ElyriasEcstasy (33 page)

Instead, Rune abruptly pressed his mouth on top of Urna’s.
The contact was hard enough that their teeth met with a click of enamel. But
this was no sort of assault. What violence fed that kiss was the fury of love,
of lust.

When their lips inevitably opened against each other, with
an ease and instinct that couldn’t be denied, Rune’s tongue stung briefly on
Urna’s injured one. The Shadowflash didn’t flinch from the taste of blood, and
Urna soon found that the other’s touch soothed, almost as if the touch were
sealing the wound, healing him where he’d bitten himself.

The kiss became a deep uniting. Their mouths were wide and
they lay hard across each other. Urna’s arm pressed over Rune’s back, still
supporting him. Their heads had turned, angled crosswise, allowing those
tongues to plumb and delve.

Though Urna, even injured, could bolster Rune’s body, the
other male’s weight was gradually pulling both of them downward. Urna let it
happen, knees slowly buckling. Together they eased to the roof’s surface. Rune
winced, pausing in the kiss, shifting, taking pressure off a knee he’d
evidently hurt. His hands had wrapped around Urna’s shoulders, hanging onto the
bony points, still using him for support.

Urna was glad for it. His other arm came around Rune and he
held him, tugged him tighter. Their mouths continued to explore, hungrily, as
though seeking nourishment from each other. Their hot breath fought the chilled
air around them, even as saliva cooled beyond the edges of their lips. Urna
felt the tingling flush of rising excitement moving over his flesh.

There they knelt, facing one another, bodies pressed
together. The anticipatory furor incited Urna’s nerves. He felt himself
hardening, cock still trapped within his trousers, making tensions and little
discomfitures. But it was worth it to feel Rune rising in response, loins
swelling. Soon, the two hardnesses were against each other, little movements of
hips gently but firmly grinding the bulges one atop the other.

And still the kiss persisted, mouths slurping now, the taste
of blood gone from Urna’s tongue. One of Rune’s hands moved up toward Urna’s
hair, sliding underneath the silver, coming to the bare nape, clasping, pulling
the other even deeper into the kiss, as if he meant to devour. Urna understood
the impulse. He wanted every part of Rune. Wanted to consume and consummate.

A hasty hand, Urna’s, hurried and fumbled between them, at
waist level. It tugged at catches, yanked at fabric. Busy, impatient movements.
It was easier to free Rune from the loose garment, more difficult to undo the
fastener on his own pants. He managed, though, and when Rune’s cock, under
pressure and wanting this freedom, sprang into his hand, Urna grasped him. It
broke the kiss, at last. Rune’s head fell back and his eyelids fluttered.

Urna shifted his hand, took himself as well into this grip,
squeezing the two cocks as one. Rune lifted slightly on his knees, so that his
balls pressed themselves onto Urna’s sac. With his thumb, Urna followed the
line where their rigid shafts met. The ball of that thumb swirled first over
his own crown, then, slick with his own pre-come, slipped over onto Rune’s,
mingling the fluid with the oily droplets the Shadowflash was already drizzling
as well.

Rune pulled open Urna’s coat to get a hand inside, wriggling
it up beneath his shirt. Cool fingertips raked a way up his firm abdomen and
Urna shivered deliciously. But Rune didn’t pause. He was obviously seeking the
stiffened nipples. Reaching the first, Urna let out a sigh as the fingers,
warming now, caught the bud of flesh. Rune held him between his thumb and a
curled forefinger. He applied pressure. A sweet, slicing not-quite-pain turned
Urna’s sigh into a sound that was a mixed growl and grunt.

When Rune moved to his other nipple, leaving the first
throbbing, Urna gave both their cocks a cinching squeeze. It was a jolting
sensation, not unwelcome. He kept it up, feeling Rune’s underside vein pulsing
against him, until the other man groaned. Slackening the twice-full grip
slightly, Urna started to slide his hand up and down their shafts. A mutual
jerking. Rune liked it. He’d always liked it.

They’d been lovers a long time. So the memories, even those
still half-submerged, told him. Their carnal history was lengthy. It ran nearly
as deep as their friendship, he suspected. And maybe it wasn’t an accident.
Maybe it was a component of deliberate bonding—

But he didn’t have all the facts he needed. Maybe he never
would. And, anyway, now wasn’t the time.

With a double-loaded hand, he continued the squeezing and
pumping. Rune was dragging at a sleeve of his coat, pulling it off his
shoulder, making a vague squeal of frustration—without any knowing, Urna was
sure, that as a child (at least in one partially restored memory), he had made
similar sounds when an event didn’t advance at desired speed.

Urna released the paired cocks and flexed his shoulders,
feeling a ripple of lean muscle, and feeling too those places on his body where
bruises were no doubt already darkening. The discomfort wasn’t bad, though.
Growing carnal heat was pushing out the pain.

His coat dropped. Rune grappled with his shirt even as Urna
pulled at the other’s raiment, knowing how the outfit came apart to reveal the
form beneath. How many times had he himself dressed in clothes just like these?

In a hurried moment both men were bare to the waist, with
their cocks already loosed. Urna’s hands slid over Rune’s smooth skin, trailing
over pronounced ribs here, grazing the aroused point of a nipple there. The
Shadowflash quivered. Then he dropped back onto his ass, peeling the black
leggings down his thighs, calves. Urna wrestled briefly with his own trousers,
kicking off his boots. In a moment he’d flung aside the last of his clothing.

Rune still wore his boots. His body was pale and thin, and
as lovely a sight as existed for Urna. He was rolled onto one hip, a hand
bracing behind him. Black hair fell around dark-blue eyes that burned with
need. Those eyes met Urna’s. The former Weapon’s breath had stalled in his
lungs.

“I think,” Rune said, “that you had better fuck me.” It was
suggestion. It was command and supplication. It was none of those. Rather, it
was the articulated need blazing in those eyes.

The Shadowflash shifted, rolling over, onto his belly. His
legs spread, toes pointing away from each other.

Urna went to him, bare soles padding on the gritty surface.
They were alone up here. Nothing but the Black Ship overhead. Elyria’s ultimate
mystery. To look up was to wonder. To gaze too long was to imagine that
everything else was petty, unimportant, trivial.

He didn’t look up. He’d seen the fucking thing, plenty of
times. And what was on this roof, here, before him—
that
was of the
greatest importance.

Kneeling between the outspread legs, Urna laid his hands,
trembling again, on the sweet, twinned mound that was Rune’s ass. Such a
perfect shape. He squeezed the taut flesh, fingers barely indenting the muscled
tissue. Tenderly he parted the halves, opening the secret valley, revealing the
succulent pucker that awaited him.

A strange sense of ritual overtook him, half practical
obligation, half fevered desire. Rune wanted him to fuck him. But there was the
pragmatic matter of lubricating him for the penetration. Not a problem. Urna
was eager to see to this.

On his knees, with fingers holding the hemispheres of Rune’s
ass apart, Urna lowered his mouth, already woken by the thrill and heat of
their prolonged kiss earlier. He set his lips fearlessly against the sweet
hole. Again Rune quivered, one leg jerking in a single, sharp spasm.

Urna had at him with his tongue.

It was an intimate, delicious rimming. Urna eeled his way
around the brim, then probed inside, sliding his tongue tip perhaps half an
inch past the cinching pucker. As he worked, leaving the dampness of saliva
behind, he felt too the hole’s slackening, a growing readiness. Rune’s ass was
squirming beneath him. Urna licked and lapped, even trailing his tongue all the
way up the vale, tasting masculine sweat, savoring it.

At last he lifted from this work. Coolness touched his wet
chin. He crept forward. Rune didn’t rise onto his knees, nor did Urna want him
to. The silver-haired male lay down atop his lover. His stiff, needy cock
skimmed briefly in the moistened crevice of Rune’s ass. Urna, without even
needing a hand to guide him, slotted his cock into the waiting, spit-slick
hole.

Rune bucked beneath him again but made no effort to resist
the entry. Urna sank himself deeper and deeper, feeling the warm, familiar
clutching. Rune’s head was turned to one side, eyes squeezed shut. Urna set a
kiss on his shoulder, reached up to brush dark strands of hair from his cheek.

His cock completed its penetrating when his balls pressed
upon the globes of Rune’s ass. The ingress was intense, profound. He was sealed
into Rune’s depths. The Shadowflash had opened himself.

A grin cut Urna’s face. He felt it stretch his lips and
cheeks. With his bared teeth he nipped the flesh on the point of Rune’s
shoulder. And he set about fucking the male.

Rune stayed flat on the ground and Urna worked atop him,
plunging his cock into him at a slow but steady rhythm. Pleasure came with
every downward lunge. Rune’s hole gripped him fiercely. The dark-haired man’s
eyes opened and gazed off into the distance, glazed with bliss. There was no
doubt he was enjoying this. Urna licked his earlobe, and it aroused a laugh.
Lying flush upon him, Urna could feel the swelling and emptying of Rune’s lungs
with every quick breath he took. He imagined Rune could feel the hammering of
his heart against his back.

Urna’s thrusts increased in speed and intensity. His
hairless balls slapped the tight buttocks. He no longer felt the air’s chill.
He was radiating heat.

Rune was making that squealing sound again, and shifting
now. Urna moved with him, not uncoupling from where they’d joined. Together
they rolled onto their respective left hips. Urna felt sweat on his chest, saw
it glisten on Rune’s back.

He reached over the Shadowflash’s right hip to seize the
swollen cock.

As he renewed his thrustings, Urna pumped that shaft. He
matched their tempos. He stroked into Rune’s ass at the same speed at which he
fisted his lover’s cock. It was beautiful, equitable. It raced them together
toward some vast and unknowable orgasmic domain, where ecstasy ruled, and they
two were the only subjects, a pair of princes, locked forever to one another,
inescapably, a pact sealed with semen and blood. Souls fused into one mass for
all time.

But at this moment there were just the base, frantic
convulsions, and Urna was fine with that. Rune shuddered, crying out, and
suddenly Urna’s fingers were slick with warmth. All through Urna’s slim body,
hard muscles tightened. A great carnal energy, which had been building and
focusing, now tore loose, chaotic, delirious. His cum spurted out of him, each
jet a blissful wrench. It went on for an improbable amount of time, until the
final feeble issue was done, and the afterglow swept in, drawing contentment
and lethargy over both males.

After a time Urna lifted his spattered hand from Rune’s
softening member. He brought it toward his mouth, seeing fingers strung with a
glistening gray. But Rune caught the hand, drew it toward himself. He smeared
the fingers over his own lips then let Urna have his taste. The cum was
salty-sweet, bitter honey.

They still lay stomach to back. When Rune turned his head so
to kiss Urna over his shoulder, Urna shifted to do so, and his cock, wilting by
degrees, finally slipped from the grasping hole.

Semen-damp lips met. The kiss was tender, slow.

When Rune broke it, it was to plant a hand on the roof and
sit up. Urna stayed reclined on his side, enjoying the quiet he felt within and
without. They could be anywhere right now, the two of them—a grassy field, on a
bed, lying on a beach. He smiled at that.

He heard the scrape of a boot heel, then remembered that
Rune hadn’t removed his boots. Through eyes halfway lidded, he saw the
Shadowflash reach down into one of those boots. Urna blinked, slowly. When his
eyes were open again, Rune had a knife in his hand.

The stillness persisted. But the tenor had changed. Once
again,
the moment was rife with possible outcomes
, some
quite drastic.

Urna, the onetime Weapon and still possessed of his
incredible—magically endowed?—abilities, remained unmoving, naked, helpless.

“I love you,” Rune said. Urna nearly broke his strange
paralysis to reciprocate the words, but the Shadowflash hadn’t finished
speaking, adding, “And I hate you.”

Shiplight glinted momentarily on the blade of the knife. Not
a proper military implement. It looked to be nothing more than a kitchen
utensil. But it would probably do the job. Rune moved toward him with it.

* * * * *

He didn’t know what to believe, where to plant his trust.
But for that one word—that name—he might’ve dismissed everything. He might have
carried out his self-assigned mission, which was to deal with the fugitive Weapon.
Bring him back to the Citadel. Or kill him. Either end would have fulfilled the
fundamental objective.

But Urna had called him
Micah
. And some great awful
truth was unlocked by the name. A door opened. Well, not opened. Pushed ajar. A
thin white crack shining into the darkness of the past.

Rune still felt the liquid warmth of Urna inside him as he
reached toward the Weapon with the knife from his boot.

“A lock of that hair,” he said, seeing how still Urna’s face
had gone. “I’ll take it back to the Citadel. To the Toplux. I’ll tell him how I
tracked you, how I couldn’t rescue you from the Passengers that overwhelmed you
and tore you to pieces. Luckily,” he gently took up the hank of silver hair
that was already sticky with the blood from his forehead. “I was able to
retrieve this.”