Page 44 of Patron of Mercy

Thanatos’s moan was soft and low: the kind of sound that filled his dreams. Gods could do that with their voices—fill a whole room and drag mortals’ attentions their way. Lach’s entire world narrowed to that soft sound and the point where Thanatos’s body wrapped around him in electric pleasure.

He started with a slow rhythm. Thanatos could take anything Lach threw at him, and for a human, Lach had always been demanding. Now, he wanted something soft, something that felt good, something that showed Thanatos how much he cared.

Steadily, he thrust into that clenching heat, until stars sparked behind his eyes. Each time, he sank deeper, searching for that place where they could meld together.

Fantastic as it felt, it wasn’t enough. Lach needed more of him.

Craning over Thanatos’s back, feeling the heaviness of the god’s breathing all along his front, he slipped his hand around to touch his jaw and tilted Thanatos’s head back. Lach leaned in for a kiss, but before he touched his lips, Thanatos pulled away.

“Don’t.” It was a breath, soft and airy, but with all the sharpness of a knife.

Lach blinked, staring at the outline of Thanatos. He was wrapped in his arms, with Lach’s cock inside him, and he still pulled away.

“Oh,” Lach said. “Okay. I’m—I’m sorry.”

“’S fine.”

He was frozen for a second, until Thanatos pressed back against him. Lach didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. They settled on Thanatos’s hips for lack of a better place.

“Do you want me to stop?” Lach whispered. He didn’t think he could manage anything louder without his voice cracking.

“No.”

“Okay.”

Lach tried to find his rhythm again, but all of a sudden, the room was too quiet. The slap of skin on skin was uncomfortable. All the cozy warmth before, heightened by only finding his lover through touch, had disappeared.

Why couldn’t Lach kiss him? He could fuck him. He could run his hands over his skin and feel Thanatos shiver underneath him. But he couldn’t kiss him.

“Shit,” Lach hissed. His dick slipped out. He tried to shove it back in, but it slid past Thanatos’s hole, soft and useless.

“Sorry. Just—just give me a second,” Lach gritted out. He sat back on his heels. With quick, efficient strokes, he tried to get his dick to cooperate.

Thanatos made an impatient sound, and after half a minute, Lach had to accept his dick wasn’t going to get there.

Before Thanatos could turn over and demand to know what the blasted fuck was wrong with him, Lach sucked three digits into his mouth and worked them into Thanatos instead. When the pad of his thumb pressed that soft place behind his balls, Thanatos finally shuddered. He sank down, pressing his face into a pillow.

“That’s it,” Lach whispered over his back, teasing the shell of his ear with his lips.

For all his faults, Lach was thorough when it counted. He hooked his fingers, rubbing Thanatos’s prostate until the god quivered under him. He spread his fingers and dragged his lips down Thanatos’s back, blowing a stream of cool air over his heated skin. Thanatos whined.

Only when Lach was certain that Thanatos couldn't take anymore, he reached between his legs and tugged his dick. Against Lach’s calves, Thanatos’s toes curled in. He tried to pull his knees together, but Lach kept them apart with his own.

“Let go, Thanatos,” he growled.

With a few more strokes, the god’s dick twitched in his hand, spurting come over the sheets.

Slowly, Lach pulled his fingers out. Thanatos huffed out a shaky breath and rolled over onto his side to avoid the wet spot.

Lach wasn’t sure if he should go. They’d fought (sort of) and fucked (sort of), and Lach didn’t know if Thanatos wanted him there, or never wanted to see him again.

Sighing, Lach turned over and leaned against the headboard.

“What’s wrong?” Thanatos asked. His tone was careful. Lach really couldn’t imagine what he was worried about.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

The mattress dipped. Thanatos leaned over and flicked on the bedside lamp. When he turned back, he looked at Lach with a furrow between his brows.

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