Chapter 18 #2
The stretch is immense. Knox is tight around the head of Dimitri’s cock in a way that sends white sparks across his vision, and through the bond he can feel Knox’s perspective too, the fullness, the burn, the overwhelming sensation of being opened by something bigger than fingers, and the two experiences layer on top of each other and Dimitri’s arms are shaking.
“More,” Knox says, and his voice is steady in that way it always is, the calm that doesn’t match his pulse, and Dimitri laughs, breathless and incredulous.
“If you want it,” Dimitri says against his ear, “you’re going to have to take it. Fuck yourself on my cock, angel.”
Knox gives him a look. It is the withering look, the one that could strip paint off walls, delivered from a position of absolute vulnerability with his legs wrapped around a demon and the head of that demon’s cock inside him, and it is magnificent.
Then Knox grips Dimitri’s shoulders and rolls his hips down.
Dimitri’s vision whites out. Knox sinks onto him in one slow, devastating slide, taking him inch by inch, his body opening around Dimitri with a reluctance that gives way to heat, and the bond carries every fraction of it between them.
Knox’s nails dig into Dimitri’s shoulders as he bottoms out, fully seated, and they’re both panting, forehead to forehead, the air between them superheated.
“Move,” Dimitri manages, and Knox does.
Knox fucks himself on Dimitri’s cock with the same focused precision he brings to everything, and it is the most erotic thing Dimitri has ever witnessed.
His hips roll in slow deliberate circles that drag Dimitri’s cock against his inner walls, and then he finds the angle he wants and his rhythm changes, becomes sharper, more urgent, lifting himself and dropping back down with a force that punches the breath out of both of them.
The wall creaks behind Knox’s back. Dimitri’s hands are on his hips, fingers digging in, claws retracted because he will not mark Knox, not yet, not without permission, and Knox is riding him with his head thrown back and his blond hair swinging and the sounds falling from his mouth are getting louder, less controlled, closer to breaking.
The bond is a supernova between them. Every sensation doubled, tripled, Dimitri feeling what Knox feels feeling what Dimitri feels in an infinite loop that builds and builds and crests and Dimitri comes inside him with a groan that tears from somewhere deep in his chest, and his hips stutter up into Knox and the warmth of it makes Knox gasp and clench around him.
Dimitri wraps a hand around Knox’s cock, slick with precome, and strokes him hard and fast and Knox comes with Dimitri’s name on his lips, spilling over Dimitri’s fist and against both their stomachs, his body shaking with it.
They stay there. Breathing. Foreheads together, Knox’s legs still wrapped around Dimitri’s hips, the aftershocks rolling through the bond between them. Dimitri’s arms are steady. He could hold Knox here for hours. He would, if Knox let him.
Knox opens his eyes. Green, bright, hazy with satisfaction.
His lips curve, and Dimitri realizes with a start that Knox is smiling.
Actually smiling. Not the dry twitch or the almost-curve, but a real smile, small and private and directed at Dimitri alone, and it hits Dimitri harder than any blow he’s ever taken.
He kisses Knox. Softly this time, a contrast to everything that came before, and Knox hums against his mouth and his fingers card through Dimitri’s hair and for a moment the world is very still.
Then Dimitri grins against his lips.
“I’m not done with you,” he says.
Knox’s eyes widen. “What—”
Dimitri carries him into the bedroom.
He tosses Knox onto the bed and Knox bounces once, blond hair fanning across the pillow, and before he can sit up Dimitri grabs him by the ankles and drags him to the edge of the mattress.
Knox makes a startled sound that Dimitri files away as one of his favorite things he’s ever heard, and then Dimitri kneels between his legs and Knox goes very still.
“Dimitri,” Knox says, and there’s a note of uncertainty in it, a vulnerability that makes Dimitri’s chest ache. “You don’t have to—”
“Shut up,” Dimitri says, with great fondness, and lowers his mouth.
Knox is not a virgin. Knox has told him nothing about his history and Dimitri has asked nothing, but Knox’s body has spoken for him, the practiced ease of certain movements, the familiarity with certain angles.
But when Dimitri’s tongue drags a hot flat stripe across his hole, Knox makes a sound that says no one has ever done this to him before.
It’s a broken, shattered sound. Half moan, half sob, his hips jerking off the mattress before Dimitri pins them with both hands.
Knox’s thighs are shaking. His hands fist in the sheets.
And Dimitri eats him out with the thoroughness and patience of a creature who has practice at taking things apart.
He works his tongue inside and Knox keens, a high reedy sound that is so far from the composed Templar who buckles his coat to his chin every morning that Dimitri nearly laughs against him.
He flicks his tongue and feels the reaction through the bond before he hears it, a lightning bolt of pleasure that arcs through Knox’s body and into Dimitri’s and back again.
Knox is hard again, his cock flushed and leaking against his stomach, untouched, and Dimitri can feel through the bond how close he is already, how the intimacy of the act is undoing him as much as the sensation.
He pulls back when Knox is shaking and gasping and on the edge, and Knox makes a sound of protest that Dimitri will remember for the rest of his very long life. Then Dimitri stands, presses Knox into the mattress with one hand flat on his chest, and pushes into him again.
This time he doesn’t make Knox work for it.
He fucks Knox the way he’s wanted to since the warehouse.
Hard and deep and thorough, driving into him with a rhythm that is relentless and precise, angling his hips until he finds the spot that makes Knox’s back arch off the mattress and his mouth fall open in a silent scream.
Dimitri hits it again and again and again, and Knox is falling apart beneath him, his composure in ruins, his green eyes glazed and his blond hair tangled across the pillow and his hands gripping Dimitri’s arms hard enough to bruise.
“You’re mine,” Dimitri says, and this time the word is not beneath language.
This time he says it out loud, into the space between their mouths, and through the bond he feels it land in Knox’s chest. “You’re mine, Knox.
Do you hear me? Every part of you. Every inch.
No one else touches you. No one else has you. Mine.”
Knox comes untouched.
His whole body seizes, his back bowing off the mattress, his mouth open on a cry that breaks in the middle and becomes Dimitri’s name.
His cock pulses between them, spilling across his stomach and his chest, and the orgasm tears through the bond with such intensity that it drags Dimitri over the edge with it.
Dimitri buries himself deep and comes inside Knox for the second time, and the sensation is so overwhelming that his arms give out and he collapses against Knox’s chest, his face pressed into the crook of Knox’s neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex and something faintly luminous that is purely, irreducibly Knox.
They lie there. Breathing. The bond hums between them, warm and deep and satisfied, and Dimitri can feel Knox’s heartbeat against his chest, slowing, steadying, and Knox’s fingers are in his hair, gentle, carding through the dark strands with a tenderness that Dimitri doesn’t deserve and can’t resist.
Dimitri pulls out slowly, carefully, and the breath Knox lets out is soft and shivering, and Dimitri presses a kiss to his collarbone and rolls to the side. He collapses onto the mattress beside Knox and the ceiling spins above him and he is, for the first time in years, at peace.
Knox curls against him. It’s not deliberate, not calculated.
Knox just turns toward him, the way a body turns toward warmth, and tucks himself against Dimitri’s side with his head on Dimitri’s chest and his leg draped over Dimitri’s thigh and his loose blond hair spilling across Dimitri’s skin.
His hand rests over Dimitri’s heart, and his breathing slows, and the bond between them settles into something quiet and whole.
Dimitri wraps an arm around him. His hand finds the curve of Knox’s hip and rests there, possessive and careful, and Knox’s weight against his chest is warm and slight and exactly right.
They fall asleep.