Page 21 of Arrows

“And pearls in your hair.” Van reached out, cautiously in case any lightning stopped him. It didn’t, so he touched shining gold, ran his fingers through the storm-damp shimmer of Lorre’s loose hair. “And silks and satins against your skin.” Lorre’s breathing was a bit shaky, he observed. “You like being touched.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Lorre said. He said it with the usual cool arrogance; but he tilted his head into the touching, too. His body was beautifully aroused, luscious as ever. The words hovered in the air, rain-splashed, drenched in want.

“Oh Goddess,” Van said, accidentally aloud.

“Decidedly not. Do you mind doing that?”

“No! I mean—I want to. Whatever you want.”

“Yes,” Lorre said. “Whatever I want. Make it hard.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t care if you did. I can heal.”

“No.”

“Orders, mine, following them.”

“No. I’ll make it harder, if you want. Rough, if you want that. But I won’t hurt you.”

Lorre appeared to be thinking this over, then shrugged, nodded, and said, “Go on, then,” and waved a hand at Van’s clothing, which vanished.

Not out of sight, this time. Van noticed that. Just over on a chair. And that recognition, Lorre listening to him, left his insides tangled up with strange yearning compassion, with desire and melancholy, with the awareness that this was what they would have, just this, one last time.

He could do this role, if Lorre wanted that; it might be only his fourth time with a man, but he did have some ideas. And his body decidedly wanted this. Craved it, even. Fucking Lorre, being inside him like that—

He put a hand on the magician’s chest. Pushed Lorre back into the bed, amid cerulean and amber satin. Lorre went willingly, and spread his legs when Van leaned down over him. His hair made a gilded halo across priceless fabric.

“You want me to fuck you,” Van said. “So you can feel it. Right? I can do that.”

Lorre nodded again, and invisible hands trailed along Van’s back, hips, cock: tugging, encouraging. His actual hands stayed put against the bed.

“This is me,” Van told him, “touching you,” and bent to doing that.

It was different but equally glorious, like this: glimmering, firelit, thick and rich as caramel. His hands on Lorre, callused and brown against flawless smoothness. His fingers stroking, pressing, pushing in. Lorre made a hushed sound and did something that probably was some sort of very specific shapeshift, body opening, easy, hungry against Van’s exploring touch. Lorre also did the trick with pulling sweet oil out of thin air again, except he used it on himself this time, slick and ready.

Van touched him, petted him, held him down and held him in place with weight and caresses, and finally slid into him, a long deep glide. Lorre moaned at the feel of it. Van nearly finished on the spot, because it felt so good, it all felt so good, that sensation—

Sensations. His grip on Lorre’s legs, handling them, pushing them up. His hips rocking, pounding into Lorre. Hard, as requested.

Lorre did come first. Van, near-senseless from ecstasy, spared a second to be proud of that. He’d done that: made his magician spill all over himself, open-mouthed and quivering, from Van’s cock in him and Van’s hand on his prick, wringing him out.

That sight shoved him over the edge too, and he lost every thought for a moment, drowning in gold and blue and the tastes of sugar and rain.

He came back to himself breathless, shaken, aware that he was panting and sweaty and had just emptied himself out inside Lorre’s enchanter’s body. Lorre, for someone at least eighty years old, had recovered remarkably fast, and was gazing up at him with a tiny line between golden eyebrows.

Van managed, “…what?”

“Nothing. That was…good.” Lorre paused, added swiftly, “Excellent, really, please don’t take that as faint praise, it isn’t, I feel much better,” and waited for Van’s reaction to this. His hair, no longer smooth and sleek, curled around his face in blond dandelion wisps.

“Well.” Van eased out of him, rolled onto the bed beside him, stroked the closest slim thigh for more physical comfort. For them both, maybe. “I’m glad, then.”

Lorre did the quick hand-wave clean-up for them. That was becoming worrisomely normal in Van’s daily life: magic on him, in him, around him. “I needed that.”

“Happy to help.”

“I won’t see you again.”

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