arguing? This is the happiest I've been since this mess started, and it's not every day I get a handsome gentleman in my home and plenty of time to enjoy him.”
“Given I'm currently on a table in the kitchen , I'm a bit concerned about how you want to enjoy me,” Rochus drawled, refusing to be pleased by Tilo's words because that was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
Tilo grinned, all teeth and triumph. He then ran teeth over the place where Rochus had bitten him and finished the job. The smell of his blood hit Rochus like a wave, and before he could say anything, Tilo's mouth was back on his, eager and determined.
And Rochus just didn't have it in him to keep fighting. “We're not doing this on a kitchen table,” he said when he finally managed to pull away. “People cook and eat here.”
“This isn't a ploy to get away from me?” Tilo asked.
“No,” Rochus said.
Eying him warily, Tilo nevertheless let go of his wrists and climbed off.
Rochus sat up, slid off the table, then stepped in close and curled a hand into the hair at Tilo's nape, drawing him in and lapping lazily at the traces of blood on his lips. Tilo reached up, but Rochus grabbed his hand and pulled it around to curl about his waist. “Slow down, kit. There's no need for urgency here.” He lapped at Tilo's lips again, then pushed into his mouth for a long, leisurely kiss that left Tilo trembling against him.
Stepping away, mouth curved in a satisfied smile, he said, “Lead the way.”
Cheeks pink, Tilo grumbled something about smug show-offs and brushed past Rochus to lead the way upstairs. He stopped on the landing, however, and dragged Rochus in to press flush against him. “Do that again.”
Rochus chuckled and obeyed, cradling Tilo's face and giving him another slow burn kiss, tasting every crevice of his mouth, drawing back to lick and suck at his lips before gently pushing in deep again, over and over until he left them both breathless.
And it was only a kiss, but Tilo already looked half-fucked. His pupils were huge, giving him a dazed look enhanced by the flush that had never really left his cheeks. “I like those kisses.”
“Age has its uses,” Rochus replied, maybe still a little bit smug.
Tilo snorted and rolled his eyes. “You make forty-three sound like ninety-three. And you're a necromancer—even ninety-three isn't terribly remarkable for your kind, right?”
“So they say, but most necromancers die of reasons that have nothing to do with age long before the theory is tested. I'm lucky I've lived this long, honestly.”
Tilo made a face and leaned up to kiss him again, hungrier and harder, but Rochus had no complaints. Except that they still weren't anywhere near a bed. Drawing back, ignoring Tilo's protests, he headed the rest of the way upstairs and then through the halls to his bedroom.
Inside, he closed the door and leaned against it, then for once, allowed himself to look his fill.
Tilo stared back at him. “What?”
“You're beautiful.”
Face flushing darker than ever, Tilo said, “I'm not remarkable. I look like every other dragon and exactly like my father. Not like—”
“A creepy old necromancer?” Rochus pushed away from the door and prowled toward Tilo all the same, tugging at the laces of his shirt.
“You're unique,” Tilo said, splaying his hands across Rochus's chest as he drew close, the word coming out a bit breathless. As always, he was hot to the touch, the warmth sinking into Rochus's chest and spreading through his body. “Everyone says necromancers look like corpses, but you don't, not even a little. I don't understand why people say that. I've seen corpses. You look more like you're carved from pearls and onyx.”
Rochus could not remember the last time he'd felt so flustered. Or speechless. He shuddered as those hot hands slipped beneath his shirt and danced across his skin. “It's the teeth that do it, really. People can take me being pale, but the
“Given I'm currently on a table in the kitchen , I'm a bit concerned about how you want to enjoy me,” Rochus drawled, refusing to be pleased by Tilo's words because that was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
Tilo grinned, all teeth and triumph. He then ran teeth over the place where Rochus had bitten him and finished the job. The smell of his blood hit Rochus like a wave, and before he could say anything, Tilo's mouth was back on his, eager and determined.
And Rochus just didn't have it in him to keep fighting. “We're not doing this on a kitchen table,” he said when he finally managed to pull away. “People cook and eat here.”
“This isn't a ploy to get away from me?” Tilo asked.
“No,” Rochus said.
Eying him warily, Tilo nevertheless let go of his wrists and climbed off.
Rochus sat up, slid off the table, then stepped in close and curled a hand into the hair at Tilo's nape, drawing him in and lapping lazily at the traces of blood on his lips. Tilo reached up, but Rochus grabbed his hand and pulled it around to curl about his waist. “Slow down, kit. There's no need for urgency here.” He lapped at Tilo's lips again, then pushed into his mouth for a long, leisurely kiss that left Tilo trembling against him.
Stepping away, mouth curved in a satisfied smile, he said, “Lead the way.”
Cheeks pink, Tilo grumbled something about smug show-offs and brushed past Rochus to lead the way upstairs. He stopped on the landing, however, and dragged Rochus in to press flush against him. “Do that again.”
Rochus chuckled and obeyed, cradling Tilo's face and giving him another slow burn kiss, tasting every crevice of his mouth, drawing back to lick and suck at his lips before gently pushing in deep again, over and over until he left them both breathless.
And it was only a kiss, but Tilo already looked half-fucked. His pupils were huge, giving him a dazed look enhanced by the flush that had never really left his cheeks. “I like those kisses.”
“Age has its uses,” Rochus replied, maybe still a little bit smug.
Tilo snorted and rolled his eyes. “You make forty-three sound like ninety-three. And you're a necromancer—even ninety-three isn't terribly remarkable for your kind, right?”
“So they say, but most necromancers die of reasons that have nothing to do with age long before the theory is tested. I'm lucky I've lived this long, honestly.”
Tilo made a face and leaned up to kiss him again, hungrier and harder, but Rochus had no complaints. Except that they still weren't anywhere near a bed. Drawing back, ignoring Tilo's protests, he headed the rest of the way upstairs and then through the halls to his bedroom.
Inside, he closed the door and leaned against it, then for once, allowed himself to look his fill.
Tilo stared back at him. “What?”
“You're beautiful.”
Face flushing darker than ever, Tilo said, “I'm not remarkable. I look like every other dragon and exactly like my father. Not like—”
“A creepy old necromancer?” Rochus pushed away from the door and prowled toward Tilo all the same, tugging at the laces of his shirt.
“You're unique,” Tilo said, splaying his hands across Rochus's chest as he drew close, the word coming out a bit breathless. As always, he was hot to the touch, the warmth sinking into Rochus's chest and spreading through his body. “Everyone says necromancers look like corpses, but you don't, not even a little. I don't understand why people say that. I've seen corpses. You look more like you're carved from pearls and onyx.”
Rochus could not remember the last time he'd felt so flustered. Or speechless. He shuddered as those hot hands slipped beneath his shirt and danced across his skin. “It's the teeth that do it, really. People can take me being pale, but the
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