13. Ignatius #2
“Merciful Light, what are you doing to me, Ignatius?”
A nervous smile quirked Iggie’s lips. “All good things, I hope?”
Alistair bucked his hips, grinding into Iggie. Liquid fire coursed through Iggie’s veins like dawnflame as the paladin’s throaty chuckle echoed throughout the cavern. “Oh, I’d say so.”
They came together again, hands and lips scrambling for purchase.
Iggie found himself desperate for each new touch, each fresh taste.
He’d encountered his share of handsome men while on the run, even considered approaching several of them before deciding it was too great a risk.
But never had he felt anything remotely close to this level of attraction, this degree of attunement to another person.
And now that he had, he never wanted it to end.
For tonight.
Iggie’s stomach roiled. When their lips next parted, he leaned back and bit his lip, struggling to find the words for what he wanted to say.
“What is it? Alistair asked, his brow furrowing. “Don’t tell me it’s my turn to assure you this isn’t some terrible mistake?”
“No, it’s not that.” Iggie ran his hands over the sculpted contours of Alistair’s back, the unsettled feeling in his gut growing. “It’s just…this feels like a fantastical dream. Like something that could never happen to me of all people. And I…well, I guess I’m just dreading waking up from it.”
“I see.”
A sudden, sharp pinch shot through Iggie’s side, and he yelped, swatting Alistair’s hand away. “Shadow and shade, what did you do that for?”
The paladin gave him a smug grin. “I was assisting you. See? No dream.”
Iggie rubbed at his side, unable to completely hide the quirk of his lips beneath a scowl.
Then, his gaze fell upon the nearby logs crackling with dawnflame, and any hint of a smile faded.
“I just can’t fathom why someone like you would want someone like me.
Even setting aside your…profession, you are the heir of a noble house while I am less than a peasant. ”
“Nonsense.” Alistair wrapped his arms around Iggie, attempting to tug him closer.
Iggie put up a token resistance before allowing himself to be pulled against the paladin’s chest. Alistair pressed a tender kiss to his cheek.
“I don’t care about your heritage. I’m attracted to you because no matter how many hardships you’ve faced, you’ve emerged on the other side with a keen mind, a kind heart, and a noble spirit.
” His chuckle that followed sounded slightly forced.
“Besides, it’s not like I’m asking for your hand in marriage. ”
Embarrassment heated Iggie’s cheeks. “O-of course not. You’re right. I know I’m being ridiculous. Please, forgive me.”
He tried to turn and rekindle their previous passion, planting little kisses along the planes of Alistair’s throat, but the paladin didn’t reciprocate.
Instead, he continued to gently stroke Iggie’s back, his expression contemplative.
Iggie silently cursed his own stupidity.
Leave it to him to put a damper on the mood and ruin everything.
Was this when Alistair realized what they were doing here really was a grand mistake?
“I heard what you said the other day.” Alistair’s voice came out soft. His hands never stilled in their soothing touch. “About feeling like a curse.”
“Oh.” Iggie’s mind went blank. Not exactly the stinging rejection he’d been expecting. Perhaps the paladin was building up to it?
Alistair’s calloused hand cupped Iggie’s chin, lifting his head and forcing their eyes to meet. Instead of condemnation or regret, all Iggie saw in the paladin’s golden gaze was compassion. The dazzling sight left him breathless, and he listened with rapt attention as Alistair spoke.
“No matter what else happens between us, regardless of the Order’s claims or actions, remember that you are not a monster. You are not a curse. You are worthy of love and so much more, no matter how cruelly the world has tried to deny it to you.”
His vision blurring with unshed tears, Iggie launched himself atop Alistair, sealing their lips with desperate kisses as his chest constricted with emotion.
Alistair’s rough hands tentatively probed the edges of Iggie’s shirt, and Iggie reached down to slide them higher.
He was too far gone to remain self-conscious.
He scrabbled at Alistair’s tunic, and Alistair chuckled, tugging it off to reveal his chiseled chest.
Iggie drank in the sight, marveling at the hardened ridges of Alistair’s abs and the faint dusting of hair there. His gaze paused on a pale, jagged line running down Alistair’s left flank. His fingers hovered over the scarred skin.
“Training accident,” Alistair murmured in response to Iggie’s unasked question. “My father was an effective teacher, but his methods weren’t exactly gentle. It was before I made my vows and earned my dawnflame. The wound never healed properly.”