Page 12 of The Death Wish

Silas laughed. ‘I suspect both. And let it be said, you’ll never be unfuckable as far as I’m concerned, but perhaps we shouldwait until the wash basin arrives?’ He’d not yet moved from his fallen scarecrow pose upon the bed. Pitch threw off his own boots, casting them as far across the substantial room as he could manage. They landed near to where a well-worn brown leather armchair took up the corner, in prime position beside a carved wood hearth, its fireplace laid out with kindling.

‘Wait? I shall pretend I did not hear you say that.’ Pitch unclasped the cloak, letting it pool around his feet in a flow of fuchsia. He shrugged off the bland coat beneath, and the smock beneath that, before he clambered onto the bed in dirty trousers and thin shirt, and straddled Silas. Pitch leaned down, nuzzling the back of the ankou’s ear. ‘The water might take an hour, could we not at least warm ourselves up a little?’

Now Silas’s groan was all for him. Pitch shifted his hair and laid feathery kisses upon his exposed neck. Leaning down like this, so close to the tantalising softness of the mattress, he was torn between notions of fucking Silas mindless, or having an afternoon nap. But his incubus blood was singing out. For a decent bit of handwork at the very least.

‘I’m so very filthy, Pitch.'

‘And thank heavens for that.’

Silas’s laugh bucked his hips. ‘You know what I mean. I fear you’ll chip a tooth on the grit if you keep kissing me that way.’

‘Just roll over, I shall I’ll take care of the rest if you aren’t in the mood.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Silas moved quickly, flipping himself over, nearly throwing Pitch off with the sudden roll. ‘Come here.’ He resettled Pitch over his middle, and took his hand, guiding it to where fabric bulged. ‘There is not enough tiredness in the world to keep me from wanting you.’

Pitch rolled his eyes in a show of disdain for the sentiment, whilst inside his blood reached a new crescendo.

He moved his hips, teasing at the hard lump between his thighs. Silas gasped, and cupped a hand to the back of his neck, dragging him down, and claiming Pitch’s lips in a forceful kiss. Their cocks were crushed against one another, both pleasurable and painful, and it drew moans all around. Pitch closed his eyes, which was actually a terrible idea.

Fatigue swept through the darkness to find him. He pressed a hand to the mattress to brace himself, and whilst he still nipped at Silas’s bottom lip, he grabbed a handful of the ankou’s bland coat and rolled to one side. Silas moved with him, letting himself be shifted onto his side so they lay now face to face. Pitch groaned anew with the relief.

‘Wonderful bed, isn’t it?’ Silas kissed his chin, his hand tracing the undulations of Pitch’s side.

‘Surprisingly so.’ He hooked his leg over the ankou’s thigh, the reach spreading his arse cheeks, and straining the fabric of his trousers. Silas’s hand drifted to find his buttons. And Pitch’s eyes fluttered closed once more.

‘We should get you out of these clothes.’

Their lips brushed, their noses glanced.

‘Absolutely,’ Pitch mumbled.

Neither of them made another move. Pitch peered through one narrowed eye. Silas had his eyes closed, too. Their kisses were airy, their foreheads touching. And though desire was hurting his balls, Pitch could not deny one very putrid truth.

‘My gods, we stink.’

Silas nuzzled his nose against Pitch’s cheek. ‘We are positively awful. Why on Earth did no one mention it?’

‘I suppose they weren’t sure how to tell the lord of death he smells like a mortuary.’

‘How dare you, sir.’

The ankou’s fingers came back to life, forgoing undoing buttons and slipping down the front of Pitch’s trousers to touch at dampness and rigid heat. He pinched the tip of Pitch’s cock.

‘Oh, gods.’ He thrust his hips forward, pushing himself deeper into Silas’s hold.

‘Did you like that?’

The rumble of Silas’s voice, the hunger there, drew a gasp from Pitch. ‘Do it again, I’ll let you know for sure.’

Silas shifted his hand, gaining greater purchase. His thick fingers crushed at hard flesh; starting a beautiful dance of pleasure and pain. Pitch arched his back, grasping at Silas’s shoulder. ‘Again.’

The ankou made a small, needy sound and obliged. This time using all his fingers, wrapping them about Pitch’s cock, clenching hard, and being beautifully, perfectly mean about it.

‘Bastard,’ Pitch panted. ‘Do it again.’

The growl that came from the ankou made Pitch’s balls tighten harder. Which made the pain all the more delicious when Silas’s fingers found them, took hold, and squeezed their denseness tight.

Pitch keened like a rabid animal, white flashes going off behind his closed lids.