Page 29 of Too Many Beds

...or getting changed out of his uniform.

Asher really should turn back. Shamelessly stalking the man from a distance was one thing, but this probably crossed a line in both Academy rules and moral etiquette.

And then he heard it.

A soft, breathy moan. The sound of flesh on flesh, fast and eager.

Asher was at the door in an instant, pressing an eye to the crack formed between it and the frame and trying to uncurl his fingers from the fists they had found themselves in.

At the sight of Xem alone, his back to the door as he stood fully dressed before a full-length mirror, Asher’s irrational fear abated. Xem wasn’t fucking anyone. Not that it was Asher’s business, of course, or that he could have done anything about it even if it was...but still.

Xem groaned again, his elbow bobbing as he pumped his arm in front of himself, and Asher’s relief gave way to sharp arousal as he realised what he was seeing.

“Fuck,” he breathed, excitement strumming through him as he watched the mage pleasure himself. Xem shifted his weight between his feet and accidentally gifted Asher with a better view, the sliver of unobstructed mirror revealing how he was jerking himself to completion with a tight, angry grip, and how his breeches were undone just enough to allow access. That slight concession of necessity was hotter than if Xem had been completely naked.

Asher stood frozen; entranced by the movement of Xem’s hand, the tension in his shoulders, the delicate line of his neck as he threw his head back with a faint cry. He watched as the mage spilled over his fist with thick, ropey spurts of cum that made Asher’s mouth water with need. Licorice suddenly laced Xem’s cinnamon aura, infusing it into a darker and more provocative scent. And then Asher felt himself unexpectedly dragged over the edge as well, releasing untouched merely from the erotic sight before him and the heightened intoxication of Xem’s aura as he came.

Asher staggered, his hand slamming into the doorframe to catch himself from falling. The resounding slap echoed down the hallway.

Shit.

Asher lifted his head.

Caught Xem’s enraged, violet gaze in the mirror.

Ran for it.

Only he’d barely gained two steps down the corridor before he collided with an invisible, yet solid barrier. That same immense force buffeted him backwards and threw him against the bedroom door, forcing it open under his weight. Asher fell to the floor with a squeak.

A loud slam told him that the door had been shut with more air magic, sealing him in Xem’s room with the cantankerous mage himself. But when Asher raised his head from the floor,heart pounding wildly, all he could see was two neatly made beds, one on each side of the room. The thick rug he was lying on, and a collection of books on the shelves. There was no sign of-

“It seems you enjoy courting danger, recruit,” Xem hissed into his ear from behind.

Asher found himself shoved roughly back down to the floor before he could push up onto his elbows. He snarled, fighting, but was securely held with no movement left to him.

Firm and uncompromising, it was impossible to tell whether the cool grip around the back of his neck was Xem’s own hand, or another of his impressive castings of air magic.

“What were you doing outside my door?” the other mage demanded, giving him a little shake.

Just passing by, the coward in Asher wanted to claim, but that would be an obvious lie for a hallway with a dead end.

You left the door open, his braver side thought, but there was no way he’d dare voice that out loud.

“I’m sorry,” Asher yelled into the rug instead, the fibres tickling his lips as he threw himself on Xem’s mercy like he’d previously seemed to enjoy. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry!”

The pressure instantly eased from his neck.

“I don’t want you to be sorry, Asher,” Xem said in a low voice, his tone icily provocative.

Swallowing, Asher dared to peer back over his shoulder. Xem was standing two feet behind him, between Asher and the door, and did not look like he’d just jerked himself to completion. His uniform was neatly back in place but for the sleeves folded up past his elbows, his dark hair effortlessly styled, and he raised a single contemptuous brow at the sight of Asher sprawled across his floor.

Asher wet his lips. “What...whatdoyou want?”

Surely Xem wasn’t fool enough to demand money from him? It wasn’t difficult to deduce from Asher’s worn clothes and meagre possessions that they were worlds apart when it came to coin, with Asher being the fourth son of a farmer and a seamstress. Xem, on the other hand, radiated wealth, from his stiff-backed posture to his tailored uniform jacket, and the snobbery he overtly engaged in.

Would he tell Asher to leave the Academy again? Would Asher have a choice, if he was going to be reported for misconduct and expelled anyway?

“What do I want?” Xem repeated, eyeing Asher like a cat that had cornered his prey. With unrestrained delight and a conniving, vicious hunger. “I want the same from you as you had from me.”

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