of him.