Page 44 of Lay It Bare

He swallowed convulsively, eyes on his deux. Tingles broke out over his skin. For the first time all evening, he felt the thrill of being hunted instead of hunting. “El.”

“Vast.” Affection laced every layer of Ellisandre’s voice.

Sevastyan shivered.

Ellisandre leaned over him, hands on either side of his shoulders, strands of their white hair falling towards his face. Their knees were almost at his shoulders. He was belly up, exposed, supine. Exactly where he wanted to be. Ellisandre leaned lower, hair stroking his cheeks before their lips touched his.

He whimpered, arching up into their caress. “El.”

“Vast.”

He wasn’t breathing. Cold snow surrounded the van, blanking out the windshield like his goddex was blanking out his awareness of anything but their lips, their touch, the pull they had over his entire form. Their hand gripped his left pectoral, strong fingers digging into his muscles with greed. He arched into the pain, their appreciation communicated in every tendril of pressure.

“My strong, strong boy,” Ellisandre whispered against his face, kissing across his cheekbones. “You carried him up that wall like you were Thor.”

Sevastyan laughed, raising his hands, asking, not taking. They took one of his hands in theirs and brought it to their shoulder, giving permission for him to clutch and hold.

He groaned. “You told me to.”

Ellisandre smiled down at him and bit his lip, licking the sting away and kissing him again. They spun around on their hands so that their body aligned with his, their thighs pressing against the sides of his hips, their eyes locked together.

Sevastyan stroked his hands up and down their arms, hesitant, full of wonder. They waited, letting him approach, until he dared touch the tips of his fingers to the planes of their face. “I always think of you as cold and white, but your skin is gold like summer.”

Ellisandre lowered their body, rolling themselves against Sevastyan’s full length. “My mother told me my visage was the map of the Mediterranean, north and south, east and west, the mark of the wind against the face above blue water.” They brushed their lips against Sevastyan’s. “And then there is you, northern bred, east and west.”

“More west than east.”

“And yet the son of both.” They feasted on his lips and down his arched throat. “So violent, my Vast. So beautiful.”

He had nothing to say to that. He touched Ellisandre’s face and pressed kisses against their shoulder. They were as intoxicating as absinthe and as deadly as a viper. Sevastyan arched up into Ellisandre, pressing his hips against theirs. Danger. Sharp, sweet pain. Straight speech. A firm grip on his throat. His deux. Ellisandre pulled back the collar of his shirt and bit his neck. He moaned, eyes fluttering shut and rolling back. Gods. They could have him. They could take him. He wanted them to lay claim. Irrevocable claim.

Ellisandre sucked blood to the surface of his skin and sat up, pinning his hips to the plastic floor of the van with their weight, fingers pressed against his wet skin they had just abused. “Mine.”

He reached for them, touching whatever he could. Ellisandre lay against him, turning him on his side, kissing and pressing both of them together. The floor of the van became their playground. Coats and jackets came off.

Sevastyan’s head hit the wheel well. He sucked in air, bracing against the wash of sudden undesired pulsation in his skull.

Ellisandre’s fingers went to his scalp, checking for damage.

“Cake. Champagne. The Bolthole,” they said, when they were sure the hurt wasn’t serious.

Sevastyan laughed through the throbbing. “Couches, pillows, rugs.”

Ellisandre gripped him by the front of his shirt, dragging him up into one more fierce press of their lips. “Get into your seat.”