Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Beacon
There’s pressure inside Beacon’s chest—a fullness he thought he’d never experience, not his entire life. And, yes, part of it is due to the new appendage throbbing as the magically-fused addition becomes engorged with Beacon’s own life-force, but that’s not all.
The rest is Laurel. Just him.
His kindness and enthusiasm, his beauty and intelligence, and the fact that Beacon has no trouble scooping him up and plopping him on the table.
Laurel scrambles to close the case of his creations and pushes it aside; Beacon can’t escape laughing, choking out an apology even while Laurel giggles alongside him.
Then they’re kissing again, laughter pressed into each other’s lips and tongues, hands grasping.
Beacon proceeds to strip Laurel of his clothes.
He’s wearing those devastatingly short trousers again, exposing most of his legs with respect to the heat.
Once he’s left naked and erect, spread out on the table, Beacon takes a moment to admire him, breath caught.
Misinterpreting the pause, Laurel shrinks in on himself. “I know it’s strange—”
Beacon grabs him by the ankle, stilling him.
He doesn’t know what to say—platitudes feel useless, reassurances empty—so instead, he kisses the inside of Laurel’s calf and watches his amber eyes go wide.
Laurel relaxes, legs falling open so Beacon can explore him, mouthing down one smooth thigh while gripping the other, testing resistance.
He might not be an athlete, but walking everywhere keeps Laurel toned and fit.
The steep hills and peaks of Dun Steorra’s mountains won’t pose a major obstacle; Beacon finds the strength in this tiny man more admirable than he can verbalize. As usual.
But he wants Laurel to understand, so he spreads his thighs as far as they’ll go, cups his bollocks, and slides his lips down his slender length.
Moaning, Laurel leans into it. His hips buck, thrusting his cock deeper, which Beacon allows for a moment before applying enough pressure to hold Laurel in place.
Despite not being able to rival Beacon’s strength, Laurel fights back, squirming like a trapped eel.
Knowing the way to make his husband melt, Beacon adjusts his grip, spreading Laurel’s ass so he can pay attention to his hole.
The skin flutters under his tongue when Laurel gasps, jerks, and then—as expected—goes limp on the table.
The only exception is his tail, thrashing whenever the pleasure crests.
“Laurel, I need… Can I… May I—” He can’t bring himself to say it.
“Fuck me?” Laurel offers, pushing up onto his elbows so their gazes can lock.
Beacon barely breathes the yes, but heat crosses Laurel’s face all the same.
“I’d be devastated if you didn’t,” he says. “Please fuck me, Beacon.”
Controlling an orgasm with a prick turns out to be very different than blocking out sensations by simply letting his thoughts slide into uncomfortable territory. Beacon isn’t prepared for the wave of arousal that crashes over him at hearing Laurel beg, his eyes glazed over with desire.
Beacon never thought he’d be able to answer that call.
And it’s that which gives him his first orgasm with a cock, completely untouched.
Nothing exits the tip other than a long thread of clear liquid, silky between his thumb and forefinger when he clutches his erection—whether to prolong the sensation or in a ridiculous attempt to stop it from destroying him, Beacon doesn’t know.
When he slumps against the edge of the table, Laurel pops up to wrap his arms around him, keeping him upright. “You came from that?” he asks, eyes as wide as the full moon in the night sky.
“I didn’t mean to,” Beacon begins, but Laurel cuts off the apology with his fingers.
“Don’t. It, that was… extremely validating,” he settles on.
Beacon hides a smile under the long point of Laurel’s ear, nuzzling his neck. “If you say so.”
“Can you keep going?” Laurel asks.
“Yes.” Coming untouched after two minutes of play is mildly embarrassing, even if Laurel found it compelling; not being able to continue afterward would shame his clan for generations.
Beacon brings his precome-damp finger to Laurel’s hole, finding it already slick.
More so than Beacon’s saliva alone would have accomplished.
At his raised eyebrows, a salacious grin spreads Laurel’s lips. “I have many tricks, my dear husband. Stick around, and you’ll share in more of them.”
I have no choice but to stick around, Beacon almost says, stopping himself because it might sound insulting. It’s just factual—they’re locked in. But Beacon would have stayed even if they weren’t.
My dear husband.
In lieu of fighting for appropriate words, Beacon circles Laurel’s rim with his fingertip until Laurel relaxes, allowing him to slide inside.
Beacon isn’t experienced in receiving pleasure, but he’s always been considerate of his—admittedly few—lovers.
He knows to work the entrance before crooking his finger, finding the gland that makes Laurel cry out when he massages it.
This time, he doesn’t hold Laurel down—Beacon lets him thrash.
His beautiful husband, endlessly captivating.
Laurel’s tail whips Beacon in the leg, then wraps around his thigh and squeezes.
Beacon works in another of his thick fingers, loosening Laurel enough to accommodate his creation’s girth.
He doesn’t stop until Laurel is bearing down, wet hole squelching lewdly against Beacon’s knuckles.
Just before Laurel crests, Beacon jerks free, leaving him empty.
Releasing an adorably frustrated roar, Laurel grabs behind his knees, eliminating any obstacle when he demands, “Inside, now. I need you.”
Beacon seizes Laurel by the hips and tugs him until his ass is hanging off the edge of the table, then takes himself in hand.
He fumbles, unused to wielding the appendage, but Laurel doesn’t miss a beat.
He grabs Beacon’s cock and aims it at his entrance, allowing a smooth glide when Beacon eases forth.
“Don’t you dare be gentle,” Laurel growls, more like a kitten than a tiger, powerfully arousing all the same. “I know what you can do. Fuck me like you mean it.”
Beacon growls back, resonant, and doesn’t care one bit when he tears his shirt off and buttons go flying.
The angle for his pelvis in relation to Laurel’s comes naturally after that, Laurel’s guidance invaluable even while on his back.
And Beacon adores it, the way he’s small and shy until someone gives him space to become assertive, determined to reach his goal.
Right now, his goal is to be folded in half and pounded, so Beacon gives it to him, trusting Laurel will say something if the slap of Beacon’s hips against Laurel’s thighs becomes uncomfortable.
Judging by his moans, Beacon doesn’t think it will.
Unspoken desire brings their mouths together, sloppy and panting and biting as Beacon fucks Laurel like a dream come to life. And suddenly, his emotions swell, as if Laurel’s filling him right back with every rocking motion that brings their bodies together.
Laurel drops his head back, breaking their kiss. “I want to come with you inside me.”
Nipping his jaw, Beacon murmurs, “I can make that happen.” He slows into a steady roll of his hips. Thumbing at Laurel’s dark nipples, Beacon is struck by the desire to ask, “Did you ever imagine it could be like this?”
With the sensation making him writhe, Laurel can only gasp, “Us?”
Beacon grunts as Laurel’s hole clenches around him. “Yeah.”
“I was scared to hope.”
Closing Laurel’s thighs, Beacon throws his ankles over one shoulder and wraps an arm around his legs to pin him in place. “I was, too.”
After that, there are no more words.
Beacon fucks Laurel ruthlessly, the smaller elf still somehow finding the breath to beg for more.
His thighs clap against Laurel’s ass, pounding it dark as a ripe plum.
A puddle of precome has spread over his stomach, running down his side.
Beacon sweeps it up, using it to ease the punishing grip he takes on Laurel’s cock. The skin is burning hot, shaft pulsing.
He strokes in time with his thrusts, thumb circling the head, squeezing and relaxing like he imagines he might like while on the edge. Laurel tenses, and it’s the combination of body and mind that nearly brings Beacon off too early a second time.
“Don’t you dare,” Laurel rasps, fingernails digging into the tabletop.
Choking on a laugh, Beacon pours everything he has into Laurel, possessing him in that dizzyingly mutual way. Clutching, grasping, being held back, drawn-dragged closer. Laurel’s heels dig into Beacon’s back as he wails, fighting over that final hump.
“Come on, beautiful.”
Laurel opens his eyes, amber gaze watery.
A tear slips down his cheek. Their connection sizzles, and Beacon doesn’t know exactly what does it—his hand, his expression, his cock—but Laurel’s lips round, and an escalating cry works its way from his chest to his throat, vein pulsing under the sheen of sweat.
What pours out is an animal sound, a howl rich with need as come spurts from his cock, striping his chest and chin.
Beacon smears his palm through it and holds Laurel down using the evidence of his pleasure, falling down the gap alongside him with no further prompting. Watching his husband is enough.
“Fuck!” Beacon doubles over, rewarded with Laurel’s fingers fisting in his hair. Bumps break out across his skin as he delivers a few final, punishing thrusts, wringing himself dry even though nothing physically emerges. Next time, he hears in Laurel’s voice.
Impulse has him sucking come off his fingers. Beacon releases Laurel’s shaking legs so they can kiss, moaning when Laurel’s tongue meets his beyond the threshold of their swollen lips. Tasting himself.