Page 152 of The Death Wish

‘I’m fairly sure you can imagine, but I shall give you an example.’ The tempo of his caress quickened, his broad hand engulfing Pitch’s cock. There was the hush of satin as Silas moved himself about so that his own prick slid between Pitch’s cheeks. Not seeking entrance, but rubbing between the flesh in a slow back and forth. His groan against the back of Pitch’s neck made the hair on daemonic arms stand up, and ready balls lift. Pitch grabbed at the blanket, pulling it over their heads, hidingthem away; capturing them in a world with a population of only two.

Pitch kept his eyes shut, and the darkness behind his eyelids deepened. He rocked with the ankou’s rhythm, craving their intimacy with a ferocious lust. Pitch was not hungry. This was not incubus desire that drove him. Just a deep want of this man.

‘Silas.’ Pitch arched his back, arse shifting as he sought to guide the ankou’s prick into deeper territory. ‘I need you.’

‘And you shall have me.’ Silas’s chuckle was dark, sending vibrations through Pitch’s body that made every nerve jangle harder. But the ankou didn’t understand, not truly, for if he knew how frantic Pitch’s desire was, he’d not move his hand so languidly, nor explore so patiently the tight curl of muscle so eager to bloom.

‘Now, quickly,’ Pitch panted.

Silas moaned against him. ‘But I’ve not prepared you.’

‘I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.’ Pitch cast back his hand, searching for Silas’s hip under the covers. Digging his fingers in to skin, bare and warm. He urged the ankou in closer. His chest pained him, the urgency stifling. ‘Now, Silas. Fuck me.’

Before the chance was stolen away. Before whatever nirvana this was ended.

Pitch opened his eyes. It was not entirely dark. There was light finding its way through the bedclothes; bedclothes impossibly soft, a fabric that caressed the curves of his body. Familiarity niggled at him, but his growing panic dominated. Hisfrantic need for the ankou only growing.

‘Pitch.’ Silas’s voice found a way through the thunder of blood in Pitch’s head. ‘My darling, calm yourself. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We can take our time.’ Silas slid his hand from Pitch’s cock and drifted higher, a caress that brushed over nipples and went higher still. Silas ran his thumb over that spot upon Pitch’s collarbone that never failed to make him shiver.

It did not fail now.

He moaned, slowing his manic attempts to force Silas inside him.

‘There we are, good boy.’ The murmur at his ear made his blood heat, and his hips buck. ‘Let’s get you ready.’

Having seduced his prey into compliance, Silas set about opening Pitch to greater things. He used Pitch’s own readiness; the wetness at the head of his cock, slicking his fingers there. Silas eased his damp fingers between Pitch’s cheeks. Considerate, as always; seeking to make things pleasant.

But Pitch didn’t want pleasant.

‘No, this isn’t right.’

He wriggled away.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I want to see you. I have to see you.’

Pitch rolled onto his back, and there was a great shifting of covers and blankets as the ankou found his new place between Pitch’s spread legs.

They stared at one another. Stared, as though they had not seen each other in decades. Again Pitch was caught by breathlessness, by the tug at a corner of his mind. Silas licked his lips, his gaze shifting to Pitch’s own mouth. Studying it intently.

Pitch knew he felt it, too. The world was off-kilter.

Silas traced a finger over Pitch’s cheekbone, quiet and contemplative. He bore more grey threads in his dark hair, at his beard too, with new wrinkles there at the edge of his eyes.

‘Does it hurt you, my love?’

Pitch dragged his gaze from the ankou’s changes. ‘You are not inside me yet. What could hurt?’

A wistful smile. ‘I speak of your face. There is some damage here.’ His fingers went again to Pitch’s cheekbone, and so he raised his hand to the same place. The skin was rough. As though burned.

Great weights pushed at the back of his mind.

But he repelled them. He didn’t want to think. He wanted Silas.

‘No. No, it does not hurt at all.’

A tear slipped down Silas’s cheek. ‘Pitch…what has –’