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20 Apr 2019
He said, “You should come,” and “I want you there,” and it didn’t trip the obligation but it may as well have. Mildmay can never say no to eyes like that.
“So what?” Mildmay spits. The look of shock on Felix’s face would be gratifying, if he weren’t still so hurt and angry. “So what if he wanted to tumble me? You can throw yourself on every pretty cock in the room and I can’t even talk to a man?”
“Exactly,” Felix snaps, stalking forward. “Is there a problem with that?”
“You’re so beautiful,” he says simply, effortlessly, like it’s a fact and not a bald-faced lie.
Mildmay tries turning away, embarrassed, but Felix’s grip holds him fast. “You don’t have to sweet-talk me.”
“I want to.” Felix pushes him backwards. Moves with him. “I want you.” Pushes, pulls, bare thighs brushing together, a jeweled hand on Mildmay’s chest, until Mildmay leans back against the pillows and Felix kneels between his legs. “I want to make you mine. I want you so bad it scares me.”
“You don’t fuck anyone else in the Mirador,” Felix says suddenly, viciously, as his fingertip presses into him. Further into him. “They’re all scheming, backstabbing weasels. They don’t deserve—” He breaks off, jaw clenching, and slides his finger all the way in.
Mildmay goes rigid, adjusting to the tender intrusion, struggling to process Felix’s words. His thoughts aren’t firing right, too tangled up in the ribbons of lust curling around his bones. He can only gasp, “Is that an order?”
Felix’s mismatched eyes both flash angry, and his answer is nearly a growl. “Does it need to be?”
Thankfully he doesn’t seem to want an answer. He seems content with Mildmay’s strangled yelp as he drives two more fingers into his trembling body. He fucks half his hand into Mildmay, plenty slick but the oil only seems to let him pump deeper, faster. The rings don’t go in, but they bump against the rim of his hole, nearly pressing in. Stretching him further. Mildmay screws up his eyes, overwhelmed by the foreign pressure, the stretch, and he can’t even complain because Felix is leaning into his ear and murmuring, “Fuck, Mildmay, you’re gorgeous like this, letting me do this, you’re so good for me.”
“Felix,” he says, before he can’t say anything more. He can only lie there, clutching uselessly at the man above him—his brother—he’s so fucked up, and the most fucked up thing is he doesn’t care about that now. He cares about Felix’s hands moving to his wrists, holding him down against the mattress, pounding deeper and deeper into him, until his body belongs to Felix as thoroughly as his soul does.