Flameborn. Corinna Rogers

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      Drake curls his tongue around the length, sucking hard and long, his fingers coming up to knead into Shane’s thigh.

      “That’s it, baby,” Shane grunts, letting his legs splay farther apart. “I know you’re dick-hungry as hell right now—yeah, just like that, shit, you’ve got a slutty tongue for such a respectable guy.” His voice is fond, heavy-laden with arousal and that same hunger, and a tenseness that means he’s got to be almost there. He laughs, a hitching breath, and warns, “You better clean it up real good, or you’re gonna be going into your precious church with come in your beard.”

      You bastard.

      Drake starts to pull off, probably to growl and snap at Shane, but Shane’s hand is strong in this position and holds him down hard. That thick cock bumps the back of his throat one more time, and Shane sucks in a breath, yanking back on his hair, the asshole.

      Wet heat floods Drake’s mouth, spilling over his tongue in thick, bitter ropes. Drake tries not to gag, breathing through his nose and grabbing at Shane’s jeans, hand curling into a fist as he tries to choke it down. He manages a couple mouthfuls, then pulls off when Shane’s hand goes limp, coughing and scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You fucking asshole,” he croaks, voice hoarse as his hand comes away wet.

      Shane shrugs. “Not my fault you’re such a bad gay. I like the taste of yours just fine.”

      “Mine tastes better! You eat all that junk food shit, no wonder.”

      Shane laughs, then reaches out and grabs Drake’s hand, bringing it up to his own lips. Slowly, holding Drake’s eyes the whole time, he runs his tongue up through the sticky smear on his hand, grinning when he gets to the end of it, and swallows. Drake’s cock makes a valiant attempt to punch its way out of his jeans. “I think I taste just fine.”

      “Shane.” Drake’s voice is hoarse and needy, and Shane just rolls his eyes. “Of course, baby.”

      Half a second later Drake has to wonder if Shane used magic to get his cock out that quickly. His mouth is searingly hot, tongue lashing against his length, and Drake’s head tips back against the car’s seat. “Now who’s the one with a slutty tongue?”

      Shane pulls off, delicately tracing the slit at the end of Drake’s cock. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s always me. Fuck my face, I want you to shoot it down my throat.”

      “I just bet you do.” The sentence turns into a groan when Shane dives down, taking him all in, swallowing around the thick length of Drake’s cock, making his balls ache from being so ready. “Jesus, just—you fucking whore, I’m going to throw you onto every surface you’ve ever seen later—“

      Shane looks up at him, eyes dilated, lips stretched wide, shiny and wet from the drool and precum coating his face, and Drake loses it. He humps up frantically into Shane’s mouth, holding him down with one hand, thrusting deep into his throat over and over again, bruising those pretty lips. All so Shane can feel how hard he is, how much he wants.

      The sudden impulse to pull out and come all over Shane’s face is so strong, Drake almost gives in. Only the thought that they’re going into the church in a second gives him pause and he lets out a frustrated noise, slamming his cock so deep down Shane’s throat that he can hear Shane choke for the first time. Then everything goes white, bursting behind his eyelids, pleasure exploding through his body when he comes long and hard down Shane’s throat.

      For a long time, Drake isn’t aware he’s breathing. The only sounds in the cabin are Shane’s breaths, ragged and labored and a little panicky towards the end, until he slaps Drake’s wrist. “Huh? Oh, sorry.”

      Shane pulls off with a gasp as soon as Drake removes his hand, wiping his streaming eyes with his thumbs, coughing a little. “Rude.”

      “You like it.”

      Shane punches him in the arm, not exactly gentle. “Still rude. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you what’s in your beard.”

      Drake pulls the mirror down from above the passenger’s side window, scrutinizing his face closely.

      “Kidding.”

      Drake gives him a glare, noting the marked lack of blotchy redness in Shane’s face. He’s used to seeing Shane use magic for big things—he’d seen him re-grow an entire hand once, though that had been when his powers had been augmented by the Ice King—but the tiny casual displays are the ones that make him nervous. Of course, those are the things that Shane had concealed from him before, for exactly that reason. Flashy Mages don’t live as long, he’d said years ago, but seems to have dropped that concern.

      Drake shrugs off the uncomfortable thought, twisting to open the door with his left hand, right still firmly gripping the sword’s hilt. If it weren’t for the boost of endurance and power the sword lends him, he’d probably be feeling his fingers cramping by now.

      “How long are you gonna hold it?” Shane asks, mind obviously running along the same lines as they climb the stone steps.

      “Until I figure out how to get the damn thing out of me.”

      “That’s gonna be awkward if we want to go out to dinner.”

      “With what money?”

      Shane makes a face at that, but doesn’t argue. “Your fingers are gonna freeze that way. At least they’ll be stuck in a shape that’s easy to—“

      “Not in church, Shane.”

      That earns him an eyeroll as Shane tosses back his hair, letting it shimmer into blue-green waves, hanging just past his shoulders in the back, rippling with magic as it changes color. “Not that guy anymore, Drake. Quit forgetting.”

      It isn’t easy to forget when a little slip-up could mean losing everything he’s finally regained, but Drake tries to remember. He reaches for the door, but Shane is there first, eyes fixed on the high vaulted ceilings.

      The church is anything but ostentatious, for a big stone building. All mentions of saints, kings, and angels have been removed, leaving empty recesses in the stone where statuary used to reside. Only two pews remain, kept near the back for the disabled and anyone who can’t physically stand for more than an hour at a time. The windows aren’t made of the glass they look like, but crystalline, and reinforced with plexiglass. Drake isn’t entirely sure what denomination the building used to belong to, not that it matters much.

      Shane breathes in deeply through his nose, exhaling with a long sigh. “I can’t believe I hated this place,” he says, eyes half-lidded, fingers twitching. “The air in here is fantastic.”

      “Seriously? You used to say you couldn’t breathe in here.”

      Shane blinks. “Really? Huh. Must be… hmm.” He flicks his tongue out a couple times, rubs the pads of his fingertips together, and frowns. “Yeah, there’s magic in here. Like, not just in use, but in the air itself. You can feel it, right?”

      “The only kind of magic I can feel is when the sword wants me to kill it. Don’t forget I’m just an ordinary human.”

      “That’s an awful and untrue thing to say about yourself! You’ve seen wonders and horrors humans never have, you’ve fought false СКАЧАТЬ