“Do you even sleep?” Saint asked, voice rough, tone grumpy.
“Not really,” Knight said brightly. “I mean, I could if I wanted to, but it’s not a need for demons unless we’re weakened or starving.”
“Ugh,” Saint groaned, clenching his eyes shut again. He felt like crying. His mouth was so dry. “My head hurts.”
“Oh.”
Two fingers touched his temples. The pain disappeared so suddenly he was left shocked he’d been feeling it at all.
He opened his eyes. Knight was smiling at him.
“Better?”
“Yes.” Saint swallowed. “Thank you.”
“Is this a ... hangover?” Knight said it tentatively, like he was unsure what it meant.
“Yes,” Saint said, “but you’ve eased most of it, so, thank you.”
“You really don’t need to thank me, bunny. Is that all you need?”
Saint paused. He vaguely remembered when they’d left the party last night, Knight removing his clothes, helping him into bed. Cuddling him and kissing him until he fell asleep. His cheeks burned. He clutched the sheets, which were already pulled up to his chin, but still felt exposed.
He felt ... he didn’t know how he felt. He smacked his lips, trying to get rid of the awful taste in his mouth.
“You know you ... last night was last night. This isn’t—you don’t have to do—just because we have a contract—you’re not my—”
A finger pressed against his lips, stopping his rambling. To his dismay, Knight’s expression grew even warmer.
“I know what you’re trying to say, and no, I don’t think that just because of our contract or the fact that I agreed to last night suddenly means I’m forever at your beck and call. Even though I want to be. At your beck and call,” he added, like Saint didn’t get it.
Saint’s blush increased. “Oh. Um.”
“So, is there anything else you need? Are you hungry?”
At the question, Saint’s stomach let out a furious growl. Knight chuckled.
Saint yanked the pillow from underneath his head and smacked Knight with it. Knight’s laughter increased.
“I’m going to shower,” Saint said, “then we can talk about food.” He hesitated. “Could you ...?” He grew embarrassed and self-conscious. Knight had literally undressed him last night for fuck’s sake, why did he still feel so shy and self-conscious?
“Of course.” Knight correctly interpreted the end of that question and slid out of the sheets. He sat on the other side of the bed, his back to Saint.
Saint felt a swell of something as he quickly left the bed. He hurried to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.
Only after he’d brushed his teeth and was under the shower did he let himself think about everything that had happened in the last ten or so hours. He’d thought, come morning, all he’d feel was a throbbing headache and perhaps a smidge of shame and guilt and regret. He’d thought the alcohol would’ve made things hazy, but he remembered it all in almost vivid detail.
Knight’s first time trying the suya. The alcohol. Dancing with Knight. Then with Teresa. The way it had felt to pretend Knight was his boyfriend or his lover, the freedom of holding his hand, of holding him tight, their hips rocking together like they were making love.
And thekisses.
He probably shouldn’t—he didn’t know how good Knight’s hearing was, if demons had heightened, supernatural senses—but he couldn’t resist wrapping a hand around his hardening dick.
If he hadn’t been so drunk when they’d gotten back, he pictured how the endorphins would have emboldened him so he wouldn’t have hesitated to pull Knight on top of him, spread his legs for him—
“Fuck,” Saint panted. Knowing his privacy was fucked until his and Knight’s contract was fulfilled, he took his time, stroking from root to tip slowly, his free hand moving up to gently pluck a sensitive nipple.
He thought of his desire tipping over at the party, of giving in and dragging Knight to an abandoned room upstairs and having his way with him, safe in the knowledge that if they got caught it’d be for the fact that it was probably rude to the host, not because they were queer.
