Page 63 of Refrain
The response was a long, inarticulate drawl of sound, which tugged at the senses. It was achingly beautiful. They were achingly beautiful. The dark prince and his light bringer.
Luthor reached for Xane’s hip, used the hold to anchor him in position while he nudged his way into Xane’s body. Both of them grew flushed, then they both keened like spirits. Luthor’s brow dropped against the nape of Xane’s neck.
“Fuck, this might be very short-lived.” He held himself still, drawing multiple truncated breaths. “Christ, that’s good.” Then, his gaze snapped over to Spook again. “Let’s see it, then,” he demanded.
Xane reached for his cock, but Luthor’s hand whipped out, smacking Xane’s aside. His gaze was raw. “Keep your damned hands off, Xane. This toy is mine, and I’ll say who gets to fondle it. I’m sure he’s seen you wank yourself dozens of times.”
Not actually true. He’d snapped his picture with a host of partners. Even recorded him fucking a few of them too, but he’d never watched Xane perform in the way that Luthor was implying. He might have walked in on him a time or two having a stealthy jerk in a bathroom or a dressing room. Maybe it was what Luthor imagined had been happening over the last week here in the cottage.
Luthor’s gaze remained fast upon him. Spook obligingly shucked up his shirt a sliver and edged his slouchy bottoms down by a similar degree, just enough to comfortably free his cock and give them both a vision of his abs between the ridges of his hipbones. Yeah, he was hard. Yeah, he could feel the heat in Xane’s gaze as he took that in.
Luthor flipped the bottle of lube in his direction. He snatched it out of the air and greased up his palm and wrapped it around his shaft in an unembarrassed grip so he could stroke himself in time with the seductive sway of their bodies. No, he didn’t flinch over it. Didn’t think for a second about not doing it.
“Does it feel good?” Xane rasped at the end of another exhaled groan. His hips surged forwards as Luthor thrust into him, again and again. Twisting him, holding him tight, and upright. Fingers performing a squeeze and release, squeeze and release routine around his cock, and sometimes mixing it up with a tug upon his nipple.
“Does it feel good?” Spook whispered back.
A grin tore up Xane’s face. His mesmerising eyes briefly closed. “He’s nailing my prostate. Yeah, it’s good.”
“You look good.”
“So do you.”
It was his turn to crack a loopy grin.
“Not sure this is the moment for a convo, guys. You sweet, sweet, sickos.”
But it is, and it was. It was the right moment for the right words. Words that needed to be said. Goosebumps broke out across Spook’s skin. His cock felt so tight, stretched to the point of hissing pain. Not that there was any chance of him stopping or even slowing the speed of his tugs.
He kept his eyes peeled wide to better see the glory of Luthor rutting into Xane’s arse, spearing him so thoroughly it seemed impossible that he hadn’t already got off. He was ferocious. All muscle and hands and teeth—teeth that raked against the exposed side of Xane’s throat, raising marks that bloomed like violet roses.
“I want to see you come, Xane.”He mouthed the words.
Luthor gave them a voice as he flattened himself brutishly against Xane’s back. “Fucking come, Xane. Fucking come for me. I need you to fucking…come.”
It was hard to say which of them spilled first.
Was it Luthor, whose roared exhalations signposted his release, erection thrust deep inside his lover’s arse? Or Xane, who didn’t spill so much as shoot the hearth rug with shamefully long pulses of opaline glee? Or him, who neither babbled nor cut the air with his ecstatic curses, but ejaculated with a quiet grunt, eyes open the whole while, determined not to miss a thing? Reality was that bit more vivid than what his brain painted on the insides of his eyelids.
Whichever of them it had been, the ache of his release loosened Spook’s limbs, leaving him not so much sitting as indolently draped across the chair. A stillness followed, like they’d agreed to a collective pause for breath before reality intruded and pulled them asunder, notions of propriety smothering the highs of the last half hour. Instead, time drifted on indefinitely, the spell only breaking when Luthor took himself off into the dark of the kitchen to clean up at the sink.
Xane came to Spook on his knees. The telepathic bond between them seemingly remained unbroken. He came to a halt between Spook’s splayed legs. They didn’t touch. Didn’t speak. Just stared at one another, while the puddle of Spook’s come lay between them like a pool of pearlescent tears. Spook tugged his T-shirt over his head and used it to mop himself clean, then chucked the garment in the general direction of the washing machine.
Xane leaned in and kissed the freshly cleaned spot on Spook’s abs. It was the lightest brush of his lips. Warm. Tender. They both moved at once, heads bowing until their brows were pressed together, one hand each settled on the other’s shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Xane asked.
“I’m a mess.”
His reply made both of them smile.
“It’s okay, Spook. We’re okay.”
All cleaned up, Luthor planted himself alongside them. “Christ, do you two just need to fuck and get it out of your systems?”
That broke them apart. One smile following the other. They both knew one another too well to risk answering. Xane rested on his haunches. Spook rose so that he was on a level with Luthor.
“I’m going to call it a night again.” He yawned widely enough to cement the idea. Hell knows, he was probably whacked enough at this point to actually sleep. He brushed his lips against the crown of Xane’s head, then wasn’t sure what to do with Luthor, who he had to walk past.
