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Clamping Tristan’s ass between his palms, Mort pressed forward. He felt muscular resistance for a moment, and then he was through, the head of his cock meeting with a welcoming, hot, lubricated embrace.
“Fuck!” They swore the same word at the same time.
“I don’t know how I kept my hands off you this long,” Mort groaned. “You feel so damn good.”
He slid deeper inside Tristan, feeling the hot grip of his mortal lover’s body like a vise, and feeling his own pulse quicken, his own flesh suffused with pure pleasure.
It was in that beautiful, fleeting moment that Mort realized Loki had not successfully punished him. Loki had given him a gift. He would never have felt Tris this way before. It would have been an act of mechanical domination and limited pleasure.
This way was meaningful. This way was worth the wait. He slipped more lube around the base of his cock and surged in again, sliding deeper, feeling himself in some real sense become Tristan, or Tristan become him.
The sounds Tris made were incredible, guttural moans and animal growls, sounds of wanting and of need and of connection.
Mort wrapped his arms around Tristan and pinned him down, needing to dominate and to claim. That had not changed, and would never change.
He tried to take his time, as much as was humanly possible, but with every thrust his lust charged more intensely, his balls tightening up against his body. Everything in him wanted to come. And when Tristan began to push back on his cock, offering himself up with beautiful submission, it was more than Mort could bear.
He came hard, shooting loads of mortal semen inside his chosen vessel, and felt Tristan’s cock pulse, flex, and follow suit. Semen spread over the kitchen table and leaked out of Tristan’s rear as Mort slowly pulled out.
“I’ve made a mess of you,” he said, not at all apologetic.
Tristan uttered a little sob.
Mort pulled him up, immediately concerned. He then became confused when he saw Tristan’s eyes shining both with tears and joy.
“What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” Tristan sniffed. “I’ve just been waiting for that for so long. I’ve needed you, and finally I have you.”
“You’ve got me,” Mort affirmed, kissing Tristan deeply. “You’ll always have me.” He reached around Tristan, gripping his lover’s ass and pulling him close. “I don’t ever want to make you cry… unless you deserve it,” he added as an afterthought.
Tristan snorted gently. “I know you think you’ve changed so much, but you really haven’t changed at all. Mortal or immortal, you’re still a bossy…”
“I prefer the term dominant.”
“Same same,” Tristan laughed.
“It’s only the same because a dominant has a submissive, whereas I have a disobedient brat who doesn’t see the point of obedience.”
“You understand me so well.”
“Yes, I do,” Mort smiled. “And I will spend the rest of my life ferreting out any little pieces I do not understand and adding them to my comprehension.”
17
Sex changed everything. Sex, Mort discovered, was a salvation to mortals as much as it was a means of reproduction if carried out between woman and man. It soothed his soul. It made him calm. And it brought him closer to Tristan. It almost made him feel as though he finally had laid his claim.
“Maybe being mortal won’t be so bad after all,” Mort said, halfway through a stack of pancakes. Tristan had started cooking more now they both needed to eat, and Mort had no idea about food whatsoever.
Tristan smiled at him. “It has its perks.”
“I will have to decide what to do with my life,” Mort declared. “Perhaps something medical. I like the idea of saving lives. It feels deliciously ironic.”
“I don’t know if people want their doctor finding their health issues deliciously ironic,” Tristan pointed out. “Looking after people requires empathy.”
“I have empathy.”
“Sure. For me. But not for most people. You barely notice them.”
“Should I? Notice them?” Mort frowned slightly as he poured more syrup on his pancakes.
Tristan leaned across the table to plant a kiss on Mort’s syrupy lips. “I love your intense attention, and no, I don’t want to share.”
Just as Tristan finished expressing his disinterest in sharing, someone knocked at the door. Both Mort and Tristan stared at it. The last time anybody was at the door, it was a demon.
Today, however, it was Tom.
Tristan went to the door, and Mort heard him greet their guest with a taciturn, "What do you want?”
It seemed he was not the only person in their relationship who lacked a certain bedside manner.
Tom ignored Tristan’s rudeness and stuck his head in the door anyway, to make eye contact with Mort.
“Hey, guys. There’s a bowling league starting up in Perdition, and I was thinking maybe the three of us could get together as a team?”
Tristan and Mort looked at one another. Mort had no opinions one way or another, and so left the matter to Tristan.
