The Necromancer’s Light by Tavia Lark
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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Shae
It’s another couple of hours before they end up their accommodations for the night, a spare room in the Riverswords outpost. Arthur’s injuries have been tended by a mage healer—the deepest ones can’t be fully healed, but they’re healed enough not to need stitches—and Shae relented to aid for his own injuries too. Most of his bruises were just from continually falling off his horse. He’s happiest to have the fingerprints around his neck eased away, cleansing Izen’s touch from his skin.
They take separate baths down the hall, because Shae rather liked kissing Arthur in public, but he’s not quite prepared to give their hosts a complete show. And he needs the moment of solitude, washing off the blood and grime, to start feeling like himself again, without the distraction of Arthur’s touch.
He still doesn’t feel quite clean or safe until he’s alone with Arthur. The room is simple, with whitewashed walls and unstained wooden furniture. There’s a table, chairs, and washbasin at one end of the room, and a wide, red-quilted bed at the other.
There’s Arthur Davorin, standing in the doorway with his boots still on, looking at Shae like he’s the most amazing thing in the world.
Shae doesn’t feel amazing. He feels raw and shattered, and he has no idea what the rest of his life is going to look like. But he wants to live up to the adoration in Arthur’s eyes.
“Well, we’ve bathed and healed, and I think it’s time we really talked.” Shae sits on the edge of the bed and starts to unlace his boots. “We reached Lyrisenia, and I dealt with the demon. Not quite how I planned, but you fulfilled the terms of our contract.”
Arthur closes the door behind him. Locks it with an audible click. “Are you firing me, necromancer?”
The word doesn’t sting anymore, not when Arthur says it so fondly.
“Maybe.” He kicks away his boots and tilts his head up as Arthur draws nearer. The man’s so tall. “I was thinking, since we worked so well together, that I wouldn’t be opposed to a new contract.”
Arthur laughs and kneels next to the bed, between his thighs. The scent and heat of him fills every inch of Shae’s awareness. He takes Shae’s left hand and runs his thumb over his knuckles. Lingers on the topaz and silver ring. He says, voice low and resonating through Shae’s very bones, “Marry me, Shae.”
Shae knew what he was going to say already, but hearing the words is still a shock. He feels warm all over, and his throat chokes up. He wants to say something important, something eloquent about how much he wants this and how much he loves this brilliant man, but the only word he can manage is, “Yes.”
Arthur’s grin is brighter than the sun. Shae only has an instant to be dazzled by it before the man surges upwards and kisses him. They fall back against the bed, Arthur’s body firm over his, grounding him purely in this moment. He gasps into Arthur’s lips, opens up to a deeper kiss, and forgets that he was ever cold.
They break apart enough to shed their clothes, clumsy with desperation. The moment Arthur takes to find the denseed oil feels like an eternity, but in the next breath, Arthur’s kissing him again, running a warm hand down his chest. His thumb circles around Shae’s nipple, drawing out a whine Shae wouldn’t have believed came from his own throat if he didn’t feel it with a primal need.
“Come here.” Arthur sits up against the pillows and draws Shae into his lap. Shae ruts against him, their cocks sliding together in sparks of pleasure. Arthur groans, and his hand tightens on Shae’s hip. He’s so beautiful like this, all powerful muscle and strength and that chiseled jaw, unraveling in desire for Shae.
“Let me,” Shae says, taking the jar from Arthur. He dips his fingers in the oil and strokes it over Arthur’s length. His own cock jumps in arousal at the feel of Arthur’s in his hand, hot and slick and heavy, and at the way Arthur’s breath grows more ragged with every movement. Any nervousness Shae had about not knowing what he was doing burns away in the heat of Arthur’s gaze.
He spends less time prepping himself—his own fingers are far less interesting than the slick, hard cock in front of him. A few cursory pumps are all he manages before rising up on his knees and then sinking down.
“Fuck, Shae, take your time,” Arthur gasps, grabbing him by the hips to support him.
“Do I have to?” Shae teases.
His confidence is his downfall, though, and he drops down too quickly. He whimpers, seeing stars, with the impact of Arthur’s cock at this angle, filling him so completely. There’s an edge of pain. He doesn’t dislike it, but he’s too overwhelmed to move or breathe or do anything.
Arthur leans up to kiss him, and all the tension unravels. When Shae can move again, he rocks up and down in tiny increments, unwilling to pull too far away. He wants to be this close forever. So close he can’t tell which of them is moving more, which of their heartbeats is louder in his ears. Whether there’s any difference in the breath shared between them.
When they finally collapse together, utterly spent, Shae can only curl up against Arthur’s chest and savor the scent of him. Somehow, Arthur has enough energy to stroke through his sweat-stained hair, a soothing, gentle touch.
Shae’s eyes squeeze shut. He says, “Thank you for coming back.”
Arthur’s hand pauses in Shae’s hair. Then resumes. “I always will.”
Shae falls asleep to Arthur’s touch, and knows that it’s true.