Page 24 of Astaroth

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Briar tipped his head against Aster’s shoulder. Sex had always presented itself simply. Touching and being touched. Having and being had. Sharing and being shared. He’d never expected to feel held by it, to find comfort in the lack of control, the acceptance of passion, and he certainly hadn’t expected empowerment to rise within him at the sound of Aster’s heavy breath or the weight of his shaky grip.

Bone-deep pleasure unraveled. Briar closed his eyes and gave himself over to that specific heat, that particular relief, and kept hold of the headboard as his muscles clenched and his limbs tightened. Aster’s hips ground hard against his ass, drawing out his orgasm, forcing it to linger. He stroked Briar’s cock. Kissed his shoulder, and splayed his hand across Briar’s stomach, feeling him tense and breathe and tremble. Briar wanted to swallow that reverence—weightlessness, brightness, the moment clarity evaporated. His hands almost slipped from the headboard, but he held on, swimming through thick, syrupy head-fog. Aster hadn’t stopped. He tucked his face into Briar’s neck and wrung pleasure from him. Gentle lovemaking became a chase for release. Hard snaps of Aster’s hips, ragged breath on Briar’s nape, then a fractured moan, quiet as a sigh, before Aster stilled.

The pain returned quickly. Not pain, per say. Discomfort, though. As if Briar had to actively remember what he’d done, where he’d been, same as soreness that settled after a fight. His clippings protested as he sank to the bed and curled around a pillow. Aster faced him, pupils still blown, cheeks still apple-red. He touched the bridge of Briar’s nose with his pointer finger. Briar took his hand. Brought Aster’s palm to his lips.

“You lose nothing after this,” Aster said. He pushed his face against the pillow, shifting closer. “Virtue is a choice.”

Briar tipped his head. His nose brushed Aster’s cheek. “I don’t feel as though I’ve lost anything.”

“Good.”

“We were made individually in the beginning. Solitary creatures, you know. Do you think we’re meant to be alone?”

Aster sighed against his mouth, slotting their lips together. “No,” he said, and draped his arm over Briar’s waist. “I think we’re meant to find each other. All of us, in some way or another.”

“Loneliness is a shared curse, then.”

“Only if we allow it.”

Briar ran his palm over Aster’s shorn hair and touched the place where his four wings met. “I suppose that’s true.”

Wind howled outside the manor, pushing against frosted windows and smoky chimneys. Aster changed Briar’s bandages after they showered. They boiled water for tea, and kissed beside the sink, and after a long night, Briar followed Aster back to his room.

To keep his bed warm. To be kept warm.

Chapter Eight

The nights grew opaque, and the days shortened. Candles lined windowsills, haunting icy glass. Briar spent his time organizing the library. Some mornings he would wake in his own bed, nestled like a fox under too many blankets, but usually he watched the sun rise from the east wing, tucked carefully against Aster’s chest or sprawled beside him. When he wasn’t re-shelving books, he was on Saga’s back or seated at the dining table or reading next to the fireplace. Sometimes, though, he found himself apprehended—tugged into the stables and hoisted onto a table or crawling into Aster’s lap as they shared the fainting couch or fucked in the atrium behind the confetti bush. At times, they were gentle with each other. Tenderness shared in the blue hour before dawn, slow movements and slower kisses, and hushed words whispered after. They talked about beginnings and endings, but mostly, they talked about the in-between. Occasionally, Briar would kiss Aster hard, encouraging the Great Duke to bend him over the secretary or shove him to his knees. Sex had become a casual occurrence, and Briar had learned to laugh against Aster’s mouth, to let himself becomeloud and rough when he could no longer contain himself, to be curious and adventurous and loving, somehow.

Weeks stretched, but Briar Wright hardly noticed. His clippings, though still sensitive, began to heal. The estate became less a stranger and more a home, and soon enough, the winter solstice was on the horizon.

Two mornings before the longest night of the year, Sam left the estate to find an appropriately festive tree while Jennifer, Luca and Mallory pawed through cardboard boxes, hunting for garland and twinkle lights. The manor buzzed excitedly. Briar bounced down the stairs, dressed in his breeches. He tucked his too-long scarf into his coat as he entered the dining room, snatching a banana from the fruit bowl. Clementine, who had scoured Pinterest boards, vintage cookbooks and famous blogs, was busy ordering ingredients for an extravagant feast. She typed quickly on a purse-sized tablet.

“Briar, I’ll ask you,” she said, eyes still trained to the screen. “I’ve decided on Cornish hens, but I think we need something more. . .” She raised her clenched fist. “Impactful! Don’t you agree? I’m stuck between roast pork and beef tenderloin.”

“Well, what excites you more?” he asked.

She shot him a devious smile. “Everyone loves to spit roast a pig, Briar.”

“Then I guess we’re having pork, aren’t we?”

“I’ll stuff it with honey-soaked cranberries and rosemary,” she said, and gave a curt nod. “Braise the heart in red wine—a splash of chardonnay and garlic for the lungs. Will they be too delicate to sauté, though. . . ? Oh! I can use them in the meatball blend. Yes, good.Perfect.”

Briar drained a glass of grapefruit juice. Lungs?Really. . . ?He furrowed his brows but forced a smile. “Sounds wonderful, Clementine.”

She flashed a grin.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Aster (Bat Emoji):Are you ready?

Briar:Yeah, coming

He finished the banana, tossed the peel in the compost bin, and traded his house-shoes for riding boots at the door. Fresh powder dusted the ground, bleaching the path through the courtyard. He touched a gloved hand to a dry fountain surrounded by trimmed evergreen bushes, and glanced upward at brick spires and square windows. Once he rounded the corner, he saw Aster waiting with the horses. Saga greeted Briar with a whinny, tail flicking, ears perked, and stretched her face toward him as he approached.

“What’s that for?” Briar asked, gesturing to the basket attached to Crown’s saddlebag.

“Pinecones,” Aster said. He adjusted his coat and tugged a thick beanie over his ears. “Luca insisted we harvest some. Apparently, the house won’t be ready for the solstice until they’ve created centerpieces for the tables.”