Page 56 of Feast of Sparks (Thornchapel 2)
“I fail to see,” Auden said, amused, “how this can make you squirm more than me biting you.”
“I squirmed plenty then too,” St. Sebastian replied, meaning to sound surly but instead sounding wistful. “I could show you, you know, if you bit me again. For comparison’s sake.”
Auden chuckled above him and then made a reprimanding click. “Stop flirting. I need your breathing even if I’m going to make these lines straight.”
St. Sebastian was on his stomach in the grass, his head pillowed on his arms and his torso completely bared, and Auden straddled his hips, Sharpie in hand, turning St. Sebastian’s back into art. Art that St. Sebastian couldn’t see, but could feel—and feel excruciatingly—the cold, wet tickles like a licking tongue all over his ribs and shoulders and down to the base of his spine, where Auden paused his work to dip his head and kiss the little dimples there until St. Sebastian was whimpering into the grass.
“I have a surprise for you,” Auden said, after abandoning the dimples and resuming his work.
“Mm?” St. Sebastian said, all his words gone after the dimple-kissing.
“Rebecca is coming to visit tonight. She’s excited to see you again.”
Rebecca.
St. Sebastian didn’t know how he felt about this. It should be nice to see another friend from that summer—in fact, he missed all of them with a fervor that was downright embarrassing—but he didn’t want to share Auden. Not a little bit, not at all. He wanted those hazel eyes only on him, those spoiled smiles trained on him alone. He wanted more kissing and more biting and the things they both wanted the kissing and the biting to lead to—and none of that would happen around Rebecca.
Auden seemed to sense his hesitation.
“Don’t worry,” he said, bending down and nipping at St. Sebastian’s earlobe. “This won’t change my plans for you today before she gets here. Turn over on your side.”
Slightly mollified, St. Sebastian obeyed, and was even more mollified to feel the rigid column of Auden’s dick brushing against him as he turned over underneath him. “What are your plans for me?” he asked as he got settled and Auden hunted for another marker. “More kissing?”
“You don’t even need the wine to be bold with me anymore,” Auden observed. “I can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing.”
“I’m always this way. You just made me nervous at first.”
“Hmm,” Auden said, uncapping a marker and arranging himself so that his knees pressed against St. Sebastian’s belly and so that he could bend over St. Sebastian’s ribs to keep drawing. “I like the idea of making you nervous.”
St. Sebastian didn’t have to ask why. It was the same reason he’d sported a hard-on while Auden had licked blood from his lip, the same reason he wanted Auden to touch him whenever Auden pleased, however Auden pleased.
Uncertainty, power, pain, shame—it was the song they both heard, the melody they both played. And St. Sebastian wanted to play it forever.
“But you’re okay with me being bold too, right?”
Auden frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
St. Sebastian drew up his arm to pillow his head; with his free hand, he plucked idly at the lush carpet of grass. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do,” Auden said. The marker began its wet tickles again. “Tell me.”
St. Sebastian took a minute, then plunged into unvarnished, insecure honesty. “For the same reason that I like you saying tell me. Or roll over. Or hold still. If that’s what we’re doing, then shouldn’t I be more . . . docile?”
The marker paused. “I don’t want you docile,” Auden said. He lowered his head so he could catch St. Sebastian’s gaze. “I want the boy who marched up the aisle of the thorn chapel and stole a kiss for himself. I want the boy who threw rocks and picked flowers all in the same day. I want you as you are, St. Sebastian Martinez. No other way.”
And, as if to sear his words into St. Sebastian’s memory forever, Auden lowered his head even more and kissed the bare skin above St. Sebastian’s heart.
The kiss was warm, firm, and St. Sebastian couldn’t help threading his hands through Auden’s thick hair to hold Auden’s mouth against his chest, any more than he could help the speeding of his heart or the renewed throbbing of his cock. And Auden let him—just for a moment—Auden let him tug at his hair, let him twist and twine his fingers in the soft waves of it. For all the times Auden had touched St. Sebastian, St. Sebastian had never gotten the same privilege, had never been able to explore the tempting, well-bred flesh of the boy he wanted. He knew instinctively that it had to be earned, that this moment was an indulgence or a kindness, and when Auden finally reached up and seized St. Sebastian’s wrists, he didn’t feel angry or rejected. Only bereft.
Still holding St. Sebastian’s wrists, Auden nuzzled into his chest and caught a nipple between his teeth. Pain sizzled and flashed through St. Sebastian like a fizzing, popping sparkler, and Auden nipped again, this time following the bite with a hard, hot suck, which nearly killed St. Sebastian dead.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“You asked my plans for you,” Auden said, giving St. Sebastian’s nipple a parting kiss and then sitting up. He still held St. Sebastian’s wrists in his hands. “I think I’ve just added this to them.”
“More,” St. Sebastian pleaded, without shame. Or with it, and still not caring. “Give me more.”
Auden did let go of his wrists now, giving St. Sebastian an evil smile. “Now, where would be the fun in that?”
