Page 73 of Feast of Sparks (Thornchapel 2)
He knows that’s not entirely true—he promised that he’d attempt restraint—and it’s possible that the three of them have
crossed into territory where the restraint does more harm than good. But he also knows that if there’s any challenge Proserpina sets for him, he’ll rise to it. And that’s what he whispered in her ear that night in the library, after she said she wanted to build something lasting with them.
I want more than lasting. I want endless. I want forever.
And I’m going to earn it, no matter what you ask of me.
And he’s going to. He’s going to earn her, he’s going to prove himself worthy of her complete and utter trust, so that when she becomes his little bride in truth, she’ll know that he means every damn word of his wedding vows.
And there will be wedding vows. He’s not sure when he decided this for sure—maybe he knew it even as a child. Maybe that’s why he went along with the wedding game, because he already knew it was his destiny to have Proserpina for his own.
Auden clutches her closer, close enough that he can feel the hammer of her happy heart against his. She will be mine.
“Auden,” she murmurs, squirming against him. “Please. Just something small. A little spanking maybe. Or you could make me crawl to you.”
He groans in his throat. “Poe, if you crawl to me, I’m going to end up fucking you.”
She lets out a short breath. “I think I’d like that. Let’s do that then, please.”
She’s writhing in his arms like a kitten indeed, but she’s not trying to get down, she’s trying to get closer, trying to rub her stiff nipples against him, trying to seek friction for her clit against the firm wall of his stomach. “I’m tired of waiting,” she complains. “I’m tired of this halfway place where I can jump into your arms but you can’t jump my bones.”
Auden privately agrees, but he also knows she was right in the library that night. There is something between the three of them. And while Auden sees this denial and attempt to forge something with St. Sebastian as a way to earn Proserpina, that’s not the whole reason he’s doing it. It’s barely even half.
“If we fuck, it’s going to change something,” he tells her. “And I’m not willing to do anything right now that makes St. Sebastian feel further outside us than he already does.”
“But we did say that we’d forgive each other if it happened,” she protests weakly.
“If it happened. We’re not supposed to lean on forgiveness as an excuse to sin, or do you not listen to Father Becket on Sundays?”
“Fine,” she grumps. She’s still moving in his arms though. He thinks she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
Then she brightens. “He’ll be here any minute. Maybe the three of us could . . . ?”
Auden has to admit he’s tempted. He’s tired of coming by himself, coming in his trousers, he’s breaking apart with the need to fuck wildly. Maybe the three of them could sneak off tonight before Becket leads them off onto the moor, and this time Auden could finally and truly sate his needs. And if he’s honest with himself, that’s what he’s let himself imagine since Monday. That St. Sebastian would come to him, and he’d finally give St. Sebastian the real answer about the M he drew on his chest, and then something would finally stop hurting between them. He’s stroked himself to fantasies of St. Sebastian’s reaction all week.
But.
“We agreed, remember?” He presses his lips against her forehead. “We agreed to work on being a three without fucking. Because you know that we can all have sex. We’ve done it before. What we’re trying is something different.”
She slumps against him, her head dropping to his shoulder. “I know. I know. But can’t we just switch to meaningless sex for one night, and then go back to trying to fix ourselves? It’s been so long.”
“There’s no sense in plucking unripe fruit, little bride. It’ll just make us sick after.”
“Says you.” More grumpiness. Instinctively Auden gives her a light slap of warning on her arse, and she shivers, happily. Maybe he should punish her a little, just to take the edge off. There’d be no harm in it, and he needs it just as much as she does—
“Daddy’s home, I see,” St. Sebastian says from behind him.
Slowly, Auden turns—Proserpina still in his arms—and looks at him.
He loves looking at him. Even when he hated him, he loved looking at him, because from an artist’s point of view, St. Sebastian Martinez is perfect. Cheekbones high enough to create hollows beneath them paired with a jaw sculpted to angelic ratios. Hair that Auden would use India ink to draw, to get that midnight color, to get that hint of shine, and a mouth so kissable and yet firm that Auden’s never managed to draw it perfectly, even still, no matter what kind of ink he’s tried.
Auden has to drag his eyes away from that mouth and its piercing now, and focus. “You came.”
St. Sebastian sighs and looks down at the floor, where he’s currently scuffing a boot against the flags. “Nothing on telly,” he says, but he’s flushing ever so slightly. Auden recalls the last few Mondays they’ve spent at the library, Mondays that have driven Auden to the edge of feral madness, because he’s trying to earn St. Sebastian now too, and earning means care. Earning means trust.
Earning does not mean shoving St. Sebastian against the knitting books and fucking a climax right out of him.
St. Sebastian still hasn’t met his gaze, but he has glanced up at Proserpina’s face briefly before looking away again. The expression on his face makes Auden’s stomach clench with both possessive jealousy and also tenderness. Because St. Sebastian looks so hopeful and so vulnerable and so jaded all at the same time when he looks at Proserpina; he looks so wary and obsessed. He looks at Proserpina like she’s a Faerie queen who’s just invited him to eat at her table and he knows it will be his undoing but he just can’t stop himself.
