Chapter 25 #2
“Okay?” Gregor’s voice was strained, his arms trembling with the effort of holding still while Fergal adjusted.
“More than okay. Move.”
Gregor moved. Slow at first—long, deep strokes that pulled almost all the way out before pushing back in, each thrust hitting the spot that made Fergal’s toes curl and his back arch off the mattress.
The rhythm was deliberate, controlled, building pleasure in layers rather than rushing toward release.
Fergal wrapped his legs around Gregor’s waist and pulled him deeper. The change in angle made them both gasp, and Gregor’s carefully measured pace faltered for a beat—a crack in his composure that Fergal exploited by clenching around him and rolling his hips upward.
“Fergal…” Gregor’s voice was wrecked, the controlled commander nowhere to be found. “If you do that, I won’t—”
“Then don’t.” Fergal pulled him down, mouth against his ear. “Stop controlling everything for once and just feel.”
Something broke loose in Gregor. The measured strokes became harder, faster, driven by a need that had been unleashed. Fergal met every thrust, his body singing with the intensity of it, pleasure building at the base of his spine in waves that grew higher and closer together.
Gregor’s hand found his, their fingers lacing together against the pillow, and Fergal held on. His other hand slid between their bodies and wrapped around his own cock, stroking in time with Gregor’s thrusts, the dual sensations pushing him toward the edge with breathtaking speed.
“Look at me, baby boy,” Gregor rasped, and Fergal opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed.
Gregor was looking down at him with a completely unguarded expression. No walls. No masks. No carefully constructed defenses. Just Gregor—raw, vulnerable, burning with an emotion so vast and obvious that it should’ve had a name, should’ve been spoken, should’ve been given the words it deserved.
Say it, Fergal thought, his climax building, his body tightening. Please, just say it. I can see it right there. Just let it out.
He came with Gregor’s eyes locked on his, the orgasm crashing through him in waves that pulled cries from his throat and clenched his body tight around Gregor’s cock.
His hand squeezed Gregor’s so hard his knuckles went white, and through the blinding rush of pleasure, he held on to that connection like a lifeline.
Gregor followed seconds later, burying himself deep with a groan that vibrated through Fergal’s entire body. The pulse of him inside Fergal—hot, rhythmic, intimate beyond description—extended the aftershocks until Fergal was trembling and oversensitive and utterly, completely undone.
They lay tangled together, breathing hard, hearts hammering in tandem. Gregor’s face was pressed against Fergal’s neck, his breath hot and ragged against sweat-damp skin. Their hands were still linked on the pillow, fingers intertwined, holding on even as everything else loosened and softened.
Fergal turned his head and pressed his lips to Gregor’s temple. The silver-black hair was damp with sweat, the skin beneath it warm. He breathed him in—cedar and exertion and warmth and everything that meant safety and home and love.
“I love you,” Fergal whispered.
He felt it—the fractional stiffening, the almost imperceptible pause in Gregor’s breathing. The tell that had become as familiar as it was painful, the split-second recalibration before the response that was always true and always incomplete.
Gregor pressed his lips to Fergal’s neck. “You’re everything to me.”
The words landed in the space between them, and for the first time, they weren’t enough.
Fergal stared at the ceiling. The afterglow was fading, replaced by something sharper, something that had been building and had chosen this moment to finally demand attention. “Why can’t you say it?”
Gregor went still. His face was still pressed against Fergal’s neck, his arm still draped across Fergal’s chest, but the softness was gone, replaced by a tension Fergal could feel radiating through every point of contact between their bodies. “Fergal—”
“You were inside me.” Fergal’s voice was quiet, but the steadiness cost him.
“You looked at me like I was the center of your entire universe. I could see it, Gregor. I could see everything you feel for me written across your face, and then I say ‘I love you,’ and you give me ‘you’re everything to me’ like it’s a consolation prize. ”
Gregor lifted his head. His expression was careful, guarded—the walls going up in real time, and Fergal wanted to scream. “What I feel for you is not—”
“Then say it.” Fergal sat up, dislodging Gregor’s arm, pulling away from the warmth of his body even though every instinct protested the separation. “Three words. Eight letters. You’ve been alive for three and a half centuries, so you must’ve said them to someone at some point.”
“I haven’t.”
The admission stopped Fergal cold. “What?”
“I’ve never said those words to anyone.” Gregor sat up too, the sheet pooling at his waist. His chest was still flushed from sex, his breathing still slightly elevated, and the dissonance between his physical state and his emotional withdrawal was jarring.
“No one has ever mattered like you do, but I can’t say them. Because—”
“Because what?”