Chapter 17 #3
Mads stood up a second later, a hand on his shoulder pushing Lionel to lie back on the mattress. “I found some in another apartment that we were in.”
Lionel blinked as Mads walked to the kitchen and started rummaging through the cabinets. “Were you planning this?” he huffed out in wonder.
“Can never be too careful,” Mads grinned as he walked back over with a small, clear bottle.
Lionel’s heart thrummed a little louder when he saw Mads holding a knife in his other hand.
He set both items down on the table and climbed on top of Lionel, sitting back on his hips.
“If you want to try this,” he hummed, nodding at the knife. “You can.”
“Are you sure?” Lionel breathed the question, terrified to actually cross that line into what he’d only ever seen in his head.
“Yes,” Mads murmured, bringing their lips together again. “I’m sure.”
Lionel watched as Mads popped the lid of the lube and poured some on his own fingers. He blinked as Mads reached behind himself, his lips falling open slightly as he worked a finger into himself. “Shouldn’t I be doing that?” Lionel asked after a moment.
Mads raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say you’ve never been with a guy?” Lionel nodded sheepishly. “I don’t feel like teaching you this right now, so I’m fine doing it myself.”
Lionel swallowed thickly as his hands came up to grip Mads’ hips.
He was so thin there was hardly anything to grab or squeeze, even as he reached to cup his ass.
Mads gasped at the touches, eyes slipping shut as he tried to focus on his task.
Lionel smirked to himself as he ran his hands over Mads’ taught stomach and eyed his dick.
He really was a decent amount bigger than Lionel, enough that Lionel could feel the difference as he wrapped his hand around it.
Mads choked on a moan, eyes flying open as Lionel slowly ran his fist up and down the shaft, pumping him a few times.
Lionel could feel him twitching, could feel Mads tensing and squirming on top of him.
Mads paused, his breath catching audibly before he reached slowly toward the small table beside them. His fingers curled around the hilt of the knife and turned it over once in his hand, testing the weight, then held it out to Lionel.
“Try it,” he said softly.
Lionel stared at him, hesitant, his own breath shallowing as he accepted the blade. The handle felt strangely solid, almost too heavy for its size. The cold metal rested against his palm, slick with anticipation. He fidgeted with it slowly in his hand, as if testing whether it was real.
“I don’t…” Lionel’s voice came thin, uncertain. “I don’t want to actually hurt you.”
Mads leaned forward until his lips brushed the shell of Lionel’s ear, his breath cool, his voice a murmur made of smoke. “I don’t mind if you do.”
A violent shiver rolled down Lionel’s spine. The words clung to him like oil.
When Mads drew back again, there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, one both secretive and unguarded. “You’re not the only one with a kink, Lionel.”
That smile knocked the air out of Lionel’s lungs.
He looked down at Mads’ body. His pale, near-translucent skin stretched tight across sharp bones, not a mark or bruise in sight.
It looked like something untouched by the outside world, with not a single childhood scar, no scrapes, no evidence of injury or healing.
Lionel’s hand hovered over that unblemished canvas, the blade resting flat against Mads’ forearm first, just to feel the contrast of cold metal against colder skin.
He ran it slowly down the length of Mads’ arm, watching him twitch and gasp, his hips rolling up as he stretched himself, the movement getting rougher, more desperate.
It felt unreal. Like a dream he wasn’t supposed to be having.
Lionel’s eyes landed on a spot on Mads’ upper bicep that was smooth, pale, and slightly raised with goosebumps.
His heart pounded so hard it almost drowned out the sound of Mads panting on top of him.
He turned the blade slowly in his fingers until the sharp edge kissed the skin instead of the flat.
Mads sucked in a breath through his teeth, louder this time. His head snapped to the side, and for a second, they both stared down at the knife slicing a clean, shallow line just beneath his shoulder.
Blood welled up instantly—bright and red, like it didn’t belong to someone so cold.
It traced a slow arc down the curve of his arm, vivid against the pallor of his flesh.
Lionel’s breath hitched. He was already hard, already aching, but the sight of that blood made his stomach clench and his cock twitch painfully against his thigh.
There was a strange, hot shame curling in his gut, not because he was disgusted, but because he wasn’t.
His hand trembled as he set the knife aside, almost too carefully. He reached out instead with his fingers tentatively. They brushed against the tiny cut, sticky warmth smearing across his skin. He didn’t press, just touched, marveling at the sensation of having done that—of being allowed to.
“You can do more,” Mads whispered, his voice thick and heady. “If you want.”
“No,” Lionel said quickly, breathless. He shook his head, unable to look away from the blood on his fingers. “This is enough… for right now.”
Mads only nodded, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
There was no disappointment there; he just straightened up and groaned as he finished stretching himself.
When he nodded at Lionel, telling him he was ready, Lionel grabbed him by the hips and flipped them over so Mads’ back was on the mattress once again.
His legs folded so naturally around Lionel, caging him in like it was where he belonged.
Lionel kissed him again—rougher this time—his grip tightening as he grabbed Mads by the front of the throat and pulled him in.
Mads came willingly, gasping into his mouth as their lips collided.
Lionel could feel the fluttering pulse beneath his fingers, racing like a trapped bird beneath fragile skin.
It made his own pulse stutter in response.
Each kiss was a clash of teeth, tongue, and lip bruising pressure.
Lionel bit down hard on Mads’ bottom lip, tasting blood bloom across his tongue like copper wine.
Mads whimpered into his mouth, shivering beneath him, and Lionel nearly groaned at how good it felt. It was so easy to lose himself in this.
He was about to break away, to give them both a breath, but Mads' hand snapped up and caught him by the wrist.
The sudden grip startled Lionel. He froze, blinking down at him, confused, until Mads pushed his wrist back into place, holding his hand firmly against his throat. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but his message was unmistakable.
Lionel’s chest tightened with a rush of heat.
He adjusted his grip without speaking, shifting his hand to sit just right—his thumb on one side of Mads’ neck, fingers curling into the other, applying slow, steady pressure.
He knew exactly how to do this, knew how to control the pressure, how to watch for the signs.
He’d done it before, in half-lit rooms with people he didn’t love. But it had never felt like this.
Mads arched beneath him, lips parted, throat flexing beneath Lionel’s palm as his breathing hitched. His long legs tightened around Lionel’s waist again, keeping him close, holding him there like he never wanted to let go.
Lionel could feel the frantic thud of Mads’ pulse beneath his hand, the tremble in his thighs, the soundless moans that stuttered from his open mouth. It was like holding something fragile and dangerous at the same time. Like being trusted with something that could break.
He leaned in close, lips brushing against Mads’ ear as he murmured, “You like that?” Mads let out a choked gasp that might’ve been a yes.
His eyes fluttered, but they didn’t close.
He was watching Lionel, drinking him in like he needed to see the way this changed him, too.
Lionel pressed a little harder. Just enough to make Mads’ breath go shallow again.
Just enough to feel his own cock throb at the sight of him coming undone.
As he held Mads there, listening to his gasping breaths, he lined himself up and pushed forward.
It was more difficult than it was with any of the girls he’d been with, but once he pushed in a few inches, Lionel couldn’t help the loud moan dropping from his mouth. It felt a bit like his dick was being suffocated; it was so tight, but the pleasure that coursed through his veins was far greater.
Mads’ legs tightened around him again, dragging him closer until Lionel was fully seated inside of him. Mads moaned, a broken sound with Lionel choking him, and trembled beneath his fingertips. Lionel held onto his hip, squeezing comfortingly until Mads relaxed.
He pulled out just a bit before thrusting forward again, gasping at the feeling. He was already too close. The feeling of Mads around his cock, the blood still caked on Mads’ skin, the taste of it in Lionel’s mouth, the feeling of Mads’ pulse, the hammering of Lionel’s heart. It was all too much.
Lionel grasped Mads’ thigh, bending him slightly to get a better angle to pull out before sliding back in again.
After several thrusts, moving became far easier, and he was able to build up a quick but powerful rhythm.
Mads was moaning with every snap of his hips, his eyes squeezed shut, so he must be doing something right.
Lionel leaned forward, tilting Mads’ chin up with the hand around his throat, and locked their lips together.
Mads barely moved against him, too focused on what else was happening.
Lionel hummed as he pulled back, taking his hand away from his throat to let Mads pull in long, gasping breaths.
His cheeks were pink, his eyes unfocused as his eyelids drooped.
Lionel hooked an arm under Mads’ knee, propping him up a bit more to change the angle again. He felt Mads tense hard around him, almost making it impossible for him to move, as he cried out. Lionel winced as his thrusts faltered.
“Was that the spot I was supposed to be aiming for?” he gasped.
From the way Mads was trembling with every thrust, unable to answer, he assumed he was right.
He wrapped a hand around Mads’ cock, feeling how wet he was from the constant stimulation, and pumped him in time with his thrusts. Mads’ moans got louder at that as he writhed beneath him.
Lionel wasn’t too far behind, his hips beginning to move erratically. His eyes were shut, lost in the rhythm of their bodies, his breath coming in shallow bursts. But they flew open when Mads grabbed him with rough, unrelenting fingers clamping tight around his throat.
Lionel let out a shocked gasp as he was dragged downward, his balance thrown off, until their faces were level. Their noses brushed with each jolt of Lionel's hips, the friction unbearable, the closeness dizzying.
Mads' eyes were locked on his, unblinking and hungry.
Lionel had always found them strange, almost unsettling, but beautiful in their way.
A murky shade that hovered somewhere between violet and burgundy, sometimes catching the light with a reddish glint that never quite looked natural. But now there was no ambiguity.
His irises weren’t reddish. They were red.
Not metaphorically or a trick of the light. They were deep, saturated, unnatural red—like embers buried in ash, like a coal about to catch fire. They glowed faintly, almost pulsing, the color bleeding into the center like ink dropped in water.
Lionel’s breath caught in his throat, not from the grip, not from the pleasure, but from the instant, primal jolt of fear that slammed into his chest. For a moment, he thought Mads was crying—his first instinct grasping for something explainable.
But no. The whites of his eyes were clear and untouched. It was the iris itself.
Lionel’s body tensed, his rhythm faltering. Every nerve ending screamed in alarm, every buried instinct clawing its way to the surface. Every fiber of his being was telling him to run and get the fuck out of there.
Lionel gasped, groaning loudly as he came. His hand tightened around Mads’ cock, tugging him along with him. He heard Mads cry out, felt his hips buck up against each thrust as he rode out the orgasm.
Lionel’s ears were ringing, everything around him sounding fuzzy like he had cotton in his ears.
He could barely hear Mads’ gasping or his own words murmuring quietly to him.
He could feel Mads’ arms wrapping around him, could feel him holding him against his chest as Lionel lay down on top of him.
Their cum was sticky between their stomachs, and Mads’ legs still hadn’t let him go, holding him there.
His pulse was rabbiting in his veins, he could still taste copper in his mouth, and wondered if it was his or Mads’, and a part of him was still telling him to take flight away from this place, to run as fast and as long as he could.
His cock twitched where it was still inside of Mads just at the thought of those eyes staring at him again.
But, when he raised his head to look up at Mads, needing a glimpse of his gentle smile, his eyes were the same purplish red as before.