Page 28 of The Sorcerer's Alpha
The shirt had to be pulled over Sycamore’s head. He groaned as he raised his bad arm, and Marut stifled the urge to apologize again. He tried to touch Sycamore’s bare skin as little as possible, but there was so much of it, warm and smooth and close at hand. They would not come out of this unchanged.
“What do I do now?” Sycamore asked, making rustling noises that indicated he was lying down again.
“Try to sleep,” Marut said. Only silence answered him. He stared into the darkness until his eyes ached, then closed them again and waited for sleep to come.
He woke the second time to the touch of Sycamore’s hand on his shoulder. “Marut,” Sycamore whispered.
“Yes,” Marut said, without opening his eyes.
“I need—I’m sorry.” Sycamore shifted to press against him, his hand sliding down to curl around Marut’s arm. “The way you smell—it’s worse than it ever is when I’m alone. Marut—”
The tent was no longer quite as dark as it had been. The gray light before dawn had crept in. Somehow, they had made it through the night. Sycamore lay as close as Marut’s shadow, smelling like a dream. Marut had wanted many things in life that he’d denied himself, but he was certain he had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted Sycamore now, in full heat.
“You told me you can’t chance it,” Marut said, drawing on his last reserves of self-discipline, the few small shreds of it he had left. “I’ll go for a walk, and you can—tend to yourself, in whatever way—”
“I did,” Sycamore said, and Marut groaned to think of Sycamore touching himself as Marut lay there, obliviously asleep. “It’s not enough.” He shoved his loose hair out of his eyes, impatient. “I’ll go out. I’ll go for a walk. You stay here, you—”
“There’s a blizzard,” Marut said. “You’ll lose your way.”
Sycamore made a wordless noise of frustration. He sat up and shoved the blankets aside as if he fully intended to walk out into the storm. Marut swore and caught at his wrist, then sat up himself to grip Sycamore’s bare shoulders. Sycamore stared back at him, wild-eyed, a wild creature briefly come down to earth.
“Help me,” Sycamore said.
“Yousaid,” Marut began, “that—”
“Don’t knot me,” Sycamore said. “That’s all.” He curled his good hand around Marut’s wrist. “Please don’t make me beg.”
Marut swallowed. “All right. If that’s what you want.”
He lay Sycamore down again in the rumpled bedding and helped to wrestle him out of his damp, sticky trousers. They would never be clean again, but that was a problem for later. He skimmed his hand down Sycamore’s side, unsure where to begin, until Sycamore said, “You’re letting in cold air.”
Marut huffed and lay down with him, drawing Sycamore into his arms. Sycamore gave a great sigh and pressed his face against Marut’s neck, and Marut held him close, his blood throbbing just beneath the surface of his skin, his breath shallow in his lungs. Sycamore was powerful and unknowable and Marut was filled with pride that Sycamore trusted him with this, knowing he was a fool to think so, knowing that Sycamore simply had no other option.
“What would you like?” he asked quietly, running his hand down Sycamore’s back. He meant to soothe, but Sycamore moaned and arched against him, pressing into the touch, and Marut abandoned all hope of propriety and let his hand slide down to cup the lower curve of Sycamore’s ass.
“Yes,” Sycamore said. “That.”
Marut explored gingerly. Everything between Sycamore’s legs was slippery with slick, and Marut wondered how long he had lain there in the dark as Marut slept, sweating and needy, until his control finally broke. Hours, probably. Sycamore’s control was formidable. He was soft and sensitive now, moaning into Marut’s neck with each touch, then crying out when Marut finally pressed one cautious finger inside him.
“Please, more,” Sycamore said, panting the words against Marut’s skin, rolling his hips forward to rub his hard cock against Marut’s thigh. He was so wet inside, tight and hot and clenching around Marut’s finger, and Marut’s head spun. He felt drunk on Sycamore’s scent and on the warm length of him in Marut’s arms.
However long Sycamore had been awake, whatever he had done to himself while Marut was asleep, he was so worked up that as soon as Marut pressed a second finger inside he clutched at Marut’s tunic and spoke his name in a cracked, unsteady voice. Marut hastily fumbled around and used Sycamore’s discarded trousers to catch his spend as Sycamore trembled and reached his peak in Marut’s arms.
“Oh,” Sycamore sighed, going limp.
Marut held him, dazed. He couldn’t ignore the heavy throb of his own cock, although he tried. Purya’s heats had lasted a couple of days; he prayed that Sycamore’s would be shorter, because he would be a useless ruin of a man before long. He wanted to ease Sycamore over onto his back and have him again and again until they were both raw and spent.
Sycamore shifted, tightening around Marut’s fingers. His mouth opened against Marut’s throat in a silent moan. His cock had gone soft against Marut’s thigh, but that didn’t seem to matter. “Again,” he said into the humid space between them.
Marut drew a deep breath into his lungs. All right. Again.
The second time took longer. Sycamore rocked on his fingers, making soft noises that slowly built in volume and frequency. Marut thought of the snow outside and the merciless wind of the steppe and tried to let the cold and the vast howling silence scour every thought from his head. He had no success. He couldn’t remember what it was like to be cold with Sycamore so warm and alive in his arms.
He worked his fingers in and out of Sycamore’s slick hole, tormenting himself by imagining what it would be like to sink his cock deep inside. He had fucked enough to men to know what was enjoyable for most, and Sycamore was a man like any other and seemed pleased with Marut’s tactics; or at least he made no complaints. After a while, Marut felt the brush of Sycamore’s hand against his thigh, and realized that Sycamore was touching himself.
“I could,” Marut began, without entirely knowing what he meant to offer.
“No,” Sycamore breathed. “I’m—don’t stop,” and so Marut didn’t, and held Sycamore close with one arm wrapped around his waist until Sycamore cried out and came for a second time.