Page 52 of Outside the Veil
“Ah, a recitation. You are a bard, after all.” Finn’s smile turned wicked. “But you think too much.” He yanked Diego’s shirt off over his head and curled forward to plant hard, sucking kisses on his throat.
A sweet ache spread through his groin to his knees. Diego tipped his head back, letting the balm of surrender wash over him. The sacred dance, yes…oh, yes. He eased Finn’s fly open and reached inside to take him in hand. Uncut, unmarred by modern sensibilities—though how could Finn’s cock be different from the rest of him? Diego’s palm slid easily over the slick head of his erection. The soft moan against his throat sent sparks through his veins.
“You sure you’re up to this?”
“Wsht, my sweet.” Finn growled.
“But your head—”
“Hush.” Finn surged up and rolled him underneath, his smile soft and hungry. “I expect you prefer being the sheath to the sword.”
“I’m…flexible.” He swallowed hard, fighting the ridiculous urge to say things like ‘take me now’. “You don’t like it, ah, rough, do you?”
Finn leaned his head on his fist. “Do you?”
“Not really, no.”
“You have enough pain.” Finn kissed his eyelids, eiderdown soft. “I would not add to it.” He pulled Diego’s clothes off the rest of the way and caressed him in long, soothing strokes over his chest and arms.
“That feels so wonderful,” Diego whispered. Heavenly warmth spread from Finn’s fingers, muscles relaxing in places he hadn’t realized were in knots. He slipped his legs around Finn so his foot could caress up one long calf. The anxiety he often had with a new lover between his legs refused to surface. This felt right…no, it felt perfect.
Finn wriggled out of his jeans and dove under the blankets to nuzzle at Diego’s sac and lick behind it. He bit his bottom lip, but still, a gasp and a soft moan escaped when Finn slid lower.Dios, that tongue…
This careful preparation was something Mitch had often skipped, and when he bothered to take the time, it was fingers and lube, never his tongue. Diego squirmed, panting, fists curled into the thick waterfall of Finn’s hair.
“Must you mention him even while we make love?” Finn’s head came up, his tone aggrieved.
“But I didn’t—” Had he said it out loud?
Finn snorted and returned to his earnest efforts. The prehensile tongue pushed up inside farther than Diego thought possible and tapped against that sweetest of spots. He gripped Finn’s hair tighter as his hips bucked.
“God… Finn…stop…oh, please,” he gasped out. “I won’t last for you this way.”
With a soft growl, Finn crawled up his body to settle atop him. He angled himself to Diego’s entrance and pushed with a gentle roll of hips, soft, teasing nudges until his head slipped inside. “Pray don’t torment yourself, my sweet, about such small things. Simply be, feel. My pleasure lies in yours. I devour every scrap of it.”
Diego arched, fingers clutched on Finn’s biceps. The shaft sank deeper inside, smoother, cooler than a human’s, glorious how it filled him, stroked him, and edged him onward despite the constant counterpoint of howls and rattles.
Hands and lips traveled over skin with slowly increasing need and ferocity. Diego wrapped his legs around Finn’s waist to pull him closer. Finn slid his arms underneath to do the same. The ache soon escalated to a wall of pressure. Trapped between their bodies, his erection throbbed with every slide of Finn’s powerful body, every kiss that blazed across his throat and chest.
“Finn.” Diego pulled back, panting. He wanted to watch Finn while he came. The request stuck in his throat. “Finn, you’re…glowing.”
Hardly the word, but his passion-muddled brain failed to find words to describe the colors dancing like a halo over Finn’s head, around his body, under his skin.Warm blue, how can blue be warm?
His confused thoughts flew away in a flock-of-crows scatter as his orgasm slammed up through him in a sudden rush. “Dios…Finn…”
“Oh, my Taliesin,” Finn whispered, as he heaved and bucked atop him, hips jerking as he came in hard, short thrusts. “You’ve begun to heal, to touch the world again.”
Chapter 9—Magic
Thistle sits with me by a stream. He feels most comfortable near or in water. At the moment, a globe of water hovers over his palm while the silt forms swimming fish shapes inside.
How do you do that?
“Do— Oh, well, there’s not much to it. A small magic.”
I couldn’t do it.
“Perhaps if you were not so stubborn. You could try.”
