Nero let his mouth continue its reverent journey downward. He lingered at the gentle curve where neck met shoulder, the subtle ridge of collarbone, the firm plane of chest with its dusky nipples that hardened beneath his tongue. Casteel's breathing quickened, fingers threading through Nero's short hair, neither guiding nor restraining—simply connecting.
Pleasure echoed and amplified between them. Nero felt not only his own desire but Casteel's response to each touch—a doubled sensation that made his head swim. When his lips traced the sensitive skin below Casteel's navel, the younger man's pleasure surged through their connection like summer lightning, making Nero gasp against the warm flesh.
"I can feel you," Casteel breathed, wonder threading through his voice. "Not just your touch, but what it does to you to touch me."
Nero smiled against his skin. "It's...overwhelming."
"Don't stop," Casteel urged, hips rising in silent invitation.
Nero needed no further encouragement. He took Casteel into his mouth with exquisite care, savoring the weight on his tongue, the salt-sweet taste that was uniquely his mate. He should have felt some significance that this was his first time, but he just felt rightness. Casteel's hands fisted in the sheets, a soft cry escaping his lips as the dual sensation—the physical pleasure and the echo of Nero's satisfaction—threatened to unravel him completely.
"Wait," Casteel gasped after several moments of this sweet torment. "I want...I need..."
Understanding flowed through their bond without words. Nero slipped a pillow under Casteel and reached for the oil they'd placed beside the bed, warming it between his palms before preparing his mate with the same deliberate tenderness that had marked every touch this night. Casteel welcomed the intrusion, his body yielding to fingers that instinctively knew exactly where to press, to stroke, in order to coax sighs that turned to desperate moans.
When Nero finally positioned himself above Casteel, their eyes locked in the dim light. Something passed between them—something deeper than desire, more profound than the magical bond that tied their souls together. Nero lowered himself slowly, pressing into that welcoming heat with careful restraint until they were joined completely, breath mingling in the narrow space between their parted lips.
For a moment, they remained still, joined in body as completely as they were in spirit. Nero brushed the dark curls from Casteel's forehead, a tenderness in his touch that would have surprised those who knew him only as a rebel fighter.
"Move," Casteel whispered, hands sliding down to grip Nero's hips. "Please."
Nero began to rock, establishing a rhythm that was neither hurried nor tentative—the steady, inexorable pace of wavesagainst a shoreline. Each thrust sent cascades of pleasure through their bond, amplifying and reflecting until it became impossible to distinguish where one man's sensation ended and the other's began.
Casteel arched beneath him, legs wrapping around Nero's waist to draw him deeper. The position shifted the angle, bringing Nero against that secret place inside that made stars explode behind Casteel's eyes. A broken cry escaped his lips, quickly captured by Nero's mouth in a kiss that tasted of desperation and something dangerously close to love.
They moved together with increasing urgency, their bodies slick with sweat, breath coming in ragged gasps. Through their bond, Nero felt Casteel's approaching climax like distant thunder, building and intensifying until it crashed through them both. Casteel spilled between their bodies with a soft, broken sound that might have been Nero's name, his release triggering Nero's own as the shared sensation became too much to bear.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, hearts gradually slowing to a synchronized rhythm. Nero traced idle patterns on Casteel's damp skin, reluctant to break the fragile peace they'd created in their small corner of the world.
"Tell me about before," Casteel said softly, turning to face Nero in the darkness. "Who were you, before the rebellion?"
Nero was quiet for so long that he supposed Casteel thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of memories long suppressed.
"I was a palace clerk’s son and a farmer’s grandson," he said, the words coming slowly as if excavated from deep within. "My mother was a farmer's daughter and wife."
Casteel listened, absorbing each word. Nero's hand stilled. "The drought came first. Then the blight. The royal tax collectors didn't care that the harvest had failed—they demanded theirdue." It took great courage for Nero to lift his head and stare right at him.
"I had a wife," Nero whispered, his fingers still tracing patterns on Casteel's skin. "Maya. And we should have had two bairns, Amber and Romash. Romash died of a fever before he was five, and Amber never lived. Maya had been out treating the sick even though she was expecting and she got set upon by desperate thieves thinking she might have something they could sell or eat. I was out in the fields burning spoiled crops while she was being stabbed."
He swallowed, the grief still as fresh in times like this as it had been five years ago. Casteel didn’t say anything, simply joined their hands and pressed kisses on every one of his fingers.
“I’d already lost my ma years earlier, my brother to the cause, and my father had died a year earlier, so after that I packed and left. I’d always been pretty good with a bow.”
Nero's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "I thought killing you would prevent another cycle of suffering."
Casteel's thumb traced across Nero's knuckles. "What changed your mind? I saw you hesitate."
"Your eyes," Nero admitted, the confession scraping his throat raw. "You looked...resigned. Not eager for power or drunk on divine favor. Just tired. Like you knew you were walking to your own execution."
Through their bond, he knew Casteel felt the echo of that moment—Nero's confusion when faced with a target who seemed as trapped as any victim. The archer who'd come to deliver justice had found another prisoner instead.
"I was," Casteel said simply. "Every day since they found me, I've been dying by degrees. The prophecy, the ceremonies, the constant watching—it wasn't life. It was performance."
Nero rolled onto his side, studying Casteel's face in the dying firelight. "And now?"
"Now I have something to live for," Casteel replied, his fingers finding the pulse point at Nero's wrist, which gave Nero pause. Did Casteel mean the prophecy or something else?
Someoneelse?
