over his nipple, and he suckled, laving the nipple with his tongue, teasing with the barest edge of teeth.
“Mmn… God, yes!” Lachlan tunneled his fingers through that sandy hair and reveled, his cock hard, dripping, having never gone completely down after the wash of magic. And having his nipples played with—oh, that was a turn-on—but usually with a little bit of hand work…. “Tolly,” Lachlan begged, thrusting his hips in the air. “You’ve got a free hand. Could you, you know, explore that southern place we talked abou—oh, that’s good!”
Bartholomew’s grip was perfect. Not too hard, not too soft. Lachlan’s throaty chuckle pulled Bartholomew up from his nipple, and his breath and the air and Bartholomew’s hand on his cock all threatened to drive him to the brink of screaming insanity.
“What?” Bartholomew asked, brow wrinkled in worry.
“You’ve done this before,” Lachlan teased, thrusting into his fist.
Bartholomew’s eyes narrowed impishly. “I’ve practiced,” he said, lips pursed with smug joy.
“Yeah? Anything you haven’t done be—” Oh my God! “—fore?”
Bartholomew had ducked under the covers, almost before Lachlan had finished speaking. Lachlan lifted the covers, just to see his mouth in action. He wrapped his lips around Lachlan’s cock with a purpose and directness that told Lachlan he’d studied a little, at the very least to see how lips stretched around a cock without introducing teeth.
Sweetly. That’s how they stretched. Oh wow—so sweetly.
“Tolly!” Lachlan cried out. “So good!” Bartholomew wrapped his fist around the base, and a little awkwardly at first started a stroke-and-suck that pretty much left Lachlan’s mind strewn among the stars.
“Oh damn,” Lachlan moaned. “Tolly, I’m gonna come. I am. If you want me to reciproc—” Bartholomew moved his hand and sucked Lachlan down even farther. “Oh God. Guess not! I’m going to… oh please, Tolly, I want to taste you and fuck you and—ah!”
He’d had visions of seeing Bartholomew’s naked body splayed out for his plunder, but right now, he needed Bartholomew’s lips on him so badly. Just like this—their every kiss, every touch was preordained to be just like this.
Bartholomew’s other hand went wandering, cupping Lachlan’s balls, and Lachlan couldn’t take any more. “I’m coming, Tolly,” he moaned. “Oh God. Coming!”
His body suffused with white-and-crimson light—it was like it streamed from his eyes, from his toes, from his cock, straight into Bartholomew, filling them both.
Bartholomew was new—he swallowed some and lost some, and gurgled a little. When he came up for air, he was wiping his face on his shoulder to get rid of the glaze of come, but Lachlan wouldn’t let him.
“Let me kiss you,” he begged, licking Bartholomew’s lips, tasting himself and humming. “God, that was wonderful.”
Bartholomew sighed into his mouth and allowed himself to be cleaned, mussed, kissed sloppily until both of them were sheened with come and spit and swollen with kisses.
“It tasted good,” Bartholomew mumbled against his mouth. “Like my own come, but better.”
Lachlan groaned and deepened the kiss, his cock already swelling again. He was intoxicated with Bartholomew in his arms, with their smell, with the love and sex magic they’d already made together.
And the thought of Bartholomew, stroking himself to completion, tasting his own come, only drove him a little more over the edge. He started bucking against Bartholomew, feeling the hardness of Bartholomew’s cock against his thigh, and he wanted to weep. They were urgent again, so soon, and he wanted to take Bartholomew’s ass and be taken in turn. But you couldn’t do that on a dime, and Lachlan refused to just fuck him and not make it amazing, so he kept kissing, stroking Bartholomew in his fist.
“I know what I taste like,” Lachlan panted, using his tongue to take the last of his own spend from the corner of Bartholomew’s mouth. “Now let me see what you taste like.”
And it was his turn to disappear beneath the covers.
He positioned himself between Bartholomew’s legs this time, because he wanted access to everything.
“God, your sex is beautiful,” he breathed, loving the paleness of his skin, the sparseness of the blond hair on his thighs, the length and shape of his cock. He delicately took one of Bartholomew’s balls into his mouth, just to hear him gasp and see him throw his head back, chanting nonsense syllables into the air.
He let it go, hungering for all of him, but he had to ask. “What next, Tolly? Your cock?” He licked a stripe from Bartholomew’s balls to his already-dripping tip, making a show of tasting the come from before and the precome