Page 8 of Ravished By the Ravens

“Scrubbed clean?” Magnus asks the moment Asher opens the bathroom door. He sits on the massive four-poster bed, taking up most of the bedroom. “You smell nice.”

Asher cocks his head. “You can smell me from there?”

“We can smell you from the other side of the castle,” Hanan answers, entering the room and closing the door behind him. His hair is damp and his skin pink from a shower of his own. “But you do smell good.” He walks closer, pressing his face into the crook of Asher’s neck and taking a deep breath. “Like us. Like ours.”

“Do you always come on this strong?” Asher laughs. “With all the men you chase through the woods?”

“No,” Hanan says, dotting kisses on Asher’s skin. “Only you.”

Magnus reaches over, grabbing Asher’s wrist and pulling him towards the bed. “Because you’re ours.”

They all tumble into the bed, shuffling around until Asher’s is laid out between them. And apparently shifters are some sort of space heaters—and allergic to shirts—so as Asher pulls off his sweatpants, Hanan and Magnus pull off their T-shirts.

“It’s late,” Hanan says, brushing a hand across Asher’s cheek. “We should sleep.”

Asher twists in his arms, propping himself up on his elbows and smiling down at both men. “What if I don’t want to sleep just yet?”

“Of course you’d be a brat,” Hanan chuckles under his breath before turning to Magnus. “This is all your fault, you know.”

Magnus sits up, dramatically clutching his chest. “How is it my fault?”

“Because you need someone to argue with.”

“That’s not true! I think he’s a brat because you—”

“Case in point,” Hanan says, smiling.

Asher can’t help but laugh. “You’re both impossible. I deserve to be a brat if I have to put up with you.”

Now it’s Magnus’s time to laugh. He settles down again, draping himself over Asher’s back. This position is becoming very familiar. “Is that so?” He asks, his smile evident in his voice.

“Yes! It’s my right after everything you’ve put me through today.” Asher turns his head to catch Magnus’s gaze over his shoulder. He’s pouting like a baby. “I should get some compensation.”

“Didn’t we compensate you enough on the forest floor?” Hanan slides closer, slinging an arm across the bed and the other around Asher’s waist. “Or are you already hungry for more?”

“Well,” Asher smiles, lying down on Hanan’s chest and propping his chin up on his hands. “We are all half-naked in a big bed. One thing could lead to another.”

Asher feels more than hears Magnus laugh. “Like what? I thought we were sleeping. You must be tired after everything we put you through.”

“No.” Even Asher can hear how whiny he sounds now. “I’m not that tired.”

“Well. Tough luck.” Magnus presses a kiss to his temple and slides back onto the bed. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Asher looks between them as both men theatrically close their eyes and relax, Hanan even lets his arm fall from Asher’s waist onto the bed. Quiet spreads through the room. Only the sound of their breaths takes up space—breathing that has neither slowed nor deepened.

“The light is still on,” Asher says, tapping his fingers against Hanan’s naked chest. It gets no reaction.

Well. They did call him a brat. That, if anything, is a very clear sign saying, ‘go ahead, Asher’.

In one smooth move, Asher sits up and swings one leg over Magnus’s hips to straddle him. He ignores the ‘oomph’ coming from the man and slides his hands up his naked chest. It’s glorious, really. Inked words, symbols, and images flow along the clear lines of his muscles—which are softer than they look. Probably because Magnus is all relaxed, considering he’s pretending to sleep.

He bends down, letting his breath ghost across Magnus’s lips. “I know you’re not sleeping.” With slow and deliberate movements, he grinds against Magnus’s cock hidden behind layers of clothes. “And I know you can feel this.”

Magnus’s lip quirks minutely, but he rights himself quickly enough. Otherwise, there’s no reaction.

Two can play that game.

Closing the gap, Asher’s trails a line of kisses from Magnus’s cheek down to his chest. He sucks a mark just above a nipple, and matching one below it. He feels Magnus’s heart pick up speed through his skin and smiles against his chest—not totally as unaffected as he plays. But he doesn’t stop there. He keeps mouthing down Magnus’s body, following the black lines of his tattoos and the trail of hair disappearing down his pants.