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“I finished patching up that hole in the roof,” he said, pressing one sweet kiss after another to the top of Sorin’s head. “So I thought I’d come to see what you were doing before I launched into another project. It looks like the dishes have been keeping you busy—there must be enough china here to host a dinner party for all of Fetlar.”
“I don’t think you’re counting correctly.” Sorin set down the plate he’d been scrubbing, letting it disappear beneath the water as he nestled into Bertram’s arms. “Provided a few people cancel, we should have enough to invite everyone from Unst as well.”
Bertram grinned into his hair and tightened his embrace. “Would you like that? A dinner party?”
“No.” Sorin snorted and turned around so they were chest to chest, grabbing onto the belt loops of Bertram’s pants. He was wearing jeans, of all things, the knees of which had worn thin and white from the hard physical labor Bertram had been doing. It was chilly this time of year—snow would set in before long—but the sun had been out today, and Bertram had gone shirtless to bask in it while he worked. Sweat glistened on his chest, and his skin was warm and smelled of an honest morning’s work.
It was intoxicating.
Sorin’s fingers tightened on the belt loops, subtly drawing Bertram closer.
Close enough his groin brushed gently against Bertram’s thigh.
Could Bertram feel him getting hard?
He hoped so.
“Dinner parties,” he went on to say before he completely lost the plot, “are just about the last thing I want right now.”
“Mm?” Bertram hummed. He looked down Sorin’s body with lust-lidded eyes, his lips just slightly parted. Arousal didn’t just radiate off him—it pulsed through their mate bond, filling Sorin so entirely he wasn’t sure it hadn’t been his own to begin with. “And why would that be?”
“Because,” Sorin whispered, standing on his toes to brush their lips together, “now that we’re alone, the only company I want to keep is you.”
Bertram’s hands were on him then, dragging Sorin forward by the hips until there was no room for confusion—Sorin’s cock was fitted too tightly against Bertram’s thigh for him not to feel it—and in turn, Sorin felt Bertram’s own stiffening arousal.
“Shall we wait to have our clutch, then?” Bertram whispered, teasing Sorin’s lips with a kiss he didn’t quite follow through with. “We have all the time in the world now… you can have me all to yourself for as long as you want before we think about having children again.”
“Monster,” said Sorin jokingly, then kissed the truth of what he was feeling onto Bertram’s lips.
Bertram grinned that sly grin of his against Sorin’s lips and kissed him passionately, lifting Sorin up onto the counter and then unbuttoning his fly. His hand slid inside, palming Sorin’s erection briefly before his fingers hooked under the elastic waistband of Sorin’s underwear.
His hand did not move farther.
Not until Sorin, near breathless with excitement, gave him permission with an endlessly whimpered string of “yes” and “please.”
His eyes were closed when the elastic went taut.
When Bertram’s hand slipped inside.
But they opened when Bertram’s palm wrapped around him. When he firmly started to stroke. Sorin had been hard before, but feeling Bertram like that—having such a powerful part of his body reduced to something devoted to Sorin’s pleasure—turned Sorin to absolute steel.
He throbbed.
It wasn’t like him to come so quickly, but it felt like he was on fire, and if he didn’t put it out, he’d be devoured by his own flames.
“Fuck,” Bertram rasped. He was breathing raggedly, chest heaving, like he was burning up from the inside just the same as Sorin. “Come here.”
With his free hand, he tugged Sorin’s pants down his thighs. Seated as he was, there wasn’t much Sorin could do to help, so he busied himself in other ways, reaching between Bertram’s legs to thumb open his fly. Zipper down, he reached inside and was met with the unexpected.
Bare skin.
Bertram wasn’t wearing anything beneath his jeans.
And in that moment, Sorin had never wanted anything more than to wrestle him onto the floor and ride him until he was so drunk from sex, he forgot his own name.
One hand wrapped around Bertram’s cock, he rooted the other in Bertram’s hair and pulled himself forward, capturing Bertram’s mouth in a searing kiss that made his intention clear. Bertram’s breath hitched, and he pushed himself into Sorin’s hand, asking for more—begging for it.
Sorin was happy to oblige.
