Page 77 of Burning Ice
“Feel that, baby? You’re already hard, and they haven’t even started.” The room grew warmer with every breath Kylix gave.
A quick slap across Mirel’s knuckles made him flinch.
“Good,” Kylix purred. He poured the drink into Mirel’s mouth, then unbuckled his trousers. They fell to the floor. His fingertips brushed over Mirel’s cock, making him hiss against the glass. “My, that’s got to hurt, little ghost.” He dipped his fingers inside, circling the head until Mirel’s hips bucked, seeking friction.
“So impatient,” Kylix teased.
In the arena Daven began to move, each step deliberate and slow, distance shrinking by degrees. Sand whispered under his boots. The crowd’s din dimmed into a hush that carried onlyhis footfalls. The prisoner backed away, frantic where Daven was measured, the difference between predator and prey made visible. He started running, banging on the gates as he begged to be let out.
A flame burst from Daven’s palm. Wind took it, ate it whole. Daven lifted his hand and closed his fingers around nothing. The fire jerked and rose from the sand as if pulled on a hook. The body fought for air and found none.
Kylix clicked his tongue. “The fool. They won’t let him out.”
Air leashed Daven. The torches leaned in fear and then back again. Daven studied his work as if admiring the lines it made.
“He takes the air first. Listen to the body fight it. Hear the pause before stillness. He is teaching them how beauty kills,” Kylix said.
Mirel flinched when Kylix sank to his knees, hands steady at Mirel’s hips. “This will take a while, and I’m too hungry,” he murmured with a dark smile.
Mirel’s breath caught as warmth grazed the backs of his thighs. His pulse thundered when Kylix spread him, the sound of the crowd reduced to a far hum. When he started licking his crease, Mirel shuddered.
“Good, little darae?”
“Oh…” Mirel’s hips rocked helplessly.
Daven raised his hand, the air bending. Wind folded inward and spiralled around his victim, dragging up a cyclone of dust and grit. The prisoner struggled, caught inside the vortex. Sand rose in waves that shimmered like glass under the lights. Daven’s eyes narrowed; the wind obeyed. The body lifted, arched once, twice. Blood flecked the air. Then Daven closed his fist. The limbs went slack, the storm snapped shut. The body hung for a heartbeat before dropping. The arena released a single vast breath, and then screamed.
“Is he dead?” Mirel moaned.
“Not yet.” Behind him, Kylix flattened his tongue, and Mirel mewled at the wicked mixture of pleasure and obscenity.
The prisoner now crawled over the sand, hair wet with sweat, while Daven basked in applause. “Fuck my tongue. Let me work for it.”
“No,” Mirel moaned, but his hips obeyed, his breath filling with haze.
“He’s so cruel.”
Kylix pulled off. “Of course he is. It’s what he is, Mirel. What you are, baby. And look, it’s what the people want. They live for it.”
The bottle of lube clicked open. The faint scent of cocoa filled the air. Mirel’s heart thrashed with hunger. The prisoner shrieked as Daven turned back toward him. Mirel hissed at the sting of Kylix’s fingers, needing it.
“Kill?” he asked.
“Not yet.” Kylix withdrew and gave him a sharp slap that made his teeth chatter. “You like that, hmm?”
“F-ff…”
“Yes, that’s what I thought.” Another slap. Pain flared, met by heat. Mirel rocked back, mouth against ice, frosting the pane as he begged silently for friction.
“Not long now,” Kylix whispered.
“P-please.”
Kylix hummed. “Are you begging me, little darae?” His thrusts deepened until Mirel cracked, leaking and trembling, desire pulsing through his veins.
Outside, Daven held up his hand, mastering the air as he sucked the prisoner back into it. The man was held upright, unable to stop Daven from ripping down his jumpsuit. Daven growled as he took him. The crowd kept shouting his name.
Mirel held to the frosted window, enraptured as the prisoner stopped fighting and yielded.
