Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
GOOD AUGUST
POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME
I’m not ending the universe with him in some shitty alley. I lead him back up the street to the posh-looking hotel we walked past.
The glass doors slide open for us, and the scent of fresh flowers and cool air pulls us in. It’s strange to be in a hotel five hundred years in the future. Some things feel exactly the same. I imagine walking into a nice hotel was similar back in the fifteen hundreds too.
The lobby is gorgeous, hung with fantastically complicated light fittings, some kind of sparkling holographic display, no strings attached.
The lounges are enormous and plush looking, and if we really have to, despite the people passed out all around us, there are worse places to do what we need to do.
But I head for the reception desk. There are hotel employees slumped on one side, handsomely dressed guests fallen to the floor on the other. And to my indescribable delight, there’s what looks like a key card sitting on the desk between two of them.
I snatch it up, grab August’s hand, and head for the elevator.
“You’ve taken to crime like a king,” he observes with a smile.
“I’ve got a taste for the finer things now,” I joke. But I have. I’ve got a taste for romance, whether it’s in a seventeenth-century hayloft or the back room of a Victorian hotel. Though it does occur to me, we’ve slept together in an actual bed once ever. And I think we deserve better than that.
The room card says 4411, and it’s a long trip up.
The exterior of the elevator is glass, raising us over the street and the city with a breathtaking view of future London.
It feels eternal. It’s heartening to reflect on what could happen here, what I might be able to give back to so many people.
If I’m right about this. But if I’m wrong…
That shared worry might explain why we don’t immediately jump into bed once we arrive in the suite, even if it is huge and luxurious, wide and deep, inviting.
We check the view, raid the fridge, eat some weird chips, and open champagne that I’m not sure either of us wants especially. We wash quickly, but not together. And for all the heartfelt words we spoke outside in the street, now that it’s time, we’re both nervous.
The longer we remain here, the worse this world will get. If we don’t act soon, it will be too late.
By the time I’m done in the bathroom, August’s lying on his stomach on the bed, clicking a remote control at some version of television he’s got working, images projected from a wall that was blank before.
“I think you have to pay to watch anything,” he mumbles, having heard me enter. “I’m kind of curious, but I feel bad charging it to the room…” He turns his head at the end of his sentence, and now that he sees I’m here, I guess it becomes real.
His eyes track over my chest, down to the towel wrapped about my waist. He clicks the screen off, then rolls over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Come here, Slayer.”
The way I’ll never get tired of hearing him call me that.
His legs part for me, wrap me, and he puts his hands on my hips, then kisses me just above my navel. He rests his chin there and looks up. “It’s okay to not do this.”
I pass my fingers through his still-damp hair. “I know. Same goes for you.”
“If it… doesn’t work…” His head drops, and he kisses me again.
“It has to.”
“I love you,” he whispers. “I never thought I’d find someone who’d want to see in the end of the world with me.
Who’d risk it all for me. I never thought I’d ever love anyone.
Least of all me. But…” He presses the back of my hand to his lips.
“You’re amazing. I want you to know I think you’re the finest moment in the history of all the universes.
I don’t think any life is worth living without you in it.
Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. ”
His words break at the end. A tear falls hot onto my stomach, and I hug him to me, fighting my own tears. “We’re going to be okay.”
He pulls his arms tight around my waist, nodding an acknowledgement against my bare skin. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Clasping his arms, I pull him up to stand with me, eye to eye, my perfect mirror. “It’s over now. It’s just you and me. And I don’t have anything but love for you.”
When his lips meet mine, they’re trembling. When he dips his forehead to mine, his breath comes shaking. “I can’t be away from you.”
I shake my head. “You won’t ever be again. It’s all or nothing now. Either we live together, or we die together. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I love you.” His next kiss comes long and possessive, like he’s keeping me, making me his. There’s strength in every movement, his last energy in this world, focused entirely on me. On what we have. What we stand to lose tonight.
It’s unerring. He doesn’t flinch, or ask to spend a while in bed talking, drawing out our time here while we wait for things to collapse.
He believes in me. He believes in us. It’s in the way he sinks his fingers into my hip, the way he presses his body to mine. He’s not testing. He’s not experimenting. He’s all in, body and soul.
His hand slides up my back, forcing my lips to his.
Commanding, affirming. My chest presses against his, desperate for the sensation of his skin on mine.
I work at his soft robe, pulling it, pushing it over his shoulders.
He stretches a hand across and loosens the tie so I can slip my hands inside, run them over his naked skin, feel him for maybe the last time.
I can’t think this way, pain at the back of my eyes at the thought of losing him.
I won’t.
I won’t.
He kisses my neck, whispering, “I love you,” over and over, like a mantra. Like it’s the only thing worth knowing, here at the end of time. “I love you,” like those are the words he wants on his lips when he dies. “I love you,” like a final prayer.
His fingers caress my arms, a hard press of flesh, imprinting my body on his.
Another kiss, a lip-locked shove, and he has me against the floor-to-ceiling window, the cool surface biting into me on one side, the heat of his skin sending shivers through me to meet in the middle.
His hands slide down to my towel. He loosens it, drops it to the floor, and takes my hard cock in hand.
My head thumps back against the glass as he strokes me. My hands run down his chest, meeting in the centre of his abdomen, pausing with the scintillating touch of his flesh to mine.
It’s happening again and already. From my curling toes, through the arches of my feet on soft carpet, through my trembling calves and thighs, that indescribable pleasure that comes only from August rises, volcanic.
His tongue’s as hungry for mine as if it were wrapped around my cock. But he’s taking his time with me. What precious little time we have left, it’s all for me.
His kisses come loving, his skin against mine like he’d fuse us together.
He works my cock with an easy motion. He knows from my sighs, from the way my fingertips rip at him, he could finish me in seconds if he wanted to.
He eases off, strokes me so lightly I’m at his mercy, not at all above begging him.
Then he wraps me tight again, working me so I fall on his shoulder, barely able to support myself.
“August,” he whispers, and it’s just to say our name.
Just to hear it. I find his lips, press a wrecked kiss there, let my head fall back against the glass, moans slipping out of me.
His heated gaze submerges me. He loves watching me get off.
And I love him watching me. I stare into his dark eyes, and I press my dick forward into his palm.
A bright flash reflects in his glasses.
His eyes raise slowly to the lightning outside. “It’s happening, Slayer.”
“Don’t stop.” I drape my arm around his neck, pulling him to me, my chest rising with every deep and desperate breath. The room turns pink, as if we’re beneath another of those enormous billboards, only it’s softer.
“It’s you,” he whispers. “Look what you’re doing.”
He takes an arm around me, turns me, and in a second my hands are pushed against the glass, his one hand still on my dick, reaching around to stroke me while he sinks his teeth into my shoulder from behind.
“August,” I cry out, and the sky flashes purple, like sheet lightning behind clouds, only there is none.
“You’re doing it,” he rasps.
His thigh presses against the side of mine, and I hear the lid flip on the lubricant. He stops touching my dick for a heartbeat, and it makes me press back to him hungrily, the feeling of his own hard and wet cock against my ass sending me crazy. “Fuck me.”
“Patience, Slayer.”
But I don’t need any. His arm closes around my neck, wrenching me back firmly against his chest. His fingers slide down between the curves of my ass, and he’s using me again, like he did only hours ago.
I’m still reeling from it, but this time, I need his cock.
I need him to fuck me. “Don’t stop,” I beg him, and not even for the sake of the universe.
“Not for anything,” he growls.
He slides his fingers into me, holding me so tight at the neck my breath comes ragged.
His teeth sink into my earlobe, and my cock hits the glass when my body thrusts forward of its own accord.
The sky pulses yellow, the air pulses yellow, all things illuminating as if the very oxygen molecules had hidden light within.
I ride his hand, calling his name, losing myself to his touch. I could come so easily right now. I shut my eyes, trying to think of things that aren’t sex.
I can’t come. Not yet.
I can’t.
“August,” he whispers. “I want you.”
“Please. Please.” My hands on the glass turn it opaque where heat meets cold.
“Brace.”
Oh fuck.
Was a single hotter word ever spoken?
I stretch my arms up, engage the muscles I know he’s drinking in with every kiss on my shoulder.