Page 50 of Close Quarter
Staccato strikes of flesh on flesh resounded as Rhys hit the sweet spot inside Silas over and over.
Elemental energy wrapped around Silas and sank to the base of his spine. Jolts of heat shot up to his skull, and his balls tightened, and Silas gave himself over to the coming orgasm.
Only Silas didn't come. The element consumed Silas--and Rhys wasinsidehim.
And he was with Rhys, walking every piece of land Rhys had ever walked. Around him rose the smell of salt grass and seawater from the dunes of a barrier island, then the crush of fall leaves and the last blooming of goldenrod. The taste of mulberries in the height of summer. The familiar scent of the Alpine foothills as Rhys climbed up a path to a castle. Countless moments filled with the tang of cut grass, the sudden expanse of green surrounded by concrete.
Amid the jumble of Rhys's life, Silas spied glimpses of other fae that never--quite--touched Rhys. Water. Field. Mountain. Air. Energy from those fae brushed against Rhys, but no one with Rhys's element ever lingered long enough to awaken what lay in Rhys.
Exquisite agony as twenty-eight years of collected life slammed through Silas's body.
Then he was there, in Rhys's memory, throwing a towel at a chair and turning away. Rhys ran after those thin traces of element, caught him by the arm.
Here and now, Silas moaned and buried his face in Rhys's shoulder and came hard, thrusting his cock against Rhys's stomach.
Rhys cried out and drove into him, mercilessly hard as he came. When Rhys's thrusts slowed, he gasped for air, trembled against Silas.
His low groan turned to a sob, and his nails bit into Silas's arms, hard enough to draw blood.
This--this was Silas's fault. He had been alive a very long time, far longer than Rhys, and had walked the length and breadth of the Earth.
There were more than just a few glimpses of fae in his past. Lovers, enemies, a precious few friends.
He prayed that was all Rhys saw--all Rhys felt in the long tale of his life. He held on to Rhys and sang snatches of old songs into his ear.
There was nothing else hecoulddo.
After a time, Rhys stopped shaking, though his breathing, rough and ragged, rattled next to Silas's ear. Then words. "What the hell was that?"
"Me," Silas said. "My life."
Rhys was silent. He shifted, slipping his cock from Silas. He rested his head on Silas's chest.
"Well, shit."
"If I hurt you--"
"No, it wasn't painful, not really..." He looked at the hand he was about to shove into his hair. "You're bleeding?"
"It's nothing." It took only a moment to heal the scrapes.
Rhys sat up, examined Silas's arms, and touched the drying blood on them. "I hope that doesn't happen next time."
Next time.Silas rolled those two words about in his head for a while and decided he liked the sound of them. What was that English phrase?
In for a penny, in for a pound? "I should think not.
Though it wasn't bad for me." Silas wiped away the moisture at the corner of Rhys's right eye. "Iamsorry."
"It didn't hurt. It was just...very intense." He peered down at Silas. "Exactly how old are you, anyway?"
He should have expected that question and knew better than to attempt a lie. "Two thousand four hundred thirty-six."
He watched as Rhys struggled against the truth. He sagged when the truth won. "Fuck me."
"Later," Silas murmured. He pulled Rhys into a tight embrace. "Later."
That produced a croak of laughter from Rhys; then he stilled. "No more running?"
