Page 139 of The Mourning Throne
Lex’s fingers said more than words could—hovering, brushing, adjusting. They barely grazed Morgan’s skin, rough nails snagging where they met stitches. He smoothed a wrinkle in the tape. Shifted a corner of the bandage. Infinitely careful.
When he was satisfied, he leaned down. Pressed his lips—so light Morgan wouldn’t have known if wasn’t looking at him—to the newly dressed wound on Morgan’s ribs.
“I’m so fucking mad at you right now.”
Morgan didn’t know what to say to that. Not yet.
So instead, he reached out. Just far enough to touch Lex’s cheek, to run his thumb along the healing line where Noah’s ring had split skin.
Lex leaned into the touch like it hurt not to.
Like the only thing that mattered was their survival.
Lex’s hand never stopped moving—fingers drifting across Morgan’s chest, his throat, the edge of his jaw.
Eventually, Lex leaned back just enough to look at him.
“I… I did something earlier. And I need you to tell me, it’s cool. Or, you’re good.”
Morgan studied him; the tightness in his jaw, the bunched brows.
“What?”
“Morgan. Please.”
This sounded like another case ofno sleep Lex.Overthinking things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme. Probably trying to apologize for what happened before they left for the bar. Beating himself up for just… existing.
Morgan closed his eyes. “Alright. There’s nothing to forgive but. You’re forgiven. Do I need to be more specific?”
Lex didn’t answer. Instead, his mouth found Morgan’s again.
A question, not a demand.
Lex tilted his head slightly, lips parting—giving the space where speech became unnecessary. Intrusive. Morgan didn’t hesitate. His hand curled around the back of Lex’s neck, guiding him closer, and the kiss slipped from soft to open-mouthed in a single breath. Tongues met, warm and careful, brushing slow in the quiet between them. There was no rush. No scrape ofteeth or clash of hunger—just the steady press and pull of lips learning each other all over again.
Not better than their first kiss. Not worse than their last.
Something new.
Lex tugged on Morgan’s lip, and Morgan exhaled into it, more relief than aroused. Lex chased it with another kiss, firmer this time. His tongue slid deeper, stroking along Morgan’s with a kind of reverence that made Morgan’s chest ache.
Lex kissed like he needed to make sure Morgan felt every second of it. Like he didn’t trust him to stay unless he mapped it with his mouth.
Those tan hands wandered beneath the blanket, over bandages, raised stitches, places Morgan knew were there. Bruises he wished—more than anything—he could feel.
If only for right now.
If only to know how much Lex gave.
Lex’s touch never lingered too long, never asked for more than Morgan could give.
“Are you alright?” Lex asked, rough and ragged against Morgan’s mouth. “I want—”
Morgan already knew what he was asking. Knew what he wanted. And when Morgan’s hand closed around his wrist and guided it lower—Lex followed.
Lex’s fingers shook as they brushed against the fly of Morgan’s pants, but he didn’t break the kiss. Instead, he undid the button and slipped his hand inside. Morgan arched his hips into Lex’s palm, and that dizzying sensation of his half-hard cock slipping through Lex’s fingers almost proved too much. Lex stilled for a moment—just a breath—before he began to stroke him throughthe fabric, gently at first, then firmer as Morgan moaned into his mouth.
Releasing control—for right now, only for right now—wasn’t as complicated as Morgan always thought it would be. Lex knew him. Body and mind. Inside and out. Knew what to do to make him stop to catch his breath, to lean his head back into the pillow.
