For one moment, Bel was terrifying. The fur, or feathers, covered much of his chest up to his shoulders, and likely down his back to the enormous wings that extended to a span greater than Nicodemus’ height. They were glossy and dark, like a raven’s, but for the glow of the starlight that turned them almost blue. They shined like Bel’s curling, wicked horns, like his claws, nearly distracting Nicodemus from the whip of a bull’s tail behind him and the obscene weight of his cock.
Nicodemus swallowed, his mouth very dry. “I am still dressed.” Mostly dressed. He complained anyway.
Blood trickled from Bel’s arm, from his thigh. Bel was indifferent to the wounds. “I like you needy.”
“Needy for you,” Nicodemus returned stubbornly on a shaky breath, but nodded because it was true, and he more than did not mind. “Which I am. Please, Bel.”
Everything changed again.
The moss cushioned his knees, his palms. The skin of his neck and legs felt scraped and overly sensitive from how quickly Bel had torn his clothes from him. Nicodemus should protest, if only for the cost, but he had all but told Bel to do it.
“No one wants me like this,” he confessed, naked under the stars for the first time in his life, one of his shoes still in the air after Bel had thrown it.
“Holt is a fool.” Bel snapped, although Nicodemus had not mentioned Holt. Bel’s wings unfurled, casting shadows. His breath was hot, his teeth sharp.
Nicodemus trembled to think of how he must look, naked on his hands and knees, marks of Bel’s teeth on his thighs and the plump part of his backside where Bel must have drawn blood because he had licked the spot afterward, before licking other places. Nicodemus’ concoction did not taste good, but Bel had not seemed to care. He spit there too, inside of Nicodemus, where his tongue had just been, and held Nicodemus still when Nicodemus tried to shift back, and growled, “All of you,” as though his name did not echo through the woods with how Nicodemus shouted it.
Bel had arranged Nicodemus this way, turned him over and spread his legs to taste him and bite him and taste him again, and he did not seem to tire of it. Hours, Nicodemus thought, or minutes, it did not matter. Neither of them wanted it end, so it did not. But when Bel paused, when he stopped moving and held Nicodemus still tolookat him, open and wet, Nicodemus made a sound like a tiny, weak kitten.
Nicodemus used to feel silly and useless when Bel watched him. He still did, now, like this, if not as much as before. Bel was looking because he enjoyed the sight, perhaps had dreamed of it. He said, “Look how hungry you are,” in a tone of such satisfaction that Nicodemus whined. Bel answered him, seizing his hips and drawing him back, letting Nicodemus feel his cock but not yet giving it to him.
Bel. Nicodemus kept the name in his mouth but not the rest. “You love me.”
Bel was hotter than even Nicodemus in his rut, and he was big, and he held Nicodemus down as he entered him. He did not go slowly, or perhaps he did, but now Nicodemus had stopped time again to feel everything all at once.
Bel said something into Nicodemus’ hair that Nicodemus could not hear over the pounding in his ears and the high, breathless, rising gasp coming from him as Bel sank deeper. He was stretched and filled and filled, and Bel hauled him back tight against his hips when his gasp became a moan. Bel was speaking again. Bel, large and monstrous, rocking his hips as if Nicodemus hadn’t already bent his neck to pant to the moss.
“Nicodemus.” Oh, Bel was soft. He dared to be soft with his claws digging into Nicodemus’ sides and the breath knocked from Nicodemus’ lungs. “You are beautiful.”
Nicodemus fell to his elbows, eyes closed as Bel clamped his arm around his waist. “Bel,” he growled out as his muscles began to loosen and his moans became more helpless. He did not even think to touch himself. “It’s too much.” He shifted his knees apart, his arms already shaking. “Don’t stop.”
Bel forced his head down and said, “You know what I want from you,” strained and vicious, and whatever Nicodemus gave him in answer left his throat hoarse. The more Nicodemus begged, the more it went on. The Realm, he thought, or just Bel. Bel over him and in him and breathing his name sweetly. A clawed hand settled over one of Nicodemus’, pulled it up to leave Nicodemus even more spread open and helpless, and then, as if that was too much for even Bel, Nicodemus was moved back up onto his elbows with his knees bent beneath him, his thighs clamped together so that he must have felt tighter around Bel’s cock.
He begged, or hoped he did, gasping and digging his hands into the ground but feeling nothing but Bel, breath and cock and teeth. It was good, more than good, curling hot through him until he started to spill slow and thick onto the moss with every slide of Bel’s cock inside him. His thoughts were slippery, faint. He had not come but he had finished,wasfinishing, in sticky pulses that left him weak and shuddering.
He feared he whimpered when Bel pulled out, but didn’t resist as he was turned over onto his back. Bel’s wings were partly opened. His body blocked out the sky. His gaze was fire. Nicodemus panted up at him, limbs heavy and languorous, his stomach muscles trembling.
Bel put a hand in Nicodemus’ hair, urging his head up.
“Bel,” Nicodemus did not know what he was asking for until Bel began to stroke himself. Then he opened his mouth to catch some of the rope of Bel’s seed as it hit his face. He licked that from his mouth and let Bel bend his knees and lift his legs to enter him again despite how it ached.
“Now,” Bel snarled, satisfied and yet furious, “you’re full at last.”
“Am I?” Nicodemus was not very conscious of what he said, and forgot it as he watched Bel’s chest heave. Bel rocked into him, and held Nicodemus’ shaking legs around him, which was good, because Nicodemus did not have the strength to do it.
Nicodemus had not caught his breath. It did not stop him from running his hands through Bel’s odd, soft fur up to his shoulders, darting a touch over the smooth, almost polished base of one of his horns.
“You saidIwas beautiful?” he asked in wonder, wiping what might have been slippery lubricant and some of his blood from Bel’s bottom lip. Then he looked into Bel’s eyes and realized what he was doing and snatched his hand away. “Sorry.” His words slurred together. His eyelids were heavy. “But…beautiful.”
He turned his head, although he would rather have kept looking at Bel, then remembered where he was, and that this was Bel, not a stranger, and looked back.
Bel regarded him carefully. Nicodemus’ stomach hurt, a little, with his position. His thoughts were swimming. He breathed hard and wanted a kiss and did not get one, but Bel continued to watch him, so he closed his eyes and reveled in it until he felt he could breathe normally again.
“Your seed is on my glasses,” he finally observed, not entirely displeased. “Did you get it on my horns?”
Bel flicked a glance to them, then shook his head.
“Next time?” Nicodemus wondered, and, despite his wince when Bel moved and pulled out, realized he was not full at all, even if Bel wished he was. Bel rose to his feet, cock wet and only somewhat soft, but otherwise had not a mark on him to show what they had done. Maybe Bel did not want a next time. Maybe Nicodemus had not been experienced enough, or had been too loud. Maybe Nicodemus wastoogreedy, even for Bel.
