The Lonely Ones

Chapter Thirty-Two: Permission

Mature Content: Please keep comments respectful. Thank you.

There's the addictive taste of snow on the tip of his tongue, chillier than every winter and hotter than every summer. Wren smells of snow and mountain winds, nipping at Artemis' skin, leaving only heat behind. The touch of his hand against Artemis' waist pierces hot, kindle against his skin. And Wren's quiet moan when his tongue forces past his lips sends him tumbling through the wilds, mind set on a single thing. To hear it again.

He bites at Wren's lips and pulls his hair, eliciting a low growl that sends heat straight to his groin. They stumble back towards the bed. When the back of Artemis' legs hit the bed, he breaks apart, breathing heavily and uncertainly. Memories surface, accompanied by fear.

"Does your desire for me bother you?" Wren asks a question that feels like a sucker punch. Artemis doesn't want to answer.

"Why?" Wren asks, gently nudging Artemis' forehead with his own.

"What's wrong with this?" he adds, bringing Artemis' palm to his lips. His eyes fluttered closed, lips ghosting over Artemis' skin until he kisses at the growing pulse beneath Artemis' wrist.

Artemis heaves a giant breath, wishing he could hide his shivers that only grow worse when he practically whimpers, "I-I don't want... to like what hurt me."

And the last time he got what he wanted, it ended with a man's boot in his gut.

Wren cups Artemis' face, forcing the tearful boy to look at him. His eyes are stern, yet soft, when he states, "The actions of bad men should not keep you from your desires. And it does not make you anything like those scathing bastards for wanting those desires."

The prince sits on the bed, taking Artemis' hand. Gazing up with burning lust in his eyes, he speaks in a low whisper, like a song, "Do you want to touch me?"

"Yes," Artemis whispers, blinking back tears.

"I won't touch you if you don't want me to. And if you want to stop, we will, but this isn't and will never be like what happened to you. I promise."

Wren holds out his hand, beckoning Artemis to lay over him, resting comfortably between his legs. Artemis presses his forehead against Wren's. His mind buzzes with noise he can't grasp. As promised, Wren does nothing, waiting for Artemis to make a move, if any. Opening his eyes, he stares into Wren's winter eyes, then kisses him again.

Artemis groans when their bodies meet. The exhaustion of earlier is replaced by a sudden dose of adrenaline and courage. He kisses at Wren's neck tentatively, then hungrily. When Artemis grinds Wren's hips into the bed, the prince moans low in the back of his throat. His fingers tear into the pillow above his head. His heels dig into the bed, allowing him to pivot his hips up to meet Artemis', who curses against the cool neck he's marking.

There's less fear than expected when Artemis leans back to fumble over unbuttoning Wren's doublet. Artemis does want this. He wants Wren like he's never wanted anyone or anything. He's beautiful and terrifying and so utterly intoxicating that Artemis fears he'll never give Wren up. And he wants to be close to him, emotionally and physically. Both of which he struggles with, but he wants to try. He wants this.

Wren sits up, allowing Artemis to relieve him of his shirt. Fae truly are unfathomable. Wren's beauty is like a winter landscape only dreamed of, something breathtaking and unreal. His chiseled chest and muscular arms would make anyone stop and stare. He's mesmerizing, laying back on the bed, not uttering a word, but it's enough to make anyone a little mad.

Taking a chance, Wren gently on Artemis' shirt in silent questioning. Neither his eyes or tone are demanding when he says, "I find it only fair that you remove this too."