“For fuck’s sake,” Vana mutters in blended arousal and dismay. Fortunately or unfortunately, the brief reprieve is enough to restore his sanity. With shaking hands, Vana grabs the heavy bestiary and drops it over the side of the bed.
The tome lands on the floor with a slapping thud.
Daromir’s pleasure immediately ebbs. There’s a tense pause before Daromir calls out from the bathroom: “Vana?”
Vana exhales shakily and calls back, “Nothing’s wrong. I dropped a book.”
Silence again. Like Daromir is trying to pull himself together. When he calls out again, he sounds almost normal. “Just don’t drop it on your toes, all right?”
Seconds later, pleasure massages down Vana’s arms and ghosts across his chest. “I’ll drop the book on your head next time,” Vana hisses under his breath, managing to haul himself out of bed despite the teasing touches. What he wouldn’t give to have Daromiractuallytouching him like this—so close, yet so far from how they touch every day.
Vana refuses to look in the mirror. This is going to be horribly awkward enough without knowing exactly how debauched he looks. He pads past the painted screen, past Daromir’s bed, and pounds on the bathroom door.
“Daro!”
Vana’s knees nearly buckle with one last surge of pleasure. There doesn’t seem to be a specific touch this time—almost as if the feeling was purely in reaction to Vana’s voice. Then water splashes inside the room, followed by footsteps.
The door swings open, revealing Daromir with only a towel wrapped around his waist. “What’s wrong?”
Oh. Vana really didn’t think this through. What is he supposed to say when he’s hard as steel, and Daromir is standing in arm’s reach, every muscular inch of him gleaming with water?
“Vana, talk to me,” Daromir says when he doesn’t respond.
Averting his gaze, Vana takes a step back. The slight distance fails to clear his head. He can’t see a path out of this without expiring from embarrassment, so he forces himself to ask, “Were you masturbating?”
The silence is excruciating.
“Yes?” Daromir says eventually. “Is that a problem?”
Vana makes himself look into Daromir’s confused, concerned green eyes. The color of home. Daromir has been Vana’s only sense of security for so long, and Vana risks shattering that when he says, “I think the bloodbond has changed.”
?
CHAPTER TEN
Daromir
Daromir’s mind is too muddled for this conversation. His interrupted orgasm mingles with his natural concern over Vana’s distress, turning Daromir’s protective instincts into something even more visceral than usual. Everything in Daromir screams to take Vana by the hands, pull him close. Demand to know what’s wrong, so Daromir can fix it.
Except Daromir can’t grab Vana’s hands right now without dropping his towel.
“What do you mean?” Daromir asks, struggling for composure.
Vana’s eyes dart away again. “I mean, I don’t think we just share pain anymore.”
“What else would we share?” Daromir asks blankly—then he takes a step back and fully takes in Vana’s appearance.
Vana’s face is flushed, and his shirt sticks to his collar bone with sweat or the dampness from his hair. His hair and clothes alike are rumpled as if he’s been tossing around in bed. And under the loose hem of his shirt, he’s clearly just as hard as Daromir.
The bloodbond has changed. The magic that links them together, so they can always find each other. So they feel each other’s pain. It’s just supposed to be pain.
“The bloodbond.” Daromir hopes he’s misunderstood. “Did you… When I… was that?”
“Yeah. When you were… yeah.” Vana finally looks up, his eyes blown dark as midnight. He’s gorgeous as ever, even more gorgeous flushed with arousal. But his clear distress douses Daromir’s own arousal with cold water.
Fuck.
If Vana just felt what Daromir was feeling, that means Daromir was magically touching Vana against his will. Even if Daromir didn’t know what he was doing, surely that’s unforgivable.
