This is obviously very late for Sylvian’s birthday, but never mind 😂
Breathless, August rolled onto their side, hands already
reaching for him across the damp sheets, trembling fingers brushing over sweat-slicked
skin. The need to touch him was constant, an ache that had no relief other than
the feeling of his skin under their palm, of his fingers in their hair, his body
curled around theirs.
Sylvian smiled as August snuggled into the crook of his neck,
his chest rising and falling a little quicker than normal, but bloody Hunter
stamina meant he wasn’t as tired as August. It just wasn’t fair. His arm curled
around the back of their shoulders, hugging them close, idly caressing their hair.
‘Are you all right?’ He murmured, and August snorted.
‘That is a stupid question.’
His laugh brought a foolish grin to their face, warmth
blooming in their cheeks. It was in quiet moments like these that they felt the
safest, the most secure. When it was just the two of them, limbs tangled
together, each enjoying the feeling of the other in their arms. It had gotten
to a point where they could hardly remember a life without this.
August needed him,
needed him like they needed air, wanting him to always remain close, to fall
into his arms when they were tired, to hear him say “I am yours” and mean it, really mean it. A promise that was
true and sincere, because Sylvian didn’t tell lies.
‘What are you thinking about?’ He asked, the tip of his nose
running along their jaw, his breath sifting through their hair at their temple,
making them shiver.
‘You.’
‘Oh?’ His lips brushed against the pulse dancing in their
throat. ‘Good things, I hope.’
‘Hm, maybe.’
He huffed a laugh, a firm hand cupping their face, tilting
their chin up, and August sighed contentedly against his mouth. Their lips eagerly
parted for him, but he kept the kiss slow, tongue meeting theirs in little touches,
his fingers winding up into long, ombre locks, creating ripples in the dark
waves.
August’s little noise of protest when he pulled away made
him grin, his mouth maddeningly close but not on theirs. There was a steady
heat beginning to pool in their abdomen, and they traced the hard muscles of
his chest and stomach, trailing lower, lower,
brushing over the coarse hair between his legs…
‘I was thinking that it’s still technically your birthday,’
they purred, a hand pandering at the crux of his thighs, enjoying the way his
eyes lidded, pleased by the feeling of him growing heavy in their palm. ‘Would
you like me to take the boots off now, or keep them on?’
‘That,’ he growled, rolling on top of them,
mouth pressing damp kisses to their neck as he reached down to hook their legs
over his hips. ‘Is a stupid question.’
The Demon is like heaven and hell all wrapped up in an impossibly attractive package. The sweetest of smiles, but those wide eyes have a certain glimmer to them, a flicker of mischief that sends sparks skittering across the Hunter’s skin.
Strong thighs straddle his waist, and Omen moves above him, an eager bounce that knocks the breath from his lungs every time he rises and falls.
His tail curls around the Hunter’s wrist, reels him in, and he wants to be touched.
The Hunter drags a splayed palm from collarbone to navel, feeling the impossible heat of him as his fingers glide over muscle that shifts under pale skin.
Omen is unassuming when in clothes, lithe, but when stripped bare he’s powerful to the point where it almost scares the Hunter, makes him want to know more about where he’s from, who he really is.
He feels the air in the room thicken, his breath coming in harsh pants as Omen rides him harder, faster, his tail moving to brush over his ribs, it’s pointed tip sharper than he remembers.
Omen pushes blackened fingertips into his own long, silky hair, the sight of him a privilege, something rare and beautiful.
Hot, hot, hot, and the Hunter watches as heat hums beneath Omen’s skin, a copper glow, otherworldly and, again, terrifying.
Omen’s palms meet the Hunter’s chest with a loud slap as he arches his back, falling forward until their foreheads are pressed tightly together.
There’s a smile on his lips, a sinful smirk that tells the Hunter all he needs to know, but he says it anyway. “I’m close. So close.”
He nods, the maddening feel of Omen this close, this tight, slick, and hot around him, and he fears he may really be melting. “With me,” he rasps, sweat beading at his brow, collecting in the dip of his clavicles, at the backs of his thighs.
Omen makes a quiet noise, a pleased hum, and the Hunter grabs the firm curve of his backside and keeps him steady as he pounds out his final thrusts, sparks bursting behind his eyelids as he comes with a ragged cry.
Omen eagerly swallows the noise with a kiss, a kiss that burns as warmth spills over his stomach between them.
Ezra arches his back, his head pressed firmly against his downy pillow, and he looks up at the sight before him and wonders if he’s dreaming.
How did I get here? Mother would be so proud…
Finn throws him a look and laughs at the errant thought, Damen too occupied with littering the Vampire’s bare shoulders with kisses to notice the moment that passes between them.
The mattress groans with the weight of the two imposing, big bodies above him, and a smirk hooks the corner of Finn’s mouth as Ezra wraps his legs around his waist, Finn leaning forward, gravitating towards him with little thought.
“Comfortable?”
Ezra bites his bottom lip, fingers twisting in dark sheets as Finn reaches between his spread thighs, hissing through clenched teeth as Damen does the same to him, a hand dragging down his spine, over the curve of his ass. They work in tandem, each of them being pulled apart by the other until Ezra is panting for it, desperate.
“Finnegan,” Ezra rasps, a familiar warning, and Finn curls his fingers, Ezra’s mouth opening in a silent cry, fingers tightening their grip on the sheets as cool digits work him open.
He’s growing impatient, his two lovers a feast for the senses, and all he can think about is seeing the look on Finn’s face as the Hunter fills him up, a look he rarely gets to see.
Finn tenses as the Hunter lines himself up, pushing inside slow, slowly, and Damen grabs his chin, holding him steady. “Look at him,” he whispers, bright gold burning into Ezra’s green as the Hunter sheathes himself to the hilt.
Finn has possibly never looked more blissed-out and filled up, quietly chanting Damen’s name in his defeat. Regaining his composure, Finn turns his attentions to Ezra, reaching to tangle iron fingers in dark brown curls as he lines himself up. The anticipation has Ezra impatiently rocking forward, and as Finn pushes into the eager clench of his body, pleasure soaks him right down to his bones, hot and unrelenting.
Damen pushes forward when Finn pulls back, the synchronicity of it blinding, and they find their rhythm so easily, three perfect puzzle pieces built to tear each other apart. Greedy hands roam, and Ezra almost loses track of who they belong to, the only indicator being that Finn runs more than a few degrees colder than the scorching heat of the Hunter.