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22
Náli woke the next morning with Mattias’s arm heavy around his waist, and with a new determination. He was smiling before his eyes opened, because if he had Mattias – finally had him, completely, with no more denial or self-flagellation – then he could survive any maelstrom of magic required of him to alter the course of his destiny.
He stretched luxuriously, spine popping, ankles cracking, and hissed a laugh when he felt how sore he was in a host of new places. “Gods,” he murmured, chuckling under his breath. “It’s as bad as fighting, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Mattias asked behind him, voice a sleep-rough rumble that sent a thrill down Náli’s spine.
He smiled so wide his cheeks ached, and decided not to temper that; he dared Mattias to be grumpy this morning. He rolled over, careful to keep within the loose hold of Mattias’s arm, so they faced one another in the faint, silvery glow of first dawn.
With a jolt, he realized he’d never seen Mattias like this. With his face half-pressed into the pillow, his braid unraveled, streaming in ribbons over his shoulders. The covers had pooled beneath his rib cage, and gooseflesh covered his bare arms, his nipples hard points that threw shadows. Eyes half-lidded, short beard bristly and in need of a morning’s fresh trim. He’d only ever been polished and put together in Náli’s presence; had only slept when Náli was unconscious. He’d seemed invincible, in that respect. Inhuman, really.
But there was no mistaking him for a flesh and blood man, now. With sleep in his eyes and a yawn cracking his jaw. With his skin uncovered and warm when Náli burrowed in closer and spread his hands over his chest, delighting in the heat and smoothness, the faint rasp of hair.
“You’re very alert,” Mattias observed, once he’d finished yawning.
Náli curled his fingers through chest hair and tugged, lightly. “I’m planning.”
“Hm. Ominous.”
“Exciting,” Náli corrected.
Mattias’s arm tightened, hand landing on his spine, and smoothing down to cup bold and casual against the curve of his backside. He squeezed, and dragged Náli in close enough to kiss.
Oh, Náli thought, soft and swoony. I get to have this. I get to have him.
But what he said, when Mattias pulled back, was, “Your breath is foul, my love.”
Mattias smirked and kissed him again, lazy and deep, and Náli had never found morning breath endearing before.
“Gods,” Mattias said with a groan, as he pulled back, and then kept pulling back. He sat up and scrubbed a hand down his face. Pushed his loose hair over his shoulder. “I should have been up an hour ago.”
Náli sat up as well, and propped his chin on Mattias’s strong shoulder. “Why? So you can bring me tea and toast? I’d rather have you here.” Beneath the covers, he reached over Mattias’s thigh and into his lap, backs of his fingers teasing along his half-hard cock. “Like this.”
Mattias gave a grunt of surprise and jerked all over.
Náli smiled into his skin, pleased to have shocked him, to have thrilled him.
“Yes, well,” Mattias said, stuffily, drawing his walls back up. But then he turned his head, and their cheeks brushed, bristled to smooth, and his breath left him on an unsteady sigh. He reached up to cup Náli’s cheek and tilt his head for another kiss, this one not so lazy. “Good morning,” he murmured against his lips, between kisses, thumb sweeping along his jaw. “My lord.”
“I liked ‘darling’ better.”
“Good morning, darling.”
“Mm.”
One quick rap at the door was all the warning they had before it swept open. They froze, and Náli glanced from the corner of his eye to see Einrih coming in with his breakfast tray.
If he noticed them, he didn’t falter. Set the tray on the table like usual, and went to stoke up the fire and swing the kettle over it.
Náli pecked Mattias once more on the lips and drew back with a sigh, finger-combing his hair. “Good morning, Einrih.”
“Good morning, my lord.” He went to the wardrobe, bending to collect Náli and Mattias’s hastily discarded clothes without so much as a blink. He dropped them in the big wicker hamper by the door and set about choosing one of Náli’s many gray-on-gray outfits for the day. “Your mother has suggested a morning ride with Lady Frida. Will you want the fitted trousers for that?”
“Einrih.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Einrih, look at me.”
