9. Still Good Things #4
“Maybe we’re a good distraction for each other,” Imalroc said, voice low.
Rerdas let out a quiet laugh. He reached for Imalroc’s hand, traced rough-skinned, swollen knuckles with his fingertips. “You’re not just a distraction. You’re a reminder that there are still good things in the world.”
He couldn’t help himself. He drew Imalroc’s cold hand up to his lips, covering it in a gauntlet of slow, fervent kisses.
“Huntmaster,” Imalroc growled, a warning.
“One more?” Rerdas whispered, because it seemed to be what his body begged for whenever Imalroc was close to him, touching him, allowing himself to be touched.
The battleboxer pulled his hand free and caught Rerdas’s shoulder, driving him flat to the bed. Rerdas had time for his breath to catch at the back of his throat before Imalroc was half on top of him, weight pinning him down.
“Alright,” Imalroc said. “One more.” He leaned down and kissed his mouth.
It was not a sweet kiss to send him off to sleep. It was devouring and desperate, and woke every part of him up. Desire was an ocean, and Rerdas went under like he wanted to drown.
He slid his hands down Imalroc’s back and pulled him closer.
His hips lifted, skin sparking where he rocked against Imalroc.
Gasping at the sensation of teeth dragging at the curve of his neck, moaning as Imalroc sucked a mark hard into his skin, and he was instantly, helplessly hard and burning with need.
“Imalroc—”
“Fuck,” Imalroc said hoarsely, and shoved him halfway across the bed as he rolled to the opposite side. When he mumbled another curse, it was muffled, as though he spoke face down into a pillow.
Rerdas shuddered, trying to calm the frenzy in his pounding pulse.
Some part of him was unabashedly delighted.
It was terrible timing, but he’d spent all day craving any hint of interest or curiosity from Imalroc, and suddenly he was buried by this landslide of lust, as if the battleboxer had been holding it back all day.
“Sorry.” Imalroc seemed to realize he’d flung Rerdas to the edge of the bed. “Just… don’t say my name like that. Not when I can’t…” He swallowed audibly.
There was a keen-edged silence. It was strange to lie there, knowing who and what he wanted, knowing his longing was returned, and also knowing they couldn’t act on it.
It felt good, in an unfamiliar way. He could dam it up inside him and wait in anticipation of the next time he would be overrun. It had never been this way before.
Imalroc sat up. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“Perfectly fine,” Rerdas said quickly. “I’m, uh, dealing with a slight… problem. But I can wait it out.” He smiled into the dark. “Apparently, I like it when you bite me.”
Imalroc snorted and then slumped back into the bed with a groan. “Stop making me want to do what I shouldn’t want to do,” he murmured.
For a long time, they lay still and separate.
When Imalroc spoke again, he sounded markedly calmer. Which was mildly disappointing. “It can’t be like this in Kibo, Rerdas.”
He grimaced. They shouldn’t have left Lakara. “I know. It’s closer to Kirinoll, and the queen has many allies in the western felds.”
“It’s Melgreth Hize’s home city.”
Imalroc’s hated former handler. Rerdas had forgotten that the absolute bastard called Kibo home. He thought of the marks that littered Imalroc’s body. If the rumors about Hize were true, not all the scars were from battlebox fights.
Rerdas stretched to find Imalroc’s hand again. He squeezed it firmly. “He won’t be allowed anywhere near you.” His heart flipped in his chest when, after a moment, Imalroc’s grip tightened briefly in return.
“We have to be more careful. They say the battleboxes are different in Kibo.” Something sawed away beneath Imalroc’s calm. “The attention might be worse than in Lakara.”
He stroked down Imalroc’s palm and laced their fingers. “We’ll manage. Come here?” he asked tentatively.
Imalroc moved marginally closer. “You sure we shouldn’t sleep back to back?” he muttered.
“Maybe that would be a wiser idea.” Rerdas hooked a foot around one of Imalroc’s ankles.
Neither of them shifted away.
“Then again,” Rerdas started, “this feels nice. And you’ve got such absurdly good control of yourself, I think we can—”
He was hauled roughly backward against Imalroc’s chest. The battleboxer nuzzled into the nape of his neck, arms enfolding him. “You’re overestimating it,” Imalroc murmured, and Rerdas shivered.
Maybe they could do this all night.
Being held was a steadier, but no less addictive, pleasure than what they’d already done. How was it that the same man could make him feel as if he’d never have enough, and yet also as if he’d never been quite so content?
“Huntmaster,” Imalroc murmured, breaking the wispy trail of his thoughts. “Tell your cousin to stop snoring. I can hear her through the wall.”
Rerdas smothered a sleepy laugh. “I’m not risking that level of wrath. Not even for you.”
“Coward,” Imalroc challenged.
“Instigator,” he murmured, and snuggled more securely into Imalroc’s arms.