Ellisandre
In the early hours of the morning, before the sun was even thinking of rising, Ellisandre showered with Sevastyan, the lights off, moving by touch, foreheads resting against each other beneath the spray, lips brushing, fingers curled on arms and legs, mapping promises, clinging to the night.
Sevastyan took the towel from Ellisandre and dried them, then dragged them to the living room.
He backed them up against the slender bit of wall between the entry to the kitchen and the hallway to the bedroom and dropped to his knees, looking up at them.
With one of his beautiful, large hands, he grasped one of their thighs and raised it to his shoulder, then the other, lifting both their feet from the ground.
Surprise brought a small sound out of their throat.
Their belly tightened with anticipation.
They reached up, grasping the top of the doorframes on either side.
Their boy watched them, eyes soft, a little smirk on his lips, and spread their thighs. His face disappeared between them and his large hands pulled their center forward. They clung to his head and shoulders with their legs, bracing for what was coming.
His mouth found their center with a gust of warmth. His tongue burrowed deep and his lips folded around every part of them.
Their back arched, their eyes closed, and their head fell back.
Sounds they’d never heard from their own throat filled the Bolthole.
It took everything to keep from thrusting themselves into his face.
Now they were drunk all over again, on his mouth, on the strength of him kneeling beneath them yet holding them up, the way he worshiped with his tongue.
Their skin tingled, washes of sensation rushing over them, flushing their face, their shoulders, their arms down to their fingers, their mind as entranced as their nerves. When they came, it was with a silent oath on their lips.
Sevastyan was theirs. And so was Raska’s head. They would clear the skies for their boy, open the road, find him a ship to sail into a world where he never again had to ask to be cleansed. Because he would know he was clean.
They looked down, chest rising and falling, belly quivering with the force of their pleasure. Sevastyan looked up, his arms shaking from holding them aloft, his face drenched. And he smiled. A true smile.
Ellisandre reached down, caressing the rise of his cheek bone, the curve of his jaw.
“Go get your boy, Vast. And our wild fox. Bring them home.”