Page 56 of Forge the Blade

“Larger, deeper. Please.”

Fuck, he was going to end them. It was almost impossible to deny him anything when he was like this. Being needed the way he needed them was more intoxicating than absinthe. Better than all the German cakes that might be had, more sinful than Belgium chocolate. They smiled against his shoulder, slid their cock from his body and went back to the armoire, choosing a larger cock from the drawer. Back on the bed, Sevastyan pulled his knees up under himself—parted as wide as his shoulders—and arched his back, presenting the entrance of his body to them, unguarded and offered up.

For all the languages they could speak between them, not a syllable was needed to explain the picture he offered. They knelt up and pressed the new cock to his hole, adding lube to the mix. This one stretched him wide. He groaned, soft and deep. They reached down, putting a hand on the back of his neck, pinning him to the sheets as they sank inside his inner being. Their hips pressed against his buttocks. They ground in deep, until he unfolded, his legs splaying apart and straightening, his belly returning to the bed, his form supine beneath them.

He didn’t move, but he was moving, his body rolling beneath them like waves trapped in a tank. They ground down, circling their cock inside him, stretching his hole without moving in or out.

He came, pinned down and impaled, flexing beneath them, a gasp rising beneath their hand on his throat and stuttering into the air of the silent room.

Once was not enough. They needed to see more of that. And they wanted him to feel more.

“Again,” Ellisandre whispered.

They rode him. His curses and cries sparked fissures of pleasure through their body. He was so glorious, laid out and pinned beneath them, from the sweat running across his ribs, to the way his fingers dug into the sheets. Their hands spread, pressed down on his shoulder blades, giving them leverage as they took their pleasure, letting their cock stimulate them as much as it stimulated him. Together, the two of them were a drug. They dropped their head to his neck, mouthing at his wet skin, breathing in their combined scent, their hand carefully avoiding the bandage across his ribs. Ecstasy was less strong than this intoxicating power flowering in their veins. Their boy willing, writhing beneath them was better than driving the fastest super car, better than jumping from a jet with the crack of air in their ears. And all of it more dangerous.

Ellisandre kissed the fate sealing them together and dared it to defy them. Nothing, not Raska, not the combined force of the Merchari, not the law of any land was going to take their boy from their hands. He was theirs. He and anyone he claimed was theirs.

As the pleasure built up beyond their limits, they pulled his hips off the bed and gripped his cock, manipulating it with a firm grip. He cried out, head pressed to his forearm, still moving against them, offering pleasure until his body gave in, clenching and quaking as they stripped a second orgasm from his loins. Pleasure rolled through both of them, leaving them short of air. They bent low, holding him in place with an iron grip as he gasped for oxygen.

He crumpled to the bed, shattered, and Ellisandre drew out slowly, vision still sparkling in the aftershocks of their own nirvana. His hole was fucked open, glistening with lube. They dipped their fingers inside him. The pad of their finger found his prostrate, the little gland swollen and tender.

“Goddex,” he gasped. And wasn’t that a beautiful song.

“Beg for mercy,” Ellisandre said.

“No.” He twitched, his foot moving against the bed, trying to release the energy their touch was creating. Deep approval filled Ellisandre’s belly. This, they loved this about their boy, the way he pushed, the way he didn’t give in and yet was always on his knees for them.

They smiled, forehead coming to rest against his back. Inside him, their fingers continued to play with his submission, the looseness of him, the softness and the wet. The tenderness of his inner being. He whimpered more than once, on the edge of crying.

It was almost enough.

Ellisandre rose up and sank their cock back inside him, their knees spread out on either side of his waist, their arms wrapping around his chest and their head on his shoulder.

He gripped their hands with both of his. And that, that was enough. Their sweat mingled together. Their heartbeats slowly steadied, coming back to baseline in time with each other. The trembling subsided into deep rest.

Ellisandre

In the early hours of the morning, before the sun was even thinking of rising, Ellisandre showered with Sevastyan, the lights off, moving by touch, foreheads resting against each other beneath the spray, lips brushing, fingers curled on arms and legs, mapping promises, clinging to the night. Sevastyan took the towel from Ellisandre and dried them, then dragged them to the living room. He backed them up against the slender bit of wall between the entry to the kitchen and the hallway to the bedroom and dropped to his knees, looking up at them. With one of his beautiful, large hands, he grasped one of their thighs and raised it to his shoulder, then the other, lifting both their feet from the ground. Surprise brought a small sound out of their throat. Their belly tightened with anticipation. They reached up, grasping the top of the doorframes on either side.

Their boy watched them, eyes soft, a little smirk on his lips, and spread their thighs. His face disappeared between them and his large hands pulled their center forward. They clung to his head and shoulders with their legs, bracing for what was coming.

His mouth found their center with a gust of warmth. His tongue burrowed deep and his lips folded around every part of them.

Their back arched, their eyes closed, and their head fell back. Sounds they’d never heard from their own throat filled the Bolthole. It took everything to keep from thrusting themselves into his face. Now they were drunk all over again, on his mouth, on the strength of him kneeling beneath them yet holding them up, the way he worshiped with his tongue.

Their skin tingled, washes of sensation rushing over them, flushing their face, their shoulders, their arms down to their fingers, their mind as entranced as their nerves. When they came, it was with a silent oath on their lips.

Sevastyan was theirs. And so was Raska’s head. They would clear the skies for their boy, open the road, find him a ship to sail into a world where he never again had to ask to be cleansed. Because he would know he was clean.

They looked down, chest rising and falling, belly quivering with the force of their pleasure. Sevastyan looked up, his arms shaking from holding them aloft, his face drenched. And he smiled. A true smile.

Ellisandre reached down, caressing the rise of his cheek bone, the curve of his jaw.

“Go get your boy, Vast. And our wild fox. Bring them home.”

Episode 9

Rei