Daromir returns with a black-red silk scarf. “I’ve thought about this from time to time,” he says, circling behind Vana. “Got the idea from the falconers, hooding a bird so she calms down. Can I try it with you?”
Vana’s mind stutters. “You’ve thought about blindfolding me?”
“Does that bother you?”
“No,” Vana says hastily, because theinterestthe idea stirs up isn’t bothersome at all. “You were thinking about this as a—an anxiety thing?”
Daromir laughs and touches Vana’s bare shoulder. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I was thinking about it as a sex thing. I just hadn’t realized it yet.” He smoothes Vana’s hair back from his face. “May I?”
“Please,” Vana breathes.
“Then close your eyes,” Daromir says, and Vana does.
Vana doesn’t remember where he got the scarf. It never meant anything to him. Now it’s one of the most important objects in the world, soft material kissing his eyelids as Daromir pulls it across his eyes. The darkness itself doesn’t center Vana. The thought of Daromir imagining this does.
Vana’s eyelashes brush the fabric. Light shines through the gaps until the fabric layers again over his eyes, blocking out the last specks. Daromir pulls the fabric taut and carefully knots it behind Vana’s head.
Suddenly, there’s nothing in the universe but Vana’s quickening heart and Daromir behind him. Vana’s bound in place, sightless, with nothing left except his trust that Daromir will take care of him.
“How is that?” Daromir asks, touching Vana’s waist. Hands slide around to Vana’s stomach, pulling him backwards. Vana’s back presses against Daromir’s chest, and every sensation feels so much sharper in the darkness.
“This is…” Vana shivers as Daromir’s fingers slide under his trousers. “I like this.”
“Me too.” Daromir spins Vana around and grabs Vana’s hand. Pulls it towards him. “Touch me, Vana.”
Daromir’s cock is hard in his trousers, the heat and weight clear against Vana’s palm. As soon as he touches Daromir, the sensation blazes through him as well. Like Daromir’s pleasure and need are even clearer than his own.
“Can you feel how much I want you?” Daromir asks. “You, exactly as you are. I’m not in love with a memory. I’m not a naïve teenager anymore either. I know exactly who you are, Vana. You’re mine.”
There’s a warm breath on Vana’s face just before Daromir kisses him.
Vana whimpers out another sob and lets Daromir lead him to the bed. Daromir’s scent surrounds him, intoxicating, and he drifts away in it. Then Daromir drags Vana back to the present, removing his boots and trousers. Broad hands skate up and down his legs. Every touch binds them closer together, and by the time Daromir lets go, Vana is panting, close to the edge already.
Daromir slides on top of him, slotting their legs together. Fuck, he’s still fully dressed. Somehow that’s even hotter. His reassuring weight presses down on Vana, then vanishes for a moment. A drawer opens and closes. Daromir settles back between Vana’s legs, touches the sensitive skin inside his thigh, and says, “I’m here.”
Vana exhales. “You’re here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Daromir strokes Vana’s thigh, the line of his hip. He alternates teasing touches and near-bruising caresses. Sensation builds in Vana like a storm. His cock aches untouched, and he needs more of Daromir.
Vana’s grief and regret and self-abuse will return. This happiness will pass. But he’ll allow himself this moment of comfort. He can’t disappoint Daromir, who thinks Vana deserves it.
“Even when we’re not in the same room, I’m thinking about you,” Daromir thumbs Vana’s nipple, drawing out a sharp gasp of pleasure. “Every time I ask for a day off, I spend every moment looking for you across the street. I hate being away from you.”
“So do I,” Vana confesses. He’s never dared say it, because it’s selfish, but in the safety of the darkness, he can say anything. “Zuzana and Indra must hate it too. I’m so fuckingcrankywhen you’re gone.”
When Daromir touches his thigh again, his fingers are wet. Vana’s skin comes alive with the trail Daromir traces to Vana’s balls. “That probably shouldn’t make me so happy to hear.”
“Why?” Vana asks. He arches up, vision sparking electric behind the silk, as Daromir rubs wet fingers against his hole.
Daromir pushes two fingers inside Vana. “Zuzana once called uscodependent.”
Vana’s body sings with the touch. “What, like that’s a bad thing?”
“That’s exactly what I said to her,” Daromir says, and angles precisely against Vana’s prostate.
Vana can’t catch his breath. Sex has never felt like this. Desire chases need through his entire body. There’s the sharp specific feeling of Daromir’s fingers pushing into him, combined with an all-over glow of pleasure through the bloodbond. Vana isn’t even touching Daromir beyond their thighs pressed together, and Daromir is so turned on, Vana feels it.
“Oh, fuck,” Daromir says suddenly.
