6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

“ W hat, exactly, are you doing with those?” Briar asked. He couldn’t possibly imagine why Aster needed one sword. Nonetheless two.

They hadn’t crossed paths since last night, but Briar had seen him through the window—his black coat whipping as Saga’s hooves kicked through the snow. Breakfast had come and gone, and Briar had spent the morning chatting with Jennifer over fruit-topped waffles. Shortly after, while he’d arranged books in the library, Aster had swept through the door, sporting two swords with beautifully jeweled handles. Excessively jeweled, actually. The same kind Briar had used as an Angel of War.

“We’re going to spar,” Aster said, matter-of-factly. He tossed one of the blades.

Briar snatched it from the air, fingers curled tightly around sunstones and carnelian. “Pardon?”

“Medic or not, you’re trained for battle, aren’t you?”

“I am. I’ve been in battle, by the way. Not much, but—”

“Actions speak louder. Ready?”

“You’re not serious, are you? Are we really. . . ? Oh my—” Briar raised his sword. Metal clashed. He kicked over a book, regaining his balance with Aster’s weight suddenly bearing down on him. “People usually spar with fake weapons!”

“Oh, boo-hoo. You’ll live.” He leaned forward. One clear, gray eye closed in a wink. “Channel your anger. Use it.”

Briar panicked, pushing against Aster’s sword. “Against you? I can’t suddenly be angry with you, I—” Aster kicked his feet out from under him. Briar’s rear hit the floor. He caught himself on his palm, jostling a rolling ladder. A book tumbled from a recently organized shelf and smacked Briar’s shoulder, flopping sadly in his lap. Aster smirked. Briar’s cheeks blistered. “You’re infuriating.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aster said. “Are you properly pissed yet or—” He blocked a mean upward swipe. Metal sang. “Ah, there we are.”

Briar surged against him, jumping to his feet. If he wanted to duel, they could certainly duel.

Their swords clashed. Briar’s wrist ached, bones rattling from every hard smack and furious block. He expected to be toyed with—subdued by graceful maneuvers, out-witted by Aster’s mastery of the blade—but Aster didn’t shy away from combat. He engaged at every turn, smashing his polished shoe against Briar’s chest, hissing when Briar drove the handle of his sword into his gut. They vaulted furniture, kicked over sorted books, fell against the window. Briar circled his wrist, trapping Aster’s sword with his own, and drove forward, sending the handle careening out of the Great Duke’s hand. For a moment, Aster’s eyes darkened. He gathered heaving breaths, glancing from Briar to his sword, lying abandoned near the secretary.

“You’ve been disarmed.” Briar stepped forward, pressing the tip of his sword to Aster’s throat.

“Have I?”

“Which means you’ve lost,” Briar said. Silver glinted, quick as a snakebite, and Aster closed the space between them, knocking Briar’s blade toward the ceiling. Briar fumbled, taken aback, but drew his blade in close, pressing the edge to Aster’s throat again. A pocketknife needled his stomach. Briar swallowed, applying pressure. “That’s cheating.”

“Did you forget who you were fighting, Briar Wright?”

Briar pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He slid his sword higher, resting the edge beneath Aster’s chin. “I could cut your throat. Right here, right now.”

“And I could open you like a fish.” Aster pushed the knife under his shirt. A cold, sharp line moved from sternum to hips. The small blade tripped over his belly button, sending heat fluttering between his legs. That tiny, insignificant action steered his focus to Aster’s fingers digging into his hip, his labored breathing, how he held himself, close and capable, and lowered the blade, threatening the soft flesh below the line of his pants. Briar’s breath shallowed. He wanted to pull away. Inch closer. Cut the clothes from Aster’s back. Knick his skin, right there, behind his ear, to see if he’d bleed.

“You’re allowed to feel everything ,” Aster said, biting the words at him. “Especially here, especially now.”

The sensation—being out of control, being in control—seeped into his hollow bones, his tense muscles, and glowed red hot in his chest.

Briar tossed the sword away. He latched his hand around Aster’s knuckles, guiding the knife closer, pressing it intimately against his pale skin. “I don’t want to feel everything, you idiot. I’m here with you. Let me feel you.”

One moment, the knife was there, the next, it was gone.

Aster shoved him backward. Briar’s spine met the shelf. A book toppled to the floor. Pain shot through the root of his clippings and he hissed, clinging to Aster’s biceps. Like this, with Aster’s mouth hot on his own, Briar’s heart surged. Chewing, biting kisses left his lips swollen and tender. Aster caged him there, digging his thumbs beneath Briar’s hipbones. Desire pooled between his legs. He pitched his waist, grinding hard against Aster’s ridiculous bronze belt-buckle, and his stupidly expensive pants. Touch me, he thought. The words echoed, driven by his pounding pulse. Touch me, touch me, touch me.

Aster pried at him, trailing the roof of his mouth with his tongue. Adrenaline lingered on traded breath. They were unkempt, the both of them. Aster kissed him deeply, and Briar yielded to him without pause. He scraped his fingernails over the back of Aster’s skull and held onto him. Aster moaned quietly between their wet lips. Whatever Briar had expected lust to be, he hadn’t anticipated this—how he clawed at Aster’s clothes, how his heartbeat doubled, how he bit Aster’s lips and rocked against him, searching for relief. It was overwhelming; his body wrought with unpredictable want. Sparring with him had been a prelude to the inevitable, as if holding themselves apart while holding each other defenseless had turned their violence into vulnerability.

“Please,” Briar whispered through another weak breath. Aster tilted his thigh against his trapped cock. Briar cracked his eyes open. Slivers of sea-gray ringed Aster’s wide, dark pupils. His bottom lip caught Briar’s chin.

They watched each other, moving like they had in the pool. Aster ground between his legs. Desire ratcheted. Untapped. Promised. Chased .

Aster’s hand slipped between his thighs, palming him through his tight, black pants. “If this is what happens when I start fights with you, I’ll consider pissing you off more oft—”

“Shut up,” Briar snapped. He pulled Aster into another kiss, allowing his eyes to slip shut and his hips to jump, pushing into Aster’s hand.

Aster kissed him deeply. He flicked open the button on Briar’s pants and shoved them down. Briar’s chest lurched. His body revved; his mind fogged. Aster trailed his hand along Briar’s stomach, dusting his sternum, resting on his throat, gripping, then sliding upward. He broke away from Briar’ lips to lick his palm, tongue sliding to the tip of his middle finger.

He couldn’t fathom being looked at right then. Being seen. Even so, when Aster set his forehead against Briar’s temple and gazed between them, watching his hand circle Briar’s cock, Briar whimpered—an awful, desperate sound—and let the back of his head thump the shelf. Aster touched him slowly. His palm grazed the underside of Briar’s cock, fingertips curled at his root, squeezing, stroking, working toward his wettened tip. Briar’s hips moved at their own accord. He squirmed, bucking into Aster’s fist, panting hard against his cheek.

“Please,” he said again, clawing at Aster’s shirt. “This is not the time to be gentle with me.”

Aster’s breath came short. He drew back enough to spit between them, saliva smeared by his palm, squeezing tighter, stroking faster. Briar had never, not once , felt passion as blinding as that—shaped like hunger, unmistakable and bright, causing blood to pulse between his thighs. He almost said please again. He almost said fuck me .

Aster tucked his mouth against Briar’s throat and sucked sensitive skin between his teeth. Briar gasped. He gripped the back of Aster’s head with one hand, and clutched his shirt with the other, holding onto pleasure as it washed over him, climbing higher, following every hot, slick stroke. Aster’s teeth clamped down. His hand moved faster, massaging the head of Briar’s cock until the heat at the base of Briar’s spine finally broke. He cried out, muffling the sound against Aster’s shoulder. His body flexed, wracked with jerks and tremors. Pleasure coursed through him, stifling and perfect. Somehow, he’d been broken down, coaxed into a fight, taken apart, and held. Still, held. Aster, as unrelenting as ever, tightened his grip, pulling on Briar’s cock while he shook and bucked, spurting onto his knuckles. When it ended and Briar’s muscles unspooled, he found himself dazed, starving for Aster like a feral, unhinged animal.

Aster kissed him on the mouth. He held himself on a tripwire. Too tightly strung. Too keyed up. Briar fumbled with his belt and pawed at his zipper, allowing weak legs to buckle as he pressed his lips to Aster’s jaw, the center of his throat, a slice of corset between buttons on his shirt, and dropped to his knees. Aster did not hesitate. He wiped his messy hand on his pants and snatched Briar’s jaw, holding him by the chin. Briar ran his tongue over his lips, eyes half-lidded, cheeks hot, and opened his mouth.

“Look at you,” Aster whispered. He swallowed hard, slipping his thumb behind Briar’s bottom teeth.

Yes, look at me.

Briar touched his lips to the side of Aster’s cock, following his shaft to the smooth, flawless skin stretched across his pelvis. Before he could kiss him there, Aster tugged sharply on his jaw. Briar didn’t close his eyes. He braced on Aster’s thighs and tried to breathe, paying mind to the heaviness on his tongue, the position of his teeth, the earthy taste that filled his mouth. His lips slickened. He watched Aster from under his lashes, listening to the sloppy, airy sounds that came with being used like this. Being claimed. Aster breathed deeply, lips slightly parted, cheeks reddened. Briar pushed deep, swallowing around Aster’s cock until his throat convulsed. Aster’s moan was short and sharp, a sudden, surprised noise. He raked his hand through Briar’s hair and pulled. Briar’s throat flexed again. His stomach clenched. He gagged, fingers digging into Aster’s thighs. Saliva dampened his chin, but he didn’t stop, and when Aster’s hips stuttered, he loosened his jaw and allowed it.

A low curse tumbled over Aster’s lips. Briar had never felt as blissfully out of control as he did right then. His eyes watered and his throat jumped, but he found himself drunk on the ache in his jaw, the desperate sips of air, the drag of Aster’s cock over his tongue, the fingers strewn through his hair, guiding him. Aster’s hips jerked. Briar squeezed his eyes shut. He whined. Sticky lips pressed to Aster’s pelvis. His head spun and his stomach knotted. He opened his eyes again, lashes warm and damp, and looked up. Aster fucked his mouth, biting back soft, barely-there sounds. Briar encouraged him, moaning and choking, and tried not to flinch when Aster’s grip tightened. A warm spurt hit the back of his throat. He swallowed, wrenching away to breathe. Another hot spurt landed on his mouth. This time, he did flinch. Aster’s fingers latched around Briar’s jaw again, forcing his lips to part. Hot ropes striped his tongue. Briar relaxed. He inhaled, exhaled, and opened his mouth wider as Aster rested his cock on Briar’s bottom lip, thrusting shallowly, finishing what they’d started with a soft sigh.

Briar pushed on his legs. Aster’s fingers went slack, tenderly cupping his cheek before he dropped his hand. Briar wiped his mouth. He slouched. Caught his breath. Licked his teeth and swallowed again. Raw, scratchy soreness bloomed in his throat.

“I. . .” Aster paused, gulping in choppy breaths. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Which part?” Briar winced, touching two fingers to the base of his neck.

A cute, bashful laugh sounded.

Briar pawed at his watery eyes. He wanted to say something witty, but his body hadn’t quite recovered, and his thoughts stuck like honey to the roof of his mouth. He managed to button his pants and lean on his heels, turning his lulled gaze upward. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like. Wrecked , he thought. Lips still wet, eyes still glassy, body still trembling. Silence swept the library. Aster buckled his belt, suspended in hazy eye-contact as he reached down and hauled Briar to his feet.

“Sorry,” Briar said, for no reason at all. He shook his head, using Aster’s shoulders to stay upright. “My knees are. . .” Sore . “Weak.”

“Don’t apologize. You okay?” He thumbed at Briar’s cheekbones. Gentleness was an odd thing to experience after what they’d just done. Still, he clung to Aster’s affection. He nodded, and Aster nodded back. “You sure? I might’ve been a little too. . .” He paused, considering. “Eager.”

“We were both a little too eager.”

Aster’s lips curved. “Swords, then. That’s your thing?”

Briar huffed and rolled his eyes. Once Aster laughed, he did, too.

They kissed slowly. Briar didn’t know the protocol for moments like these. He didn’t know how long they should stay tangled. How deeply to kiss him. If holding and being held stopped and started at the precipice of intimacy. They had leapt over the edge, fallen, hit the bottom, and somehow, Aster hadn’t tired of him yet. Briar’s lashes fluttered when Aster licked into his mouth. He wanted to sleep for hours. Go to his knees again. Lie on the couch while Aster mapped his body. Everything had coalesced. What he wanted, he wanted right then, later, in ten minutes, two days from now, for the rest of time.

Wanting, he realized, was a selfish, lasting thing.

“I’d like some tea, I think,” Briar said, breaking away to speak against Aster’s mouth. “And a shower.”

“I’ll put the kettle on and tend to your clippings once you finish.”

“I imagine you also need a shower.”

Aster’s eyes flicked around his face.

“It’s a rather large shower, Aster. I’m sure we’ll fit.”

“I have a private washroom.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s much smaller than the guest washroom, then.”

Aster narrowed his eyes.

Briar huffed. “Just say no if you’d rather not—”

“It’s been quite a while since I showered with someone,” he said, and took Briar’s hand.

They slipped through the house. Briar’s knees protested on the stairs, but the stiffness faded as they hit the landing and turned down the hall. A door near The Witches’ Sabbath , one Briar had assumed was an east wing guestroom, opened to a magnificent washroom. The shower was open-air, facing a mirrored wall. A short, steel countertop fixed with a marble sink filled the far corner next to another, smaller toilet room. Briar didn’t know what to do. He only knew what he wanted. So, he reached for Aster’s shirt, thumbed each button open, unbuckled each clasp on his corset, and then reached for his belt. Aster did the same, undressing Briar attentively. Once Briar’s shirt was gone, Aster kissed his temple, his cheek, and carefully untied the bandages from around his chest, exposing his clippings.

“You’re spotted,” Aster said, trailing his mouth along Briar’s freckled shoulder. He turned the knob on the wall and hot water rained from spouts in the ceiling.

Briar moved carelessly, instinctually. He looped his arms over Aster’s shoulders and nodded, touching the hard line of his wings. “My wings were, too.”

They were bare—soaking wet and impossibly close. Aster kissed him, and Briar imagined this was how it felt to be a lover. To be kissed passionately. To have soapy hands slip across his body. To be insatiable. Aster gripped the soft dip where his thigh met his ass, and Briar opened his eyes. Water dripped over Aster’s collarbones, down the planes of his stomach and beneath his hipbones. Droplets gathered on his eyelashes, caught on the bow of his top lip, beaded on his pale feathers.

Soon enough, he was holding the back of Aster’s head, gasping and whimpering while Aster mouthed at his nipple. He rocked against Aster’s hip, listening to their breath shake. Kissed him hungrily. Met his eyes and breathed against his mouth. Aster’s hand slipped between his legs, covering his hole, massaging him there. Briar clung to him through another orgasm, and Aster’s teeth left crescents on his shoulder.

Aster kissed him through the aftershocks. Sighed, satisfied, and came on his thigh. Whispered against his neck. This is what I wanted. Soft, fluttery words.

Briar’s brows knitted, but he stayed quiet, inhaling eucalyptus steam.

After they untangled, Aster lathered his buzzed head. “I’ve been invited to a gallery showing,” he said.

Briar snatched the shampoo bar and scrubbed his hair. “And?”

“And I need a date.”

“Is that right?” Briar lifted a brow. He stood on post-sex sea-legs, still wobbly and half-numb. He lifted to his tiptoes, stretching his calves.

“Would you like to accompany me?” Aster tipped his head back and opened his mouth, then turned and spit water at Briar. His cheeks were still beautifully flushed.

How romantic. Briar swatted him. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

He leaned in, teasing at Briar’s mouth. “Yes, I would. Tomorrow. Six o’clock. Evening wear, obviously. A dinner jacket. Or a dress, if you’d like. Luca will have something on standby, I’m sure. They always do.”

Briar didn’t know if he could blush any worse, but he might’ve. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good.” Aster smothered a laugh and pecked him on the lips. He turned the knob and snatched a towel from the shelf above the counter. “I’ll go put the kettle on.”