Chapter 20 #2
Ivah pushes into him slowly, burying himself in the searing heat until he can go no further.
He moves to grip the slender hips that lift to meet his thrusts.
Bellamy arches and his fingers claw at Ivah's arms, his short nails leaving fiery red lines that burn deliciously.
Rather than pleading for mercy he hisses, "Yes," between his teeth, breathing it out on each exhale like a benediction.
Ivah drives deep and pulls back slowly, taking everything he's freely given and reveling in it.
After a few moments he lets go of Bellamy's hips and takes his ankles in each hand, holding his slender body open while he thrusts into him.
With Ivah's arms out of reach, Bellamy instead clutches the bedsheets above his head with one hand, and covers his own mouth with the other.
He cries out into his palm, the sound muffled but barely contained, filling the room with his ecstasy.
Each thrust forces a grunt from Ivah's chest as he fights to drive his cock deeper, desperate to feel every inch of Bellamy's body around him.
He has always been a patient man; his will is iron, absolute.
But he's rapidly nearing the limit of what pleasure he can endure before his control shatters and he simply plunders his lover without a care.
Some sense tells him they both want that, but Ivah also wants something more; he wants to bask in this, to spend hours buried in this beautiful man.
His own excitement threatens to cut that disappointingly short.
Bellamy seems to have no such concerns, however.
The privilege of youth, Ivah supposes. He reaches down and begins stroking himself, his eyes squeezed shut, heedless of anything but his own need.
He gasps and pants and tosses his head back as his fist moves in time with Ivah's thrusts.
Each time his cock jerks and his body shudders, causing him to clamp tight and driving Ivah that much closer to the edge. It's agony in its pleasure.
With a roar of both frustration and arousal, Ivah surges forward, folding Bellamy at the waist until his knees are nearly touching the bed. It prompts a surprised yelp, and then his cock pushes inside again, and Bellamy's objections melt into a groan as he yields to Ivah's control.
"I will take you like this every night," Ivah growls in his ear. "Fill you again and again, so that you never forget who you belong to."
Bellamy shakes his head wildly, tossing his golden hair about his face. "I won't," he promises. He breathes hard and fast into the space between them. "Please," he begs. "Please, I need—"
"You will have it, little prince," Ivah assures him.
He slams his hips down and Bellamy's look of shock is almost as rewarding as his sudden cry when he comes; he bends off the bed, shuddering through each pulse and gasping helplessly while his come spatters across his own stomach.
At last he has nothing left to give and he collapses atop the mattress, limp and breathless.
It's as thrilling to behold as it is to feel.
"Ivah, please," Bellamy whispers weakly. His eyes are closed, delicate brow furrowed tight.
Ivah makes no effort to hide his surprise at the strange and almost tender reverence with which Bellamy has said his name.
He holds him close and buries his face in the side of his pale neck, breathing in the smell of his sweat.
Climax takes him hard when he feels answering arms close around his shoulders and pull him in tight.
For a moment the very blood in his body is deafening in his veins, roaring through his skull as he lets the prince take everything he has to give.
When it's over, and the pounding of his temples has slowed, he remains there until he can count the time between heartbeats again.
Sated, Ivah rumbles a satisfied growl into Bellamy's neck and nips the soft skin there.
He can barely bring himself to move, let alone pull out again, but it will do neither of them any favors to stay as they are.
Eventually he sits up to find Bellamy watching him with glassy eyes that seem to dance in the candlelight. The young prince is flushed, filthy, and fairly glowing with satisfaction.
Afterwards, they lie tangled together among the soft linens, Bellamy's head finding its natural place on Ivah's shoulder while his breathing gradually slows to match the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
The room is quiet except for the distant sounds of the castle settling into its nightly routines, and for the first time in weeks, Ivah feels something approaching true peace.
"Should you return to your own chambers?" Ivah asks eventually, though everything in him rebels against the idea of parting again so soon after being reunited. "I don't want to cause difficulties for you with your mother's household."
Bellamy lifts his head to meet his eyes, and the smile that crosses his face is radiant with contentment and love.
"There's no need," he says, settling back against Ivah's chest with a sigh of satisfaction. "Everyone already knows our business. The servants, the guards, probably half the court by now—word spreads quickly in a castle, especially word this momentous."
"And you're comfortable with that?" Ivah asks, his arm tightening around Bellamy's shoulders. The idea of their relationship being common knowledge is both terrifying and liberating—no more secrets, but also no more protection from those who might wish them harm.
"I'm comfortable with the truth," Bellamy replies, tracing lazy patterns on Ivah's chest with one finger. "I'm tired of hiding, tired of pretending, tired of treating our love like something shameful that must be concealed."
The simple certainty in his voice makes Ivah's chest tight with emotion, but he can't shake the practical concerns that continue to gnaw at him despite the perfect intimacy of the moment.
"If tomorrow goes badly," he says quietly, voicing the fears he's been carrying since the moment they rode through Mirn's gates, "if your mother decides that the political costs are too high, if she asks me to leave and never return—"
"She won't," Bellamy interrupts with absolute conviction.
"But if she does—"
"Then I'll come with you." The prince's voice carries the certainty of someone who has weighed all possibilities and reached an unshakeable conclusion.
"If she tries to keep us apart, if she demands I choose between duty and love, then I'll choose love.
I'll renounce my claim to the throne and come to Everitt with you. "
"Bellamy—" Ivah starts to protest, the implications of such a choice staggering in their scope.
"I mean it, Ivah. Nothing will stop me from being with you, from visiting you, from building a life together regardless of what our respective courts might prefer.
" Bellamy lifts his head again, his green eyes blazing with determination.
"I've already lost you once to politics and duty and the fear of discovery. I won't lose you again."
"You're foolish," Ivah says, but his voice is soft with wonder and overwhelming love.
The idea that someone would sacrifice so much for him, would give up everything for the sake of what they've found together—it's almost too much to comprehend.
"Foolish to give up everything for a scarred barbarian who brings nothing but complications to your life. "
"You've brought nothing to my life but happiness and purpose," Bellamy replies, his hand coming up to trace the line of Ivah's jaw with infinite tenderness.
"You're the man who saved my life, who allied with enemies for my sake, who has shown me what it means to be loved completely and without reservation. "
His thumb brushes across Ivah's cheek.
"You're my everything, Ivah. If that makes me foolish, then I choose foolishness over a life without you."
The words settle between them like a covenant, a promise that transcends politics and protocol and the reasonable expectations of princes and kings. Ivah pulls Bellamy closer, holding him with the desperate gratitude of someone who has been given far more than he ever dared hope for.