Page 141 of The Mourning Throne
Morgan let his head fall back against the pillow, eyes closing.
“Look at me,” Lex mumbled, that need crashing through hot and bright. “Morgan—Morgan,please.”
He obeyed.
Because this would always be it.
This would always be perfect.
He reached down, wrapped a hand around Lex’s cock—slow strokes in time with his thrusts. Lex shuddered.
“Fuck—gonna come—”
“Good,” Morgan whispered. “Come for me.”
Lex groaned as he came, spilling between them, his body jerking against Morgan’s, hips stuttering. He clenched hard around Morgan, dragging him over the edge. Morgan came with a sharp exhale, jaw clenched, eyes locked on Lex as the pleasure pulsed through him.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Lex slumped over him, breath against his neck, arms clinging around his shoulders like he didn’t want to let go.
“Why?” Morgan asked, voice cracked around the edges.
“I wanted to.”
Morgan closed his eyes.
You needed to. You thought this would fix something. But there’s nothing to fix.
He reached for the blanket. Pulled it up over Lex’s back. Smoothed his palm over the sweaty ridge of Lex’s spine.
Lex stayed close—cheek to cheek—like he wanted to climb inside Morgan’s skin and stay there.
And Morgan?
He would’ve let him.
Morgan dozed, off and on, glancing back at the clock every few minutes. Just to be sure time hadn’t slipped without him noticing.
He’d assumed Lex was asleep. Had almost let himself drift back into the pleasant black void, when he felt Lex tracing something into his chest.
Patterns?
No.
Not patterns.
Letters.
Morgan realized it halfway through.
L
E
X
Over and over again. His name, carved in touch.
