Retreat. Ha.
Not acceptable, so Dallin made his mouth curl down and his eyebrows draw together in a scowl. “Absolutely not,” he growled, slipped his fingers through Wil’s silky hair and molded his hand to the curve of Wil’s skull. Gave him a little shove. “Still hurts.”
Wil gave Dallin a shove back, but it was with his hips, and so much more effective. “Sissy,” he murmured, gently mocking, as he added a bit of a grind. Bloody hell, only Wil could go from almost sweetly reassuring to come-and-get-the-sex in ten seconds flat. Dallin was going to die at the height of orgasm one day, and fuck if there wouldn’t be a great big ridiculous grin on his face when he did it.
“Sissy who could kick your arse,” Dallin managed, almost a groan, but fuck, he couldn’t help it when Wil did things like that. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you don’t move very fast when you’ve got sixteen shirts on under—”
“Perhaps I wasn’t clear,” Wil cut in, dipping down again, hot breath sweeping Dallin’s throat. “Sex. Now. Talking is not conducive to sex.”
“It is when you do it,” Dallin told him. “The things that come out your— ah, gah, do that again.”
“Shh,” Wil hissed then did it again—some twirly thing with his fingertips to the hollow of Dallin’s hip—and seemed to simultaneously sprout another few hands while he was at it. Dallin lost track of all of them right around the time Wil sucked Dallin’s abused nipple into his mouth and made it all better. Made the throb sharper and the ache not something that ached but didn’t hurt, a sweet-hot anguish of exquisite torture. Dallin forgot about unease and insecurity. He forgot about layers and layers of clothes and mountains of furs, and the knowledge that Wil would never tell Dallin he resented the necessity of either, even if he did.
For all that Wil was constantly griping about the cold, his skin was always warm. Right now, he was all heat and winding limbs as he made himself another nest—furs above and Dallin below—and pressed his hips down ’til Dallin obligingly gasped. A groan Dallin couldn’t help and didn’t want to puffed loose from his throat, and he pulled his knees up, fitting Wil against him even more snugly as Wil’s mouth worked up Dallin’s breastbone to his throat. Sharp teeth nipped lightly, just enough to stir a bit of a twitch, before Wil swiped his tongue in a long stripe, transforming the sensation from sharp to silky before brushing his lips over Dallin’s mouth.
The kiss was sex defined. Wil could be a wanton thing when he wanted to be. Lust incarnate, Desire made flesh. A yawning necessity that moved like a contagion from Wil’s mouth and right down Dallin’s backbone, made him a mess of nerves and reactions, its heart thrumming out mindless want. The languid drag of Wil’s body over his turned Dallin’s bones to butter.
“Fuck, I love how you feel,” Wil breathed, moist heat against Dallin’s cheek, handshandshands all over him, tracing muscle and sinew, and sending slippery little shocks thumping along Dallin’s nerves.
“Yeah?” Dallin ran his hands over ribs and spine, swept them inward and up over ridged torso and chest. “Wouldn’t it be better if you could feel more of me?” He pushed his hips up, just in case Wil didn’t get the hint.
Right. As if.
A lazy little chuckle and another flash of teeth. Long limbs, corded now with packed muscle, ventured out from beneath the mountain of furs as Wil reached for the little clay jar on the bedside cupboard. Dallin couldn’t do anything but touch as Wil stretched over him—everything, everywhere—sating his own need for more contact while driving Wil’s arousal deeper, stronger, pulling it out from beneath his skin ’til Wil almost dropped the jar.
Wil swore then snorted. “I think,” he said, teasing, as he dislodged Dallin’s hand from its grip on his arse, “and I have no ulterior motives whatsoever in saying this,” pushed the little pot into Dallin’s hand as he striped another long lick up Dallin’s throat, “that you are in serious need of a thorough shagging.”
Dallin managed a grin as he pawed the lid off the pot. “Serious need, then?”
“Mm,” Wil hummed, hand snaking down between them, taking them both in a grip that made Dallin’s eyes cross. “Very serious.”
Yes, it was all feeling very serious right now, with Wil’s hand pumping steadily, and his body arching back so Dallin got a rather inspiring view of how the firelight moved over the definition of muscles in Wil’s chest and arm as he moved, and if he didn’t stop that very soon, the ‘thorough shagging’ was going to be slightly less than thorough. Dallin snapped hold of Wil’s wrist, stopped it. Dallin’s hands were greedy, wanting to continue their wandering, but he made his grip firm as he pushed Wil up so he was kneeling upright across Dallin’s torso and peering down with a rather evil little glint in his eye. Bloody damn, that… that look.
“Well, I’m certainly serious about sex,” Dallin drooled— drawled, Brayden, focus.
Wil grinned. “And surprisingly alliterative.”
Dallin had to think about that for a second; his brain was already going to mush. It didn’t really help when it finally clicked. Oh, yeah—he was so smooth. He should know better than to try witty banter with the master when the master was currently using his body to turn Dallin into a compliant mess of raw need. Dallin managed to choke back a gasp when Wil slid his hands from Dallin’s shoulders to his thighs, but only just. It was the look in Wil’s eyes, the honest want, the sincere craving, and the wicked little spark that promised all manner of brain-melting pleasures.
Bloody damn, the things Wil did to him. Dallin set the little pot to the side and got his fingers good and slicked. He was quite proud of himself that he managed a small smirk as he pushed two into Wil’s body and watched him close his eyes, head dropping back and torso stretching out as he shuddered and tried not to gasp. Proud of himself because what Dallin really wanted to do was stare and babble words of worship as he watched Wil sink into sensation, but managed to stem the sop in favor of the lust.
This was almost as good as the fucking, watching Wil curl into pleasure, watching his body move, lengthening and extending as he coiled himself into different shapes that glazed his eyes and pulled animal groans from deep in his chest. He didn’t wait for Dallin to give him what he wanted—he took it and with no hesitation. It left Dallin’s other hand free to roam as it pleased, scrubbing lightly over muscle and bone first, then tweaking nipples, just for payback. A teasing brush to Wil’s erection that made Wil groan some more, panting, as the heavy muscles of his thighs flexed, and his teeth clenched as he drove himself down, hands clamping tight to Dallin’s shoulders.
“Going to do anything with that?” Wil snapped.
Oh, yeah. Eventually. Right now, Dallin just kept smirking, ran a fingertip, feather-light, from base to tip, watching Wil’s eyes narrow down to slits, watching Wil’s lip pull up in a half-snarl as the hearth fire popped and flared with wordless threat.
“Showoff,” Dallin said.
Wil always tried for patience, but never quite got there—it was one of the best things about him. He swiveled his hips, tried to push his erection into Dallin’s palm, and when Dallin didn’t cooperate, did it again, the flames nearly shooting out past the fire-screen this time
“Better watch that.” Dallin could tell that his grin was a bit evil, because Wil was glaring now, a light sheen of sweat coating his body as he kept moving on Dallin’s hand, like he couldn’t make himself stop. “As your Guardian, I feel it my duty to caution control at all times.”
“If only you could use your powers for good,” Wil snarked, “instead of evil, sex-teasing stuff.” He lunged for the little pot and had hold of Dallin’s erection in a slippery grip before Dallin could come up with a suitable retort. And when Wil growled, “Fine then, if you’re not going to fuck me, I’ll do it my-damn-self,” Dallin gave up on even speaking. Because yeah—filthy, filthy mouth. Guh. It just… really did things to him.
Dallin’s gasp and twitch had Wil grinning again, which was fine, because good things always happened when Wil looked like that. And si
nce Wil was busy slicking Dallin up then guiding himself down, Dallin would say this was clearly one of those times.
Bloody hell, he really didn’t have to do anything at all, if he didn’t want to, just lie there and let Wil fuck himself with the convenient aid of Dallin’s body. Then again, not doing anything was just not an option—not with Wil looking like that, all sleek and long and bendy, arching his back and reaching behind him to grip Dallin’s upthrust knees as he sank himself down. Heat and pleasure fizzed all through Dallin with the smallest little jerk of Wil’s hips. And when Wil began to rock—quick and sharp, just like Wil—fingers digging into Dallin’s kneecaps, head thrown back, and low, rolling groans winding from his throat, Dallin couldn’t just lie there, even if he’d wanted to.
Couldn’t.
He took hold of Wil’s hips, risked a snarl and snap as he stilled him, dense-wired muscle straining under his hands. Wil quivered with tension and want, the need to move-snap-thrust radiating from his skin and up Dallin’s arms, down to his gut, blooming there like a spill of hot oil. He lifted Wil by his hipbones at the same time that he drew himself back, pushed into the mattress, then snapped up and dropped Wil down. Wil’s yell shot right through Dallin’s chest, spiked the pleasure, so he did it all again.
It was an effort to pry Wil’s hands from their grip on Dallin’s knees and wedge them beneath his own as he lifted again, thrust up hard, but Dallin was rather motivated. He did it again, this time trying to listen and suss the things that Wil was saying, because Dallin was sure it was dirty, whatever it was, but it was too mangled and rough to get through the buzzing in his own head.
Rocking, writhing—fuck, Wil was writhing, he looked so bloody good when he did that—building the rhythm too quickly as Wil curled his legs so he could drive up with his knees and wrestle back some control. Dallin only twitched a grin, changed the angle and took that control away again.
Wil arched back again, open and gorgeously uninhibited, his hair brushing over Dallin’s knees. He kept trying to fidget his hands free from Dallin’s, muttering breathlessly at the ceiling. Dallin couldn’t take his eyes away from the smooth curve of Wil’s throat, the shift of firelight over his chest and arms, until Dallin made out his own name amidst the garble, some choice curses, then:
“Damn it, Dallin, just… touch me, fuck, I—”
It wasn’t a question of whether to obey or not—Wil wanted it, so Wil should have it. It was a question, though, of what Wil wanted as opposed to what he’d settle for, and Wil shouldn’t settle for anything.
“Not yet,” Dallin panted, close, so close, “just wait, not yet.”
“Dallllll iiiiiin…” A whine this time.
Any other time, Dallin would have snorted; now he only groaned, orgasm building in sharp waves in his groin, swarming through him. “Wait, Wil, I promise—”
“Hate you,” Wil groaned, no heat in it, just half-wild and impatient want grinding through everything about him—in the way his hands kept trying to worm out from under Dallin’s, the way his teeth clenched and his expression hovered somewhere between mind-blowing pleasure and an extremity of pain, the way he snapped his hips against Dallin’s grip in startling little jerks that dragged Dallin’s climax from him in a blinding flash of ecstasy that whited him out.
He shouted, he knew he did, he could tell because his throat was aching, and he heard Wil snap something sharp and breathless at him, but Dallin’s body and mind were clenched too tight in the grip of climax to stop or wonder what Wil had said, though he could certainly guess. It had sounded pretty desperate, and a desperate Wil was a rather bossy Wil. Dallin almost couldn’t move, the pleasure was so intense, but he’d promised, and damn it, Wil should have what he wanted. Still shaking, skin tingling, Dallin sat up, dragged Wil off him, pulled him in and swallowed him down.
A throaty, ragged yelp wheezed out from Wil’s chest, and his whole body extended, nearly bending himself backwards over Dallin’s arm as his hands scrabbled at Dallin’s shoulders, slipped in sweat and so went for his hair instead. Fuck, Dallin loved him, the smell of him, the feel of him, the weight of him on Dallin’s tongue—he barely got a taste before Wil was arching back impossibly, stretching his body against Dallin’s hands, shouting out, and spilling down Dallin’s throat.
Dallin wished he could get it up again, because it wasn’t enough—it never was. Hopeless heat pooled again in his groin, but his body just sort of twitched in resignation, as he licked and teased until Wil smacked the back of his head to make him stop.
“Fuck,” Wil breathed, pulled back with a hiss and slumped himself heavily over Dallin’s shoulder so he was almost hanging upside-down. A floppy mess of quivering muscle over loose bone. And since his arse was right there, Dallin sort of had to bite it—he wouldn’t respect himself if he didn’t; only a small nip, just enough to make Wil twitch and yip, which he did obligingly, then:
“D’youknow how much money you could make with that mouth?” he slurred into Dallin’s back. “They’d line up for miles. We’d be bloody kings.”
Wil’s version of romantic pillow-talk. So ingenuous. So charmingly weird. Dallin blinked, eyebrows rising. “That…” He paused, trying very hard not to let the grin leak out into his tone. “Did you really just say that?”
“Um…” Apparently, Wil had to think about it for a minute, then: “I think so?”
“And did you mean to say it out loud?”
“Dunno,” Wil mumbled, “m’ mind seems to have gone blank. Maybe melted. Your fault.”
Dallin laughed, dumped Wil over on his head and buried him under the furs then dove in after him. Oh, yeah. Loved him. Wanted to give him everything, anything he wanted. Even the things he’d never ask for.
****
“What is it with you and blindfolds?” Wil griped, one hand locked to Dallin’s elbow hard enough to bruise even through his coat, and the other flailing out in front of him. “Is this some weird control quirk you should have warned me about months ago?”
Dallin just had to snort. “Yeah, I know, like your quirks couldn’t take my quirks out behind the woodshed and kick their arses.”
“I don’t have quirks,” Wil retorted, managing to somehow look haughty and superior, even though the nose he’d stuck up in the air was half-covered by one of Dallin’s handkerchiefs serving as a makeshift blindfold. “I have preferences. You’re the one who always has to—”
“Hey, no peeking!” Dallin slapped his hand over Wil’s face for good measure, ignoring the muffled cursing as he dragged Wil into a bit of a stumble that couldn’t be helped and through the door so he could shut it. He’d spent the entire morning stoking the coals and making sure they were just right while Wil had been with Thorne, and one good cold gust through the door could ruin it.
“All right, all right, get off me,” Wil snapped, swatting blind at Dallin’s hands when he felt even ground beneath his boots. The swatting rather lost its effect, though, what with the thick mittens—it was like getting butted by a pair of small, fluffy sheep. “I wasn’t peeking, I was—”
“Trying to peek.”
“I was not! I was…” Wil paused, head cocking to the side. He sniffed. “Where are we?”
“Well, practically speaking, we’re in our backyard.”
Wil’s head tilted a little more. “We have a backyard?”
Dallin snorted. He leaned in and pulled Wil’s mittens from his hands; they went immediately to the blindfold but paused. “Not yet,” Dallin warned. “And yeah, we have a backyard. And down the hillock a bit on the eastern side, there’s a small stable and paddock, so we can move Miri and Sunny from the Temple’s stables when it warms up some.” It was kind of nice, not having to worry about everyday care and feeding of the horses, and especially since Dallin knew he’d be doing it by himself—Wil preferred to dig in like a tick beside a fire to cleaning stalls. Then again, didn’t everyone? Still, he also knew Wil had a visit with ‘the girls’ every time his business with the Old Ones took him to the Temple,
so Dallin figured Wil would rather have them here.
“Does it ever warm up some here?” Wil’s head was tilting back again, trying to get a look down his nose beneath the blindfold.
Dallin didn’t scold him this time. “Well, you’re warm now, aren’t you?”
“For all I know, it’s because you have me dangling over a fire-pit, ready to roast me,” Wil retorted.
“And how is it that the backyard I didn’t know we had is somehow warm, and you’re only telling me now? It’s warmer here than it is in the house. Two and a half weeks I’ve been freezing my arse off, and—” His hands once again went up to the blindfold. “Can I take this off now?”
The tone made it more of a demand than a question; Dallin was sorely tempted to tease some more, but there was a fine line between Wil being patiently indulgent and Wil stewing up for a skin-stripping snark. Dallin had another look around, trying to see it how Wil might see it when the blindfold came off. He puffed a somewhat rueful sigh. Well, it would have to do.
“Yes, you can take it off now.”
Wil had the handkerchief off before Dallin had even finished granting permission. Long fingers swept unconsciously through dark hair, pushing the mop of fringe out of Wil’s eyes for only a second before it stubbornly flopped back again. It was getting longer; Dallin hoped Wil would let it.
He loved Wil’s hair, thick but baby-fine and silky, sliding through his fingers like—Dallin cleared his throat and shook himself a little. He waited until Wil blinked a few times, adjusting his eyes to the light.
“We couldn’t make it out of stone,” he told Wil, half-apology, half-explanation. “Byldan said the mortar would never set with the cold and the snow and all. Anyway, that would’ve taken more like a month than a week, so we sort of made-do.”
The Aisling Trilogy Page 108
