“What?” Vana asks, fumbling for the blindfold.
Daromir grabs Vana’s wrist and pins it to the mattress. His fingers hook inside Vana again, sending shockwaves of pleasure through Vana—answered by a groan from Daromir too.
“Wow, that was…” Daromir sounds stunned, but not unhappy. “Ifelt that.”
?
CHAPTER TWENTY
Daromir
Daromir nudges Vana’s prostate again, just to be sure. Once again, unmistakable pleasure washes through him. More than just the overall bliss and excitement he feels at the mere opportunity to touch Vana like this. This isspecific.“Yeah. Definitely felt that.”
Vana’s mouth drops open. “Oh.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and Daromir can’t see his eyes beneath the scarf, but he doesn’t need to. Daromir counts silently.One, two, three—
“I wonder what changed,” Vana says, propping himself up on his elbow. Even flushed with pleasure, he’s starting to think again. “Is it just a matter of exposure, with a slower onset for you? Is it something we did? Is it—”
“Shut up,” Daromir says lovingly, and stops Vana’s mouth with a kiss. “We can figure outwhylater. Right now, I just want to make you feel good. And I guess me too, incidentally.”
Vana rocks onto Daromir’s fingers, pulling him in. He takes a shaky breath, easy to hear when Daromir’s so attuned to Vana’s every movement. “Right. Of course, you’re right. Daro, I love you so much. I don’t want to think, please.”
Daromir touches Vana’s face. Rubs his thumb along the edge of the blindfold, over Vana’s cheek, even softer than the silk. “Think about me. Just me. Is it codependent if I never want you to think about anything else again?”
Vana arches up, mouth parting on a gasp, unable to answer.
Good. This is exactly how Daromir wants Vana, even as Vana’s sobs still echo in his heart. He wishes Vana had let him kill Fleury instead—but Vana wouldn’t beVanaif he was willing to put that burden on Daromir.
And Vana was right. Would it have been any different if Fleury died by Daromir’s hand instead? Daromir belongs body, soul, and magic to Vana. He’s honored to be Vana’s sword.
Daromir’s honored to touch Vana now too. To own him in a new way, deepening their lifelong bond. Even if—no,especiallyif the encounter is even more intimate than he imagined.
The sensation isn’t as specific as Vana described. Daromir doesn’t exactly feel his own fingers in his ass. Each reaction is more diffuse, clearly an artifact of the bond. Not as immediate as Daromir’s own pleasure—but all the better because heknowsit’s from Vana.
They can experiment with the exact parameters later. Daromir thinks he’ll really, really enjoy that.
Daromir withdraws his fingers, because if he doesn’t stop now, he’ll come just from fingering Vana. Unlacing his trousers is difficult, both because one of his hands is still covered in salve and because he can’t resist bending over and kissing Vana’s quivering stomach. Vana whimpers and rocks beneath Daromir, his cock rubbing up against Daromir’s chest, which is yet another distraction of doubled sensation. Daromir closes his eyes and has to straighten up to get his own cock out.
Vana bucks with each movement as Daromir strokes the salve over his own cock. Daromir has to force himself to stop instead of getting Vana off that way again. He leans over Vana’s body and kisses his forehead through the silk scarf. “I love you.”
“Daro,please.”
They’ve never done this before, but it’s the most natural thing in the world. Daromir was meant to slide into Vana’s body just like this, shared pleasure cascading between them. He feels Vana’s slight ache, the tension, until Vana relaxes. Then there’s onlygood-right-yes. From Vana’s breathless swearing, the leaking of his cock against Daromir’s stomach, Vana feels what Daromir feels too: impossible tightness and heat, the utter perfection of being precisely where he’s supposed to be.
“Fuck. You’re so perfect, Vana.”
Vana claws into Daromir’s shoulders, the faint pain shared between them. “Don’t say that.”
“You’re perfect forme.” Daromir thrusts harder into him, feeling the shared shocks of need with every movement. “I don’t care what anyone else wants. You, exactly as you are, and I can only—”
He breaks off, because this is about Vana. Not him.
Except everything about Vana is something about Daromir too. Vana’s hands are gentle on Daromir’s shoulders, sliding up his neck. “You can only what, Daro?”
Daromir laughs and looks away. Even though Vana is blindfolded, surely he’ll know anyway if Daromir starts to cry. Vana’s smart like that.
“I can only try to be worthy of you,” Daromir says.
