Work Text:
It’s a cold, unremarkable night when Illuga shows up at the lighthouse without warning, flushed by the biting chill yet perfectly serene, looking at Flins with the kind of stiff formality he’d believed they were long since past.
“Young master-” he begins, just as Illuga says “Sir Flins,” and they both stop short, blinking at each other. Flins waves a hand, nodding at him to go on, and Illuga clears his throat.
“Sir Flins. I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced at such an hour. I do hope I’m not giving you too much trouble.”
Flins raises an eyebrow but steps aside, ushering Illuga to the table with a hospitality reserved for no one else. “It’s nothing at all, master Illuga. Do come in.”
“I must apologize,” he says conversationally, “but I’m rather underdressed at the moment.”
Illuga shakes his head. “Please, don’t worry about it. This is your home, after all, and I’m the one showing up unannounced.”
“There really is no need for that, young master; you know my door is always open for you. A glass of water?” He offers with a smile.
Illuga doesn’t return it. “Thank you. I haven’t disturbed your rest, have I?”
“It’s quite alright.” He says, curiosity mounting. He pours Illuga a glass and studies the young Ratnik, the unreadable slant of his mouth, the way his eyes remain trained somewhere just behind Flins’ shoulder. He’s drawn taut as a bowstring, even as he casually takes a seat across Flins. “Although, if I may ask…”
Illuga exhales. It sits just between his shoulders, this fish hook of tension, and Flins can’t help but wonder just what it is that has Illuga so troubled, that sent him to the cemetery in the dead of night. Illuga isn’t one to mince words or speak through thinly-veiled riddles; typically, Flins would be on the other end of this conversation. The sudden vagueness makes him curious, even more so when Illuga doesn’t respond right away.
He wonders if this has something to do with… recent developments. He’s not quite sure if Illuga’s forgiven him yet for the little stunt he’d pulled with the Doctor, and any allusions Flins has made to being, in his own words, harder to kill than most was met with tight-lipped anger and a stern reminder that he was in no position to be compliant, not in their line of work.
“Master Illuga?” He prompts gently. Illuga’s gaze refocuses, though it’s still clouded over with something Flins can’t quite put a finger on.
“I’ve got an unreasonable request,” says Illuga, very slowly. “So I’d like to tell you now, Sir Flins, to turn me away.”
Flins looks at him, taken aback. “Pardon?”
Illuga, he knows, is a proper and righteous man. He looks after other people, more often than not at his own expense; has dedicated his life to putting the safety of Nod-Krai above his own. Flins can’t imagine what’s gotten him like this. It’s fascinating.
Meanwhile, Illuga looks down at his hands, sitting still and careful on the dining table. He looks at the rim of his glass, the ring of sweat beginning to pool beneath it, at the kitchenette and the fireplace and the bed that are all for show, more than anything. He looks at anything but Flins, and he’s not nervous- it would be obvious to Flins, if he was- but his own request seems to weigh heavy on him, so much that it almost makes him laugh. There are many things he is capable of, having lived as long as he has, just as there is so, very little that he can deny Illuga.
“Why, now, let’s not be hasty, master Illuga.” He answers finally. “I’d be loath to refuse when you have yet to ask me.”
Illuga doesn’t seem to be listening anymore. He stands and drifts across the room like a ghost and Flins watches, intrigued, and does nothing to stop him as he traces his fingers over the wide array of titles on his shelf, brushing a thumb over the spine of a particularly well-loved book.
“If it’s a novel you’d like, young master, feel free. I’d be honored to give you some recommendations of my own."
Illuga ignores him. He stops short before the fireplace, and then he says, “Can I put this out?”
“That’s hardly worth worrying so terribly over. Go ahead.” And, ah, there’s the Illuga he’s ever so fond of, shooting him an exasperated glance over his shoulder. Flins returns it with a guileless smile.
He takes his sweet time with the fireplace, poking at the wood as delicately as he would handle a living creature. His gaze is distant, watching the embers die out slowly, until the warm glow fades out completely, and then they’re illuminated by nothing but the lighthouse above and the blue of Flins’ lamp. Illuga is a vision beneath the fragmented light; Flins can’t help but hum appreciatively. It dances across his hair and the apples of his cheeks as he steps closer, stretching the small distance of Flins’ humble lighthouse into what feels like several miles.
Each step is louder without the crackle of the fire. Flins continues to watch on, curious, as Illuga stops short in the space just behind his chair, closer than he’s come all night. He turns in his seat to face the young Ratnik and catches the faintest whiff of alcohol, only just beginning to fade from his breath. How very curious. Had he needed some liquid courage to come to the lighthouse, to come see him? The very same Illuga, who had once introduced himself with an armful of paperwork and supplies and worried openly about a man he had yet to know?
“You must promise,” Illuga begins. “To be completely honest with me, even if… even if it’s just this once. No riddles, no- no-” he waves a frustrated hand through the air. “None of your bullshit tonight, Sir Flins.”
Flins can’t help but smile. Are they going to be having that conversation, then? “Dear me. Have I ever been anything but, young master?”
Illuga takes another step forward, standing right next to him, now, air thick with something unspoken; not the accusatory kind, nor the fear that usually preceded these types of confrontations, but it crackles between them all the same, and Flins almost expects the crack of a fist against his jaw, or the tip of Illuga’s spear to graze the skin of his throat.
It never comes. Instead, to his eternal fascination, Illuga takes the untouched glass of water and drinks it all in a single go, head tipping back to expose the jut of his throat beneath his high collar, the scar on his neck moving as he swallows. Flins, caught off guard yet again, allows his gaze to flicker momentarily, a muted roar of flame, stilling just as the glass is replaced with a dull thud.
“Young mas-”
Illuga closes the distance and slaps a hand over his mouth.
“My name,” he says sharply, “is Illuga.”
There are many things Flins has wanted over the course of his long, long life. The rarest, most beautiful gems. A quiet place to rest. To climb inside Illuga’s body and settle into the marrow of his bones until Illuga forgot where he ended and Flins began.
Illuga, Illuga, Illuga. He knows the name, has memorized the shape of it rolling off his tongue, speaks it as often as he would draw breath, if he were human. The taste of it is sweeter, still, when offered up to him.
Illuga doesn’t flinch when the flame licks across his palm, nor when it wraps around his wrist and crawls up the length of his forearm. The chair hits the ground, forgotten, as Flins looms above him and washes the room in blue. In this form, he can hear the thrum of Illuga’s heartbeat, the soft, ragged breaths that leave him- can see those eyes, like twin pools of the purest kuuvahki, blown wide as Illuga looks up at him.
His flames dance forward and Illuga follows, staying in step with him even now, and Flins can’t help himself- he drapes his form over Illuga’s like a curtain, letting his flames roar over every soft dip and cling to every hard contour of his body, licking into his mouth when he gasps, burning hotter and hotter until he manages to contain himself and become solid once more in Illuga’s hands. Illuga pushes himself up on his toes, returning the insistent press of Flins’ now-corporeal mouth, reaching up to tangle his fingers through Flins’ hair, and Flins wastes no time divesting him of his coat, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap.
His slender arms are corded with muscle and scar tissue that Flins runs his hands over, promises to map out properly, later, with his eyes and his mouth and his teeth, relishing in the shiver his touch elicits, the way it makes Illuga sway further into him. Flins gives up any pretense of self control and lifts him by the waist to press him up against the nearest wall, ducking his head to suck bruises into his neck, to press his teeth into the fair skin of Illuga’s throat.
“Kiss me again,” Illuga demands, before flushing a bright red. “...Please.”
Flins laughs, the sound low in his throat. “How could I ever say no to you, master Illuga?”
Illuga tips his head down to kiss him, pulling back every so often to make Flins chase after his lips, again and again until he gasps for air.
“Unreasonable indeed,” Flins murmurs when they finally pull apart, “That you would demand I deny myself of you.”
Illuga’s laugh is breathless and warm by his cheek, and he is beautiful, like the sunlight that streaks into a dark cave or a single star illuminating the night sky.
No, that isn’t quite right, he thinks. They all paled in comparison to Illuga.
“I wanted your unguarded honesty.” Illuga tells him pointedly, cupping his cheeks. “And I’ve found, Sir Flins, that my only hope was through direct action.”
Flins isn’t ashamed to admit that he preens at the admission, turning to press his lips against Illuga’s palm. Illuga wants for so little, his desires tucked away so carefully it seemed, at times, that even he had forgotten them as well. Yes- let Flins be the one who makes him greedy. Let Flins be the one who makes him want.
“Enlighten me, then, my dear Illuga; are you planning on acting recklessly all night?”
Illuga studies him through half-lidded eyes, breath hot, heart wild and alive beneath his ribs, and finally makes his request.
“Take me to bed, Flins.”
Among the fae of old, Flins had fancied himself more mild-mannered than most- not that he was a prude, or anything of the sort, more so that he found no reason to seek out the pleasures of the flesh more than he felt necessary. The last time he’d taken a lover had been centuries ago, before he’d lain in his tomb, and it was an alright- though altogether unremarkable- affair.
Whatever pin he’d put on his self-control has been ripped out of him with startling ease, and he makes sure Illuga is aware of it, hooking his arms beneath those strong thighs to pull him even closer. Illuga gasps and Flins swallows the sound, biting at his kiss-swollen lips until he’s panting openly and grinding against him.
They tumble into bed together and nearly tangle in the haste of undressing. Never in his life did he imagine he would find himself in this state, filled with the kind of arousal that could make his composure bend the knee. He is hungry, stupid with it, pawing at Illuga’s clothes like a dog and mouthing at every inch of skin he exposes, marking him up, staking his claim. Beneath him, Illuga isn’t faring any better; he stumbles through unbuttoning Flin’s shirt, eventually conceding with a groan of frustration and tugging it off over his head.
“My, my.” Flins teases. “Patience, dearest Illuga.”
“Oh, don’t be a hypocrite.” Illuga grits out, voice tapering into a moan when Flins leans down and licks a stripe up his neck, just over the scar. He tastes like soap and sweat, and his skin gives with ease when Flins sinks his teeth into a clavicle. He’d washed up quite thoroughly tonight, he notes, but it’s no matter- they’ll have plenty more chances to do this when Illuga is fresh out of battle. Flins will make sure of it.
He tuts when he sits back and sees Illuga with an arm thrown over his torso, instinctively covering himself up. That won’t do.
Flins laces his fingers through Illuga’s and presses his lips against fine-boned knuckles, lifting his hand to kiss the rough pads of his fingers, the softer skin inside his wrist. “Darling Illuga,” he murmurs, trailing kisses up Illuga’s forearm, up his shoulder, nudging into the space beneath his jaw to mouth at his throat and the hollow of his collarbone. “My beautiful Illuga. Won’t you let me see you?”
Illuga flushes red all the way down to his chest, tilting his face into the pillow. “You seem to be looking your fill already.” He mutters. Flins smiles, all teeth, against the juncture of his neck, leaning closer to whisper in his ear.
“You should know by now that this is hardly enough.”
Illuga shivers and arches towards his voice, and Flins drags him back in for a deep kiss, hands trailing greedily over the hard planes of his stomach, his chest, squeezing the shape of Illuga’s hips into his memory. He cups both hands under the firm muscle of Illuga’s pecs, nearly encompassing them, pinching the hard buds on his chest and making Illuga whine. Sensitive, he thinks, pleased with himself. He ducks down to take one into his mouth.
“Fl-Flins,” Illuga moans, nails scratching against his scalp. He pinches at the other bud, mimicking the way he rolls Illuga’s nipple around his tongue, squeezing the supple skin before turning his attention to that one as well. His other hand, meanwhile, skirts down Illuga’s stomach, making his hips buck in surprise when it finds its way between his legs. He teases the slick folds, not quite touching.
“Flins.” Illuga says again in warning, tugging sharply at his hair, though it’s undercut by the breathy whine that leaves his throat when Flins touches him again, fingertips ghosting right above where Illuga aches for them.
“Patience.” Flins tells him, rubbing the curve of his waist. “I have waited far too long to allow this to be anything but good for you, dear Illuga.”
Illuga’s gaze flickers towards him, eyes wide. “You’ve- you’ve thought about this?”
Flins allows his form to slip ever so slightly, still human apart from the blue light washing over the pale walls of the lighthouse and Illuga’s prone form.
“I have thought about having you,” he answers, prying Illuga’s legs open. “And I have thought about having my way with you. Of molding your body to the shape of me, and hearing you sing my name until it is all you know.”
Anyone else, Flins thinks, would have tucked their tail between their legs and run at that very moment. His Illuga smiles up at him, face flushed with unbridled delight, and Flins can’t help but kiss him again for it.
“When you put it that bluntly, Flins, then it must be true.”
Flins smiles against his mouth. “I am simply honoring the young master’s request.”
And then he trails his lips south, intent on making good on his promise. Beneath him, he feels Illuga fight the urge to curl in on himself, and rewards him with a kiss to the sharp jut of his hip. His mouth finds Illuga's cunt, wet and wanting, and Flins sinks into the taste of him, wrapping his lips around the hard little nub that peeks out from between soft lips. Illuga cries out, fingers tightening in his hair as he swipes the broad of his tongue over his twitching clit.
“Fl- ah! Ah, Flins, please-”
Illuga warbles out his name, hips twisting like he’s unsure whether he wants to come closer or get away. Flins happily decides for him, lifting his legs to hook behind his shoulders, sucking hard enough to make Illuga tremble. His thighs twitch when the curtain of Flins’ hair brushes against it, tickling the sensitive skin as he lowers his mouth to the seam of Illuga’s cunt to lick into him like a man dying of thirst, sucking hard enough to have him gushing against his willing mouth. Illuga is soaked, dripping all over his sheets and into mouth, and Flins drinks him down greedily, reveling in the soft cries that tumble from his nightingale’s mouth.
“Oh, god,” He slurs, “Flins, Flins, I can’t- I’m going to-”
With great effort, Flins pulls away and runs his tongue over his lower lip to taste him again. Illuga looks down incredulously.
“You can’t be serious.” He groans, throwing his arms over his face. Flins only smiles, reaching up to gently pull them away.
“I did tell you to be patient, didn’t I, my dear?”
Illuga makes a noise, somewhere between a laugh and an indignant huff. “You’re unbelievable.”
Flins turns to kiss the inside of his knee, down the curve of a calf, never once taking his eyes off of him. In turn, he shivers, watching Flins through hooded eyes as he slowly begins to kiss up his shin, down his leg, breath feather-light against the juncture of his thigh. He’s almost tempted to drag it out all night, to watch his beloved writhe and cry out beneath him until he’s incoherent, until Flins is all he can think about. He sinks a finger into Illuga and the young man jolts, choking on a gasp, making Flins’ neglected cock throb in sympathy. He smiles. Another time, then.
“Ah!” Illuga gasps when Flins buries his face in his cunt again, slipping a finger inside to stretch him open. He’s tight, fluttering around the intrusion as Flins works his clit with his tongue, but just wet enough to allow another finger to pump in and out of him; he sinks them in to the knuckle, sighing in approval when Illuga’s arousal wets the palm of his hand and runs down his wrist.
He curls his fingers inward, seeking the soft bundle nerves nestled in him, and knows he’s succeeded when Illuga digs his heels into the bedding, grinding enthusiastically into Flins’ mouth and gripping the sheets hard enough to loosen the neatly-tucked corners. Flins snakes his free hand up Illuga’s waist, pressing down on the twitching muscle of his lower stomach until his body goes rigid, until Illuga shouts and arches so hard he sits up, hands flying up to tangle in Flins’ hair.
“Flins-! I, ah, wait, I think I’m gonna-”
Illuga’s back bows forward, grinding desperately against Flins’ tongue as his first orgasm crashes through him with no warning, shaking as he soaks the sheets and the lower half of Flins’ face.
Illuga collapses back onto the pillows and rolls his hips lazily, indulgent as Flins continues to drink his fill. He pants, carding his fingers through the fae’s sweat-soaked hair, no longer chasing his pleasure yet seemingly unwilling to move away from the hot press of his lips, clenching rhythmically around his tongue and fingers. Only when Illuga whines and tugs at his hair with a bit more force does he finally relent and sit back on his haunches, wiping his mouth with an elegant hand and observing the mess he’s made of his beloved.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, half-drunk with the taste of him.
“Shameless.” Illuga quips in return, though his smile is open and unguarded. He reaches up to massage the hinge of Flins’ jaw, wincing in sympathy.
“Goodness, dear Illuga, don’t worry about me.” Flins says, amused, turning to kiss the soft, fleshy inside of his palm. “Might I remind you that my tolerance is greater than that of a regular human’s?”
Illuga, undeterred, fixes him with a stern look. “Be that as it may, I don’t believe the fae are immune to pain either.”
Flins’ smile widens. “So you’ve been studying, have you?”
Illuga sighs and flicks him across the forehead. “Don’t get cocky, Sir Flins.”
“My apologies.” Flins says with an insincere little smile, leaning down to kiss him again. Illuga whimpers when he tastes himself, wrapping his arms around Flins’ neck to pull him closer. Flins would like to taste him again, to suck on him until the spring ran dry, but he supposes that can wait. Right now there are more pressing matters at hand, namely the legs coming up to hook around his waist and the slick heat of Illuga’s cunt nestled against his erection.
“What ever shall I do with you, dear Illuga?” He murmurs, eyes flickering. He drags his shaft over the plump, red lips of Illuga’s cunt, the wiry hair covering his mound, and watches Illuga’s lips part around another moan, sweet little cries punched out of him as Flins grinds his hips minutely, letting the head of his cock kiss the underside of Illuga’s throbbing clit. He trembles, whining indignantly when Flins doesn’t slip into him right away, flushing deeper down his chest and up his hairline as his breaths come out in short, desperate puffs.
Illuga is so, wonderfully human, he muses, and Flins desires him all the more for it- how deeply he cares, how selflessly he gives, all of it pulled from a seemingly endless reserve of love that existed in him, very much aware and yet uncaring of the fragile nature of his being. He is made of lean muscle and a sturdy frame, honed by years of training, of throwing himself into the line of fire and- miraculously- making it back whole; and this, Flins knows, he blames himself for. Would it ease the hurt in him, to know that he is no less human than the comrades he’s lost? Would he worry for himself more, if he knew that Flins could crush him in an instant?
He could reach into Illuga right now and burn his name into his beating heart. If he so desires, he could let this form go completely and spill into the pit of Illuga’s stomach, claiming him from the inside out. He wants to; let him know that the fae do not take kindly to those who treat what belongs to them with such reckless abandon. If there is one sin Illuga could ever be guilty of, in Flins’ eyes, it would be that. The act will cause Illuga no pain, he thinks- it will be good. Flins will make him feel good. And most importantly, it will make Illuga his.
Has Illuga done this before? Has he granted anyone else the privilege of seeing him come undone like this? Have other hands already taken him apart, peeled his clothes off, layer by layer, and seen everything he’s kept carefully hidden underneath? It’s alright if he has. He has made peace with not being Illuga’s first, so long as he is Illuga’s last; so long as after this, nobody will ever doubt- will dare attempt-
The tight grip on his cock brings his thoughts to a screeching halt.
“I think I lost you for a bit, there, Flins.” Illuga says, fixing him with a withering glare. His other hand grabs Flins by the nape of his neck and tugs him down sharply, knocking their foreheads together. “I didn’t come here to wait all night. Eyes on me.”
He’s looking; he doesn’t think he can look away, for the life of him, not even if Nod-Krai were to burn to the ground or if the moon imploded within the next minute. Illuga guides Flins’ straining cock into himself, gasping when it breaches him and moaning weakly at the stretch. He shivers when Flins is halfway in, stomach clenching as another round of slick pools beneath his hips and gets all over the seat of Flins’ lap.
“Illuga.” The sound of his own voice is foreign to him; it curls low in his throat and leaves in a single tendril of smoke, which Illuga inhales without a second thought. It’s far too much for him to bear- he curls over Illuga’s prone form and bottoms out in a single thrust, a wounded, animal noise punched out of his throat as Illuga yields for him, lets Flins spear him open. Illuga takes it so easily, the tight stretch aided by how wet he is. Flins buries his face in his throat and inhales, breathing in the pine-amber scent of his skin, the warmth of it, and chasing a bead of sweat that rolls down his neck with his tongue. He groans, burning, helpless as Illuga hooks his ankles over the small of Flins’ back and urges him to keep going, to go deeper.
“Harder,” Illuga moans, hips jerking impatiently. “Flins, please.”
He obeys without question, pleasure zipping up his spine when he begins to fuck into Illuga in earnest, graceless and sloppy, driven by pure instinct as Illuga’s cunt pulses and sucks him in, clamping down on him like it never wants to let him go. Illuga arches with a breathless cry, thighs trembling with the effort of keeping his lower half upright. He thinks he’s growing addicted to it, to Illuga sobbing and writhing underneath him; he wants nothing more than to hole up in the lighthouse and come back up for air in a month.
Arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, a hand lifting to card through his hair and cradle him against the frantic, birdlike flutter of Illuga’s heart. Flins imagines taking it between his teeth and biting down, letting it explode on his tongue, swallowing all of him down. When he looks up and meets Illuga’s eyes they’re just as bright and frenzied, and something passes between one breath and the next, scorching the air between them.
“You’re holding back.” Illuga growls, digging blunt nails into Flins’s shoulders.
“You wound me, dear Illuga.” Flins says through clenched teeth, head swimming from the heat surrounding his cock.
Illuga is unmoved, curling around him like a second skin. “Am I? I know you can do worse.”
He runs a hand down Flins’ back, hisses against his ear, “Don’t toy with me,” and Flins can only give him a breathless laugh in return, nails biting crescents into Illuga’s hips.
“Do you understand what you’re asking for?” Flins murmurs into his hair. “I will become the thorn in your side, and your greatest inconvenience. You will never be rid of me again. Not when you are away, not even when I am out of your sight.”
“Good,” he says, voice rough. “Flins, I can't-” his voice hitches, “I’ve tried. Goddess help me, I’ve tried, but I can’t bear the thought of you- with anyone-”
Anyone else. Anyone that isn’t me.
“I want it all,” Illuga says, breathless as he squeezes around another thrust, “I want to know you want me too. I want to be yours, Flins. Bind me to you. Curse me. I don’t care, I just-”
Flins’ want has always been a monstrous, inhuman thing. Illuga’s is the same.
The truth of it washes over him with the force of a thousand suns, tips him over the edge, and he lowers his head to pull Illuga into a biting kiss, swallowing his confession down like the finest of wines, slotting their mouths together and breathing in his air until he’s gasping for it, until his mouth is slack and he can do little more than score red lines down Flins’ shoulders.
“You are far too good to me,” Flins groans against his mouth, driving into him like an animal, messy and graceless and chasing a high that feels almost endless. His thrusts rock Illuga up the bed, rob him of his breath, leave him crying and drooling and incoherent, cunt spasming as Flins takes and takes and takes.
“Big,” Illuga cries, fingers tightening in his hair, “Oh, oh my god, Flins-”
“Will you tell me again?” He says into the straining curve of Illuga’s chest, back bowed so hard he looks like he’ll snap, the sharp outline of his ribs straining against thin, scarred skin, arching like a peach ready to split open. He stutters Flins’ name like it’s the only word he knows, head thrown back. Flins drags his teeth over a nipple, sucking it into his mouth, shaking a wail from Illuga’s throat.
“Say it again,” he insists, needy. He squeezes the firm skin of Illuga’s waist, mouthing at the curve of his jaw as it gapes open with every moan that’s fucked out of him. “I want to hear it again, Illuga. Say it again”
He must look like he’s teasing- toying with the beautiful human that’s unraveling in his arms, splitting him open on his cock like a rag doll. Truthfully, he feels like a wounded beast crawling into the arms of a benevolent hunter, flayed open by Illuga’s honesty and unable to do anything but beg for more of it, more of anything Illuga is willing to give him.
“I want- want-” Illuga’s eyes roll back into his skull when Flins drives into him again. “I- ohhh, fuck, Flins!”
“I’ll give you anything,” Flins nuzzles his flushed, sweat-slick chest, pressing an ear against it to hear the rabbit-quick thunder of his heart. “Anything you want.”
“Want you, want you, please- please, I’m gonna, I-”
His orgasm slams through him without warning, clenching around Flins like a vice and digging blunt nails into Flins’ arms like it’s the only anchor he has to the living world. Flins watches him with rapt attention, counts the ragged breaths that come out of him as he shakes through it, face twisting until Flins can no longer tell if it’s pleasure he’s feeling, or pain. He leans in and kisses the tears pooling at Illuga’s lashes, the thin skin of his eyelids, rubbing gentle circles into his hips until they stop trembling.
A shaking hand makes its way up to his hair and tugs him back clumsily, Illuga’s gaze still a little out of focus when it meets Flins’.
“You,” he rasps, squeezing until his scalp stings, “Are a demon, Sir Flins.”
And then Illuga is pushing him onto his back before his brain can return to him long enough to think of a response, crawling up on unsteady knees to straddle his stomach. Flins’ eyes go wide, unable to do anything but watch, astonished, as Illuga sinks back down on his cock.
“lluga,” he begins, trying to keep the breathlessness from his voice, “Ah- what are you-?”
Illuga leans in, the curve of his spine melting as he drops his weight across Flins’ chest and tucks his head against his collarbone.
“I want it all.” He whispers, smiling wickedly up at him through his lashes. “You wanted to hear me say it again, right?”
There, hidden away in a lighthouse where the world began and ended within the tangle of their sheets, Flins discovers just how vicious Illuga can be.
Just as well, he thinks much later, when Illuga is curled up and sated in his arms. There’s no one else he’d rather belong to.