Vana’s flush has nothing to do with exertion.
“You’re always right,” Vana manages. Except if Daromir knew exactly what Vana needs right now…
Vana has no idea what would happen.
Would Daromir jerk away, horrified? Or would he acquiesce? Would Daromir give Vana exactly what he wants and needs, regardless of his own wants? Like a twisted extension of his bound duties?
Vana can’t think again until Daromir releases him. Daromir steps away abruptly, ducking down to gather up the swords.
“You can bathe first,” Daromir says. “I’ll be right up.”
Vana turns away from the wall—and he’s never been more grateful for Daromir not to look at him. All right, maybe Vana isn’t grateful when Daromir bends over likethatto pick up the swords. Every line of his body is perfection, and Vana unfortunately knows exactly how it would feel pressed against him.
“Thanks,” Vana says, impressed with how calm he sounds given his aching cock. Grabbing the useless bestiary, he flees the room.
Worry and guilt quell Vana’s desire by the time he gets upstairs. He bathes quickly in cold water, then dresses again. Long hair damp on his shoulders, he curls up in bed with the arcane bestiary. It might not help with identifying the cocoon from Radovan’s workshop, but it’s fairly interesting. Vana can pretend to read it as his thoughts race.
Daromir was right. Vana needs to delegate and prioritize better. He was good at this once. But he’s been off kilter for years and getting worse. He’s alarmed that the pressure is making him fall apart. What does that say about his ability to rule?
The throne always seemed like the best path forward. Better than trusting Marek would do right by Kaiskara. Vana won’t even consider what Kazia might look like as king. Sure, Vana doesn’t like Draskora, but that’s because of the treacherous wyrms masquerading as nobility. The grim weather. The damned scalestone humming through the mountains.
The people themselves are no worse than people anywhere. Well, they could use a bit of reform to better control rogue blood mages.
Vana just doesn’t know if he’s strong enough for this path anymore.
Shaking his head, Vana sets aside the intrusive worrying. That isn’t something he can solve tonight, no more than he can solve his inappropriate lust for Daromir.
Familiar footsteps arrive upstairs, and the sound of Daromir’s evening routine settles Vana. He’s finally able to concentrate on the bestiary as Daromir puts his things away. Daromir’s footsteps change tone in the echoing bathing chamber before the closed door muffles them. Water runs into white noise. Vana’s shoulders unlock.
Then pleasure seizes Vana out of nowhere.
It’s as if someone is stroking Vana’s cock from root to head, but there’s nothing there. Even though the touch is real enough to make Vana curl over, body blazing with the shock. Phantom fingers wrap around him, twisting and tightening, impossible to ignore. Vana feels his cock hardening before it actually does, sensation preceding reality.
Like a wet dream, except Vana is awake, and no dream ever felt this real. It’s the opposite of illusion magic. Vana feels everything yet sees nothing. And everything about the touch is so foreign, yet so familiar.
Pleasure sparks from Vana’s chest, radiating from an untouched nipple. Book discarded, Vana twists his hands in the bedding, trying to pull himself together.
This hasn’t happened before. Pleasure isn’t supposed to echo like this. But Vana can’t deny the exhilarating familiarity. This is the bloodbond. Except Vana is sharing Daromir’s pleasure instead of his pain.
Impossible. They’ve both jerked off before. They’ve both fucked other people before, andthishas certainly never happened. And they’re only supposed to share pain. Impossible—yet Vana knows the bloodbond’s taste, the intimate pull from his soul.
Daromir must be touching himself as he bathes, just a painted screen and closed door away. That mental image is an entirely new torment, nearly as unraveling as the sensation itself.
And Daromir has no idea what his every touch is doing to Vana.
It feels so good, Vana can hardly think. Part of him wants to just lie back and enjoy Daromir’s touch. The fantasy made real. There’s something so perfect about the bloodbond’s intimacy transforming like this. But Vana has to stop it. Because Daromir doesn’t know, and it’s unfair—it’sawfulif Vana knows and Daromir doesn’t.
Vana can’t take advantage of Daromir like this.
Getting up and telling Daromir is easier said than done, though. Daromir’s phantom touch lowers, cupping his balls—no, he’s cuppingtheirballs. Unfocused sensation ignites Vana’s every nerve. He can’t feel the touch itself, just the reaction. Exactly what Daromir is feeling. Vana covers his mouth to muffle a helpless whimper.
This is better than touching himself. Better than anyone Vana’s ever slept with. And it builds, Vana and Daromir’s cocks responding to harder, quicker pulls. Vana stifles more whimpers as he reaches the brink—
The sensation fades in an anticlimactic finish.
For a moment, Vana thinks that’s the end. Then pleasure tweaks through his chest again. Sensation shivers through his stomach. Vana’s cock continues to ache, his own pleasure still echoing Daromir’s.
Daromir isn’t finished. He’s edging himself, and unknowingly edging Vana too.
