Tracer

10: Business As Usual

He was momentarily struck speechless. He closed his eyes and shook with laughter. Desmon's rueful expression undid him.

"I'm not flattering you. Have you seen this thing?"

He tossed his head on the pillow, helpless with laughter. Grinning, Desmon rolled from the bed and dashed across the room. He came back with the wine and their goblets.

"It is not so much a difference," Jymke gasped, eyes wet with tears.

"You're not hard anymore."

"Ah, Truth," he dissolved again.

Desmon watched him, his heart warm. The contact between them had left his skin seared with the memory of those pulsing Marks. He was still glowing, but his eyes were half open and sparkling. He refilled their goblets and handed him his as he pushed himself up on his elbows.

"I have indeed missed your humor, my Desmon."

"I think you're one of very few people who actually finds me funny."

"Rubbish."

"You got me," Desmon sighed, sliding onto the bed. "Myron thought I was damn funny. Maybe that's why he sent me away."

"Hush." His dark eyes danced as he sipped his wine. "He sent you away for profit and glory."

"And to get well and truly laid as only a Tracer can."

He caught Jymke's goblet as he coughed, laughing again. "Stop. You'll kill me."

"Will not. You've got a spare lung."

"Desmon."

"Alright, I'll stop. For now."

Jymke took his goblet back and leaned against the pillows. Invitation was plain in his eyes, and Desmon responded stretching beside him. He rested on his belly, cupping his wine. His hip brushed against the Tracer's.

"Are you stalling again?"

"I think the stalling is done."

"I'd do anything for you. You know that don't you?"

"I do."

"If you truly don't want to take me, I won't push the issue."

"I do want to take you. I simply do not want to harm you."

"I think I can handle you."

"You think?"

Desmon glanced down the length of his body. He was like an ancient sculpture, so perfectly was he made.

"With some stretching, I think."

Jymke chuckled, finishing his wine. Desmon took the goblet and placed it on the table with his own.

"Time to spoil you some more."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Roll over." He pushed himself up and reached for the bottle of oil.

He spun the top off the bottle as Jymke rolled to his belly. The Marks on his back swirled and glowed, already pulsing slowly. He started at his shoulders, working his way down his back to the firm buttocks. He dropped a line of light kisses down his spine, noting the quivering of his skin as he slid his slicked hands down to his thighs. Gently, he rolled him to his back and let his palms glide up the plane of his belly to his chest. He was all solid muscle and smooth marbled skin, but like no marble ever carved, he was warm as sunshine on a summer day.

"Come to me."

"I'm still spoiling you."

"Tease at your peril, my Desmon. I want you."