Page 56 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Yes.” Morgrim undid another button.
“I like it. Suits you. But don’t you never want to put on a plain shirt and trousers?”
“Then I wouldn’t be Morgrim the Sorcerer, would I?”
“That how you see it?” Fenn undid a button himself. It was tricky. His fingers were bigger and clumsier than Morgrim’s. “And what about when you’re naked? Who are you then?”
Morgrim looked up at him, biting his lip again, eyes shining, breath coming fast. Gorgeous.
“You the same person?” Fenn asked. “Or maybe it changes you?”
“Maybe.”
There was a note of relief in Morgrim’s voice. Fenn said, deliberately, “You want my permission to be someone else for a bit? You got it. See?”
Morgrim swallowed, then nodded, a barely perceptible movement.
“Good,” Fenn said, and undid another of Morgrim’s hidden buttons.
Now Morgrim was halfway undressed, robe gaping to expose a long sliver of his chest, from the base of his throat to his navel.
“That’ll do.” Fenn said. “Pull it over your head, now.”
With his robe off, Morgrim was dressed the way he’d been on the tower roof: baggy black trousers tucked into red knee boots. Only now, Fenn was allowed to touch. He stroked Morgrim’s belly, his ribs and his chest. Morgrim’s eyes closed. He sighed, the shaky sigh of a man giving himself up to pleasure. Fenn took one dark nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinched. Not too hard, so he could gauge the reaction. Morgrim gasped. Fenn pinched a bit harder, until Morgrim squirmed.
“Too much?”
“No. Do it again.”
Fenn obliged. Morgrim pushed himself closer as he did it, reaching for the fly of Fenn’s trousers and tugging at the buttons. Fenn reached down himself and undid Morgrim’s trousers; they were fastened simply, thank the Gods, with two buttons at the waistband. Thus undone, the trousers were loose enough to fall to Morgrim’s knees, where his boots trapped them.
Now he wore only black drawers: very thin silk, loose, quite short. His cock was tenting them forwards and there was a wet stain where he was leaking. Fenn stroked him through the silk, cupping his balls, squeezing a bit harder than was probably comfortable.
Morgrim’s breath hitched. He started back, likely involuntarily.
“Too much?” Fenn said into his ear.
“No. Harder. Be rough. Like you said.”
Morgrim was trembling, his hands shaking as he finished undoing Fenn’s trousers. Fenn was quivering with desire himself. He reckoned he’d last about five seconds if Morgrim touched his cock in any serious kind of way. And likely Morgrim was the same. Any moment now they were going to reach the point of no return.
Morgrim kissed him again, a soft, trembling, open-mouthed offering. Fenn let him do it, trying to hold back, to remain a bit stern. It was difficult because having Morgrim so gentle and desperate was making his entire body sing with that frosty excitement that was practically the same as flying.
Morgrim pulled away. “Almond oil. In my pock—”
Fenn didn’t let him finish. He grabbed Morgrim’s shoulder and spun him round to face the wall, pushing the middle of Morgrim’s back to make him brace himself against it, and kicking his feet apart. Fenn reached around and undid Morgrim’s drawers, letting them slide down. They wouldn’t go far with his legs apart and stopped just beneath his arse. A very fine arse it was too, being hairy and muscular, each cheek a perfect handful. Fenn stroked it. He had a private theory that the arses of men who rode were more satisfactory than the arses of any other men. Morgrim proved the theory. Fenn gave it a slap and Morgrim jerked away, gasping. Good. Fenn yanked the drawers down some more to the sound of tearing silk. Now they were pulled taut, cutting into Morgrim’s thighs.
“Right.” He growled in Morgrim’s ear. “Move and you’re in trouble. Got it?”
Morgrim moaned in answer, the side of his face pressed against the wall. His eyes were shut, his brows anguished, his teeth clenched.
Fenn picked up the discarded robe and dug around in the pockets until he found a little round vial of oil. It pleased him to think of Morgrim getting it ready, bringing it with him. Morgrim wanted a ploughing, that was clear. Well, he’d get what he wanted, it just likely wouldn’t last very long. That was all right though. Sometimes the faster it was, the sweeter. Fenn cupped his fingers, poured out a generous amount of oil, then grabbed Morgrim’s hip to hold him still, while gently working a finger up into the silky heat of his arse. Morgrim wriggled and made a mewling noise. Fenn’s hands were like horn, toughened by years of manual work. Morgrim might want it rough, but there was a time and a place for everything.
“All right?” Fenn said in his ear.
“Mm.”
“You want another?”
