Page 133 of The Prince and the Ice King

“As you wish,” Jack said and tilted Reardon’s hips so that his feet left the floor, finding purchase on the edge of the throne and presenting Reardon boldly before Jack, where he brought those wet fingers down.

Reardon trembled at the first tease of a fingertip circling him, slick only from his own mouth but enough to ease its way inside. The hums and moans that left him as Jack sought to stretch him open were impossible to stifle.

“I’ve missed those sounds filling this room.” Jack pressed a kiss to Reardon’s thighs, licked around the heavy drop of his balls above his entrance, and when Reardon tightened at a deeper thrust of a finger, Jack added a lick and sweet suck at Reardon’s tip.

Reardon tightened again, and then relaxed and opened further at the prospect of what came next.

“Does my little prince want more?” Jack flicked the tip of his tongue at Reardon’s head, twisting a second finger inside and spreading them apart in tandem.

“Please….” Reardon quaked.

At last, Jack pulled away and stood, leaving Reardon shaking with his feet propped. The ties of Jack’s trousers were deftly undone, the garment dropping and being kicked away, and his boots kicked away as well, but while he also untied his doublet, he merely let it fall open, his thick and heavy cock bobbing just beneath the line of his shirt and dripping at the tip.

Jack stroked it, smoothing the wetness up his length, and jutted his hips toward Reardon in offering. Reardon righted himself on the throne, feet dropping down so he could suck his king’s cock as eagerly as he had sucked his fingers.

While the taste was the same, the view made it so much better than when Reardon only had darkness as a guide. He could swallow Jack down and look up his smooth, firm chest at those beautiful eyes looking down at him. Jack’s lips had the most mesmerizing curve with a tiny, smug smile, shimmering with wetness.

Reardon sucked and sucked and opened his throat to bury his nose as deeply as Jack had with him, loving the fullness it gave him and the promise of being further filled in due time.

“And how… would my king… like to have me?” Reardon spoke between teasing licks.

“Together on our throne, of course.” Jack halted him and left the close quarters of being behind the desk. “I’ll be but a moment. Stand, remove your doublet and shirt, but keep the crown.”

A tremor pulsed through Reardon at the order. His footing wavered when he stood, but by the time Jack returned, Reardon had complied. Jack’s shirt and doublet were gone now too, and he held one of the bottles of bath oils.

Reardon made room for Jack to sit this time and accepted the oil when Jack handed it to him. Like this, Reardon could see all of Jack, naked and full before him, and had the pleasure of coating his love while touching him anywhere he wanted.

Reardon didn’t waste a moment, pouring the oil on Jack’s tip to dribble down his cock and coating it with a swift hand, while exploring with the other. The feel of Jack’s skin was different without the scars. Reardon had mapped the feel of him in his mind, and now the terrain was new, but no less beautiful, no less desirable, and all his.

He wanted Jack to know how stunning he found him and took his time tracing every muscle, curve, and divot, stroking Jack all the while, until he could handle it no longer and had to have Jack inside him.

There were no arms to the throne, so climbing atop Jack to join him was a simple act. Reardon spread his legs to straddle his king and used one hand on Jack’s cock to guide him in where he had already been slicked and open.

The scent of a forest clearing with a field of flowers, the feel of Jack tight and devoured within Reardon, the connection of their thighs and Reardon’s hand pressing to Jack’s chest over his heart to a steady, warm beat, were but a prelude to experiencing this with their eyes locked.

“You see… my king,” Reardon huffed, sheathing himself completely and basking in the fullness of being with his love, “we fit.”

Jack

You don’t deserve this, tried to chorus in Jack’s mind, but damn those thoughts, because Jackdid, and he would do everything in his power to continue proving it.

He thrust up into the heat of Reardon, not feeling any of the shame or self-hatred he always thought he would to have someone’s eyes on him, and he knew that, even if his scars remained, he would feel the same. He wanted Reardon’s focus, his adoration, his lithely moving body rocking atop him on their throne.

Reardon kept touching him, a hand over his heart, on his cheek, in his hair. He was no amateur any longer, but moved slowly, muscles tightening in tempo, his thighs wide and clamped around Jack’s hips. He used the hold he had on Jack’s hair to tilt Jack’s head and kiss his neck with an open mouth, licking and biting lightly enough to fill Jack with tremors.

Holding Reardon around his waist as they rocked in synchronization, Jack enjoyed the minutes ticking by with neither of them hurrying towardan end. That slow rhythm couldn’t last, however, and when Reardon drew close, his pace increased, and he leaned back enough to grasp one of Jack’s hands at his waist and bring it between his legs.

Jack gripped Reardon hard, pumping through the wetness already leaking down his shaft, and with each increased breath and added whine released to the air, Reardon hastened and clenched and finally cried out a beautiful litany of praises.

When, after several moments, Jack had yet to follow him, Reardon lifted Jack’s soiled hand to his lips and licked his own release from Jack’s fingers.

Jack came almost instantly, feeling and seeing the filthy slide of that silver tongue. Barbed at times too, Reardon’s tongue had charmed him as much as it had scolded him. Jack kissed the taste of Reardon right off that tongue and wrapped Reardon in his arms.

No stable boy had ever made Jack’s heart flutter with the same intensity. This young prince would be Jack’s king, the one who’d saved him, who’d believed he could save himself, and who never lost hope no matter how many times Jack pushed him away.

“I love you,” Jack said, whispering against damp lips.

“I love you,” Reardon echoed, still panting. “And loving you, my dear Jack, is more than enough.”

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