Ascension - Book Eight - Man x Man

Chapter 101 (M)

(This is a mature chapter, mostly fluff, not plot building if you'd like to skip it.) 

My body aches as I slide against his form, so many sexual encounters in one day, I was beyond sore. Running my hand over his chest, my fingertips rest on the strigoi chain still wrapped around his neck. Testing the weight under my index finger, it never ceased to amaze and upset me that it bruised him the way it did. 

The marks under each link, nearly raw from the pressure, remained as a reminder that Fenrir would be free the moment he had the opportunity to be. Exhaling, I slip closer to him, shutting my eyes tightly as I will myself to just be present, to not focus on the demon god lurking beneath the surface. 

Yet, my mind drifts to last night, the prominent fangs that continued to make their appearance at even the slightest frustration. Pressing my lips to the tanned skin, I feel his gaze on me and know I've awoken him. "What an expression..." He murmurs, using this thumb to smooth out the lines between my eyebrows. 

"I don't like the way this marks you." It was easy enough of a distraction from my real feelings, the concern of who attempted to kill us of the many, the thought that Fenrir was still lurking despite the chain and the brand, concluded by the admittance that he thought he was a lousy father. 

Raising an eyebrow, he slides his arm around me, pulling me closer to him only to hesitate as I flinch. "Would you prefer to leave your own marks?" He asks, I shut my eyes once more as I'm squeezed against his chest before he flips us over. Hovering over top of me, I'm almost frightened to ask if he'd like to have me again. My mind was willing but my body was reluctant. With a smirk, he kisses my forehead, "Try not to look so frightened. It's aftercare, love."

Kissing from the corner of my mouth down my jaw to my neck in a slow, scorching trail, I bear my bruised neck to him. With his new found hitchhiker, he found it difficult to control the blood lust lurking underneath. "You're an amazing father." My voice is stern, final. 

With a low growl, he hesitates. "You're quite persistent. It's one of your most annoying traits."

"I love the thrill of being right all the time, it's a curse." I shrug as he straightens just enough to watch me. "Bathe with me?"

We hadn't spent much time showering together since his torture, let alone near the bathroom at the same time since the second attempt. Swallowing hard, I see the fear catch his eyes, I capture his face with my palms to keep him with me. "Please? I need to see you. We've got to get through this."

"Torture is hard to overcome." His retort is short, reluctant. 

"I can't help you if you don't let me see." I respond, soft, hesitating as my fingers find his hair and I note the darkening roots. "What is this?"

"Mmm... I believe the Americans call it bedhead.. sex hair.. not quite sure, darling." Skirting his teeth over my wrist, I can't entertain it as I slide onto my knees and pull him with me toward the bathroom. Stepping into the light, I stare up at him. 

Deep, dark, smokey roots hide under the tangle of gray. Almost like ash, it reminded me of Havoc, without the crisp strands of white finding the edges. He was still gray, but the depth of the black invading all of the roots of his hair made my blood run cold. "Coat color indicates one's true intentions..." I murmur, frowning. "Randy, what does this mean?"

Watching himself in the mirror, he seems unwilling to even acknowledge the stranger staring back at him. Stronger, wielding a strigoi chain and a demon's seal, how could we not expect it to have an effect on a true neutral? Yet, Verando had always drifted towards good. "I don't know. I can't say I feel any different. My father had black hair, it was always strange that his children were gray. Sherian was gray and obviously evil, Sota was white, and look where that got us. Perhaps we put too much on the color of a coat."