Page 109 of Heart of Winter
Erik snorted against his hairline, breath warm, ruffling his curls. “And what shall I call you, little intransigent one?”
Despite the low, even timbre of his voice, Erik’s pulse pounded, hot and hard in his throat. Oliver burrowed closer into it and said, “I have a perfectly fine name.”
“Mr. Meacham?” Erik asked, innocently, voice threaded still with laughter.
“You could call me – Ollie.”
“Ollie.”Thatwas delicious. When Oliver shivered, Erik kissed his temple, his cheek. “What about sweetheart?”
That put a lump in his throat. “I’m not sweet.”
“Oh, I beg to differ.” A kiss to his nose, to his lips. “Darling? Love?”
“You can call me whatever you want.”
Another kiss. A voice gone heated with anticipation. “Come to bed with me, Ollie.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
~*~
Some other time – and Oliver couldn’t believe that he was optimistic enough to even hope for another time – he was going to unwrap Erik like a present, peel off his layers of finery and get down to the flesh and blood man beneath the veneer of king.
But tonight, he went, amused and turned on, when Erik bodily picked him up, set him on the edge of the bed, and then stripped off his own clothes in a rush. Despite a lack of intention to be, he was still graceful; the bunch and play of shadowed muscles as he threw his richly embroidered garments to the carpet, heedless, spoke of a body well-seasoned in not just combat, but courtly poise, too. Erik had spent a lifetime learning how to hold himself first like a prince, then like a king, and it showed, even when he was wrenching off his boots and shoving down his trousers.
Oliver had seen him naked before, in the baths. Seeing him so now wasn’t a surprise – but Oliver’s belly clenched tight with refreshed need at sight of him naked now. Becausenow, he knew what it was like to kiss him; knew what it was like to taste his own release on his tongue; was still warm and buzzing from coming, and already feeling needy again. Now, Erik was limned by firelight, his carefully braided and bejeweled hair falling into disarray thanks to Oliver’s fingers, and he was fully aroused, standing with his stomach hollow thanks to the careful way he held himself, turned on in a way that Oliver knew was almost painful.
He slid backward until he was in the center of the bed, legs spread in invitation, and said, “Come here.”
And Erik did come. Took the last few strides to the bed, climbed up, and prowled to Oliver on hands and knees, mattress dipping beneath him, gaze fixed on Oliver’s, unwavering, as intense and predatory as a wildcat.
When he was in range, Oliver reached up and took two handfuls of his hair so he could reel him in and kiss him.
For a few minutes, Erik seemed content to let Oliver set the pace, braced above him with his hands on the mattress on either side of his hips, on his knees between his legs, his mouth yielding and sweet when Oliver slipped his tongue inside. But then he stroked Oliver’s belly and chest with one hand; pressed it flat to his sternum and pushed him back onto the pillows, following him down, so that Oliver lay flat, Erik’s larger body caging him in.
Oliver tipped his head to the side, and let Erik kiss and suck at his throat; tightened his grip on his hair and arched up into him so that skin pressed to warm skin; the crisp thatch of hair on Erik’s chest tickled. Oliver wrapped his legs around his waist, bringing their hips together, delighted by the hard brush of Erik’s cock alongside his own; he wanted to be even closer, to be joined; shifted his grip to broad shoulders and dug in with his blunt nails, shamelessly grinding up against him.
“Erik…”
“I know, I know.” The hand on his chest slid down, gave his still-sensitive cock an experimental stroke, and then dipped down between his legs; cupped his balls, briefly, and moved back.
But then Oliver remembered the vial in his room, and he groaned.
Erik stilled. “What?” He nuzzled at the hollow of his throat. “What’s wrong?”
“Olaf gave me oil.”
Erik pushed up so he could make eye contact, his own gaze so comically wide that Oliver couldn’t help a laugh. “He gave you…oil?”
“In case you haven’t noticed.” Oliver traced his beard with the backs of his fingers, rasping along the short bristles. “Your entire household, sister and staff alike, have been conspiring to get us into just this position.”
One brow went up.
“Olaf gave me some oil. Rose, by the way. And now it’s all the way down the hall in my room, and of no use to us now.”
Erik stared at him, that single brow cocked, for a long moment. Then he snorted, said, “I’m going to have to have a talk with – everyone I know.” Then he pulled away and crawled over to rummage around in a drawer of the bedside table.
Oliver missed his presence bearing him down into the mattress, but he had a lovely view of his backside while he waited.
