Soren #2
This time, I don't let him hide behind the register, the rag, or the brittle little jokes he keeps throwing between us. I catch the front of his shirt in my fingers and hold there, close enough to make the question obvious.
Aven's eyes drop to my mouth and his breath catches as I lean in to kiss him.
Desperation leaks into the contact and tastes like the whiskey he's been breathing all night.
I take control because someone has to, pushing him back against the mahogany bar until his hips hit the wood with a dull thud.
My magic flares, the bond between us screaming to be acknowledged, and for the first time, Aven doesn't fight it.
He makes a low, broken sound in his throat and fists his hands in my sweater, pulling me closer as if he's trying to climb inside my skin.
My magic pulses through the contact, weaving around his senses, turning the darkness of the bar into a tapestry of light and shadow. I can feel his heartbeat against mine: fast, erratic, and terrified.
"Feel that?" I murmur against his lips, my breath hitching. "That's not the dead, Aven. That's me. That's you. That's the only thing that matters right now."
His breath catches. I feel it through the bond, the way he wants to argue and can’t quite make the words come out. His sarcasm flickers and dies for a second. That’s when I know he’s going to let me do this.
I drop to my knees. The floor is sticky and I don’t care.
I get his belt open, shove his jeans and boxers down just far enough, and take his cock into my mouth in one slow, deliberate motion.
He’s already hard, the head slick and hot against my tongue.
I work him with my mouth and tongue, one hand braced on his hip while the other stays splayed across his stomach so the bond stays open through skin.
Aven’s hands fly to my hair. His hips twitch like he’s trying not to thrust. I feel it the second his brain catches up to what we’re doing, his whole body goes tense, the bond flickering with sudden panic.
“Soren—fuck—Gabriel’s right there,” he whispers, voice already wrecked. “We can’t—he’ll hear—”
I pull off just long enough to look up at him, lips wet. “Then be quiet.”
I take him back into my mouth before he can answer, deeper this time.
His head thuds softly against the wall and a low, helpless sound escapes him.
I reach up without breaking rhythm and press two fingers over his mouth, just enough to remind him.
He bites down on them instead of making another noise, and I feel the vibration of his groan against my skin.
Through the bond the magic pulses warm every time he tries to stay quiet and fails. Every time his thighs start to shake I slow down, drag my tongue along the underside of his cock, feel him fight not to make a sound. His free hand grips my shoulder hard enough to bruise.
“Quiet,” I murmur against him when I pull back for air, voice low and rough. “Or Gabriel’s going to come out here and find me on my knees for you.”
Aven makes a strangled noise behind my fingers and I take him back in, sucking harder now, letting the bond stay wide open so he can feel exactly how much I want this, exactly how much clarity I’m feeding him with every pull of my mouth.
His legs are trembling. His hips keep trying to rock forward and I hold him still with the hand on his hip, forcing him to take it at my pace.
When he comes it’s sudden and messy, his whole body locking up as he spills down my throat with a broken, muffled sound against my fingers. I don’t pull off until he’s shaking through it, until the bond goes quiet, like the dead have finally stepped back far enough for him to breathe.
He lets out a heavy sigh, his gaze falling to mine. "That was..." He swallows, trying to find the sarcasm and failing miserably. "That was a very persuasive argument."
"I'm a very persuasive person," I say, reaching out to help him tuck himself back in. My hands are steady, even if my heart's doing something complicated and loud in my chest. "And the lighting in here's still atrocious. It's practically a crime against my complexion."
Aven laughs, a real, shaky sound that makes me want to kiss him again. He straightens up, leaning against the bar for support as he buttons his jeans. "You're a nightmare, Soren. A beautiful, manic, deeply irritating nightmare."
"And you're a medium who needs a nap and a proper ward," I say, stepping closer to press a soft kiss to his forehead.
It's a gesture that doesn't match my mouth at all: tender where I should be sharp, quiet where I should be loud.
"We're selfish, Aven. We want you for a hundred reasons that have nothing to do with your well-being.
But we aren't liars. We aren't going to tell you it's for your own good.
We're going to tell you it's for ours. Because we're better when you're there. "
He looks at me for a long time, the silence of the bar stretching between us like a bridge before I head toward the door.
"Is that line supposed to be comforting?" he asks, his voice following me into the shadows.
"No," I say, looking back at him one last time. "It's supposed to be true. Truth’s better than comfort every time."