Page 99 of Beau and the Beast

Overcome by the display, by Beau's willingness, Wolfram caught him gently by the back of the neck and dragged Beau into a kiss.

The taste of his arousal was on Beau's mouth and the realization thrilled him. Beau was too perfect, too eager to please, and in that instant Wolfram wanted every bit of him, wanted to please Beau more than he cared about his own release.

He rolled them over carefully, turning until Beau's back was flat on his bed before moving from his mouth to kiss his neck, to kiss the few inches of skin above the collar of his shirt. He reached up to try and unbutton the shirt further, only to fumble, unable to manage the fine buttons with his big hands.

"Would you?" he asked Beau. "I need to see you."

Beau smiled and nodded, sitting up a little and undoing the first button.

The process was slow and Wolfram followed his fingers, lavishing attention on every new inch of skin. Finally, the shirt was undone and Wolfram pushed the garment open.

What he saw shocked him. Instead of the pale, unblemished chest that he'd pictured, Beau's torso was cut with a wide slash of scarring that wrapped over his ribcage and around to his back. The stripe of skin was as wide as Beau's palm, starting in the middle of his belly, stretched taut and shiny with twisting ropes of scar tissue.

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything," Beau said, dropping his eyes.

"Sorry?" Wolfram asked, shocked at the statement. "Is this from...?"

"From the fire," Beau said. He looked tremendously sad in that moment and it stole the breath from Wolfram's lungs. He would've sold his fortune, given away everything he'd ever had to ease the burdens on Beau's heart.

"You shouldn't be sorry," Wolfram said quickly. "It'syouand you're as perfect as I'd ever imagined."

Beau smiled, his eyes fluttering shut as Wolfram dipped to kiss the edge of the dark scar, to trace the shape of it with kisses.

It all seemed to come naturally to Beau—how to help someone understand that they were wanted, that what made them different wasn't a flaw—and Wolfram wished he understood how to do the same in that moment. Would it be wrong to lavish attention on the scars? Would it make Beau uncomfortable? The skin was wondrous to Wolfram, not a flaw or a curse but a tangible proof of Beau's strength, of all of the things that made Beau the unique person that he was.

In the end, Wolfram let his own desire be his guide as he caressed Beau's body, spending equal time on all parts of it, tracing the scars with the same reverence he used to trace his muscles, the deep "V" of his hips. He lapped an eager tongue over Beau's nipples and thrilled at the way he drew a sharp breath each time, arching into Wolfram. He pressed his face against all of Beau's beautiful skin, marking him and finally satisfying that primal need he'd been fighting for so long.

Mine, mine, mine, his brain thrummed—and he let himself believe it in that moment. Beau could belong to him, at least for one night.

When he'd explored every bit, Wolfram moved to palm the hardness straining against the front of Beau's pants. He looked to Beau for permission and he nodded, reaching to trail a hand up Wolfram's chest as he undid Beau's belt buckle.

"Can I?" he asked again, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Beau's underwear. "I want to see all of you."

Beau shuddered and nodded, hitching up his hips to allow Wolfram to drag the last garments off of him.

He was so slight there, naked finally beneath Wolfram, and the urge to rut against him swelled in the pit of his stomach, warring with the logical part of Wolfram that only wanted to satisfy his partner. Beau's hips flared delicately, sparse hair trailing from his belly button down to his flushed erection. He was perfectly proportioned from head to toe and again Wolfram wondered what he'd ever done to earn a moment like this.

"You're a work of art," Wolfram said reverently, sweeping his hand at last to Beau's bare thighs before teasing down the length of his erection. Beau hipped eagerly into his palm, reaching at the same time for Wolfram's cock.

* * *

Wolfram's handon him felt incredible, and he was shocked by the sensation of his padded palm. It was softer than he remembered with more give than Beau's own hands. As Wolfram stroked him, he looked down, remembering the sight of Wolfram's wicked claws. A perverse thrill rolled through him at the realization that sheathed in those same hands that were stroking him were long blades that could just as easily rip him to shreds.

To be stroked, finally, was amazing—but Beau wanted to be closer to Wolfram—and he rolled into him until Wolfram gave in, both of them rolling to their sides, then. Wolfram continued to caress him and with the new position, it was easier to thrust into his hand. He caught Wolfram's mouth in a kiss and they worked together silently for a moment.

Beau's orgasm built too fast in the pit of his stomach, like kindling smoking just before it burst into flames, and he broke their kiss with an abrupt moan.

"If you don't stop, I'm going to..."

"I want you to come," Wolfram said without hesitation, without stopping his steady strokes around Beau. "Please Beau."

The earnestness in his voice, the naked plea, made Beau moan again. Wolf wanted to make him happy, wanted to take care of him, and that thought alone was almost enough to bring him to completion.

"Ok," Beau said after a moment of hesitation.

Wolfram smiled, a low purr rolling through him, and he stopped only long enough to spit neatly into his hand before he took Beau again, twisting around his length. Beau gave into it, hipping up harder into Wolf’s grip.

Wolfram, watching him with a look of fascination, clamped his other hand firmly onto Beau's hip as if to guide his movements. The proximity to the bulk of Wolfram in bed next to him with the feeling of the firm hand holding him made Beau feel small, delicate, cared for as his body thrummed at the brink of orgasm.

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