He kissed Malekith again, his answer a silent promise, and Malekith’s answering smile was a dangerous, wicked thing. The rest of the world fell away, leaving only the two of them in the darkness, and Aric let himself be consumed.

Aric’s breath hitched as Malekith’s mouth descended, a scorching brand on his fevered skin. Down the firm swell of Aric’s chest, the hard tiles of his abs, then lower, into the golden hairs that trailed almost from his navel to the root of his cock. Malekith’s lips, so full and soft, closed around the head of his shaft, already stirring to hardness, and Aric’s hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more. Malekith’s hands rested on his hips, holding him still as he swirled his tongue, tasting, teasing. A low groan escaped Aric’s throat, and he threaded his fingers into that silky black hair, guiding Malekith’s mouth down, down, until he was fully sheathed in that wet, velvety heat.

Malekith hummed in response, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure through Aric’s body. He moved with slow, deliberate languor, sucking and laving with practiced skill. Aric’s head fell back, his eyes fluttering closed as he surrendered to the onslaught of sensations. He was keenly aware of every stroke of Malekith’s tongue, every scrape of teeth, every gentle tug of his hair. It was too much and not enough, a sweet torture that left him breathless and desperate.

He wanted to thrust, to take, but Malekith held him firmly in place by the hips, dictating the pace. Aric’s muscles quivered with the effort of holding back, his entire body thrumming with pent-up desire. He was acutely sensitive, every nerve ending singing, and he felt each touch, each caress, like an electric shock.

Malekith’s hands slid up his thighs, stroking and kneading, his mouth never still. His thumbs brushed the sensitive skin of Aric’s inner thighs, and Aric’s breath hitched, his hips twitching. Malekith’s eyes, dark and hooded, met his, and Aric saw the promise there. A silent plea formed on his lips, and Malekith responded, his mouth working Aric’s cock with renewed fervor.

Aric’s hands tightened in Malekith’s hair, his knuckles white as he struggled for control. He was teetering on the edge, his entire body coiled tight, and then Malekith’s fingers, slick with oil, pressed against him, seeking entry. Aric’s eyes flew open, his breath catching as he felt that first burn of penetration. Malekith’s finger pushed past the resistance of his body, and Aric’s back arched, a strangled cry escaping his throat.

Malekith’s mouth left his cock with a wet pop, and he murmured words of encouragement, his breath hot against Aric’s sensitized skin. His finger thrust slowly, carefully, scissoring and stretching, preparing him. Aric’s body trembled from holding still, his cock leaking against his abdomen. He wanted more, needed more, and his hips bucked restlessly, seeking friction.

Malekith added a second finger, stretching him further, and Aric bit his lip to stifle a moan. It burned, but the pleasure was indescribable, a white-hot brand that seared through him. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet, he trusted Malekith to take care of him. Malekith’s fingers worked him open, each thrust hitting that spot that made his vision spark and his cock twitch.

“Please,” Aric gasped, his voice hoarse and desperate. “I need⁠—”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Malekith understood. He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself at Aric’s entrance, the thick cock Aric had only experienced once before even more impressive for the experience: subtly ridged, broad and long, with precum beading like pearls at the tip. Aric’s eyes met his, searching, questioning, and Malekith’s expression softened. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Aric’s lips, before pulling back to look into his eyes.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “I won’t let you fall.”

Aric nodded, his throat tight with emotion. He trusted Malekith, even as he feared the depth of his own feelings. With a slow, steady thrust, Malekith entered him, every ridge of his cock a shuddering sensation that rippled across Aric’s hole, and Aric’s breath stuttered. He was big, and Aric had to adjust, his body stretching to accommodate him. Malekith gave him a moment, their foreheads resting together as they breathed in unison.

Then, with a slow, relentless rhythm, Malekith began to move. Each thrust was deliberate, claiming, and Aric’s body responded, opening and welcoming him in. The stretch burned, but it was a good pain, a pleasure so intense it bordered on agony. Aric’s hands clutched at Malekith’s shoulders, his fingers digging into the hard muscle as he met each thrust, rising to meet him.

Malekith’s mouth found his again, their tongues tangling in a desperate, hungry kiss. Aric could taste the salt of himself on Malekith’s lips, and it sent a jolt of desire straight to his core. He wanted more, craved it, and his hips moved in time with Malekith’s, their bodies moving as one.

“My golden mage,” Malekith growled. “My star. Mine alone.”

“Make me yours,” Aric said, hoarsely, and he would beg for it again and again until it was so.

The pace quickened, growing frantic as their need escalated. Malekith’s thrusts became sharper, more insistent, and Aric met him with equal fervor. He was lost in a haze of pleasure, his entire body on fire, every nerve ending singing. Malekith’s name fell from his lips in a litany, a prayer, as he chased the peak that beckoned, just out of reach.

“You are mine,” Malekith said. “Always.”

His claws found Aric’s back, and dug in, though it didn’t feel quite like he was merely raking at Aric’s flesh. It was something magical, dark and elegant being etched onto him, infusing him with something that tasted and hummed with Malekith’s power that by now he knew so well.

And then, with a final, deep thrust, Malekith found that spot again, and Aric’s world exploded. His release crashed over him, a tsunami of pleasure that left him gasping, his body shaking uncontrollably. Malekith followed, his own release a hot rush deep within Aric, and he buried his face in Aric’s neck, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps until he sank his teeth into the side of Aric’s neck with a ferocity that pierced even Aric’s delirious haze.

They stayed like that, locked together, their hearts pounding in unison. Aric’s body felt boneless, sated, and he wanted nothing more than to stay in Malekith’s arms, to lose himself in this moment of connection. But even as he clung to the demon prince, he knew it was an illusion. Their worlds were still at war, and the future they sought was so very far away.

But for now, in this moment, he could pretend. He could pretend that Malekith’s arms were his sanctuary, that their bodies could communicate what their words could not. And as he listened to the steady beat of Malekith’s heart, he allowed himself to hope, just for a little while.

Even if he was only fooling himself.

Sometime later, Malekith’s breath ghosted over Aric’s ear, warm and intimate. “I have a plan,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “A way to end this. But I can’t reveal more yet.”

Aric’s heart leapt, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. He turned his head, searching Malekith’s face in the dim light. Malekith’s eyes were dark, unreadable, but there was an intensity there that made Aric’s breath catch.

“What do you mean?” Aric asked, his voice hoarse. “End what, exactly?”

Malekith’s fingers traced idle patterns on Aric’s skin, sending shivers down his spine, and once again Aric felt that intricate magic from Malekith’s claws flare to life along his back. “All of it,” he murmured. “The same thing you want, my star. I need you to trust me.”

Trust. Such a simple word, yet so fraught with meaning. Aric wanted so desperately to believe him. But doubt lingered, a cold knot in the pit of his stomach.

“Why can’t you tell me more?” Frustration edged into Aric’s voice. “If you have a plan, let me help. I’ve already given you everything I have.”

Malekith’s expression softened, a flicker of something like regret passing over his features. “Not everything, little mage. Not yet.” His hand cupped Aric’s cheek, thumb brushing over his lower lip. “There are ears everywhere, even here. The less you know, the safer you are.”

Aric closed his eyes, leaning into Malekith’s touch despite himself. Hope warred with doubt in his chest, leaving him breathless and uncertain. He wanted to believe that Malekith truly meant to end the war, that there was a way out of this tangled web of politics and bloodshed. But he couldn’t shake the nagging fear that this was just another manipulation, another layer of Malekith’s grand design.

When he opened his eyes again, Malekith was watching him, his gaze intent and searching. Aric met that gaze, trying to see past the mask of the scion of House Ixion to glimpse the truth beneath. But Malekith remained inscrutable, a beautiful enigma wrapped in shadows and secrets.

“I want to believe you,” Aric whispered, the words heavy on his tongue.

Malekith’s lips curved into a smile, sad and knowing. “I know,” he said softly. “That’s all I can ask for now.”

He pressed a kiss to Aric’s forehead, gentle and achingly tender, before pulling away. The loss of his warmth left Aric feeling bereft, adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

As Malekith rose from the bed, his lithe form silhouetted against the dim light, Aric watched him go. Questions burned on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. Whatever game Malekith was playing, whatever plan he had set in motion, Aric knew he was just a piece on the board. A pawn, perhaps, or something more. But until Malekith chose to reveal his hand, all Aric could do was wait and wonder.

And hope, against all reason, that Malekith’s promise of an end to the war was more than just another beautiful lie.

Two

Aric had been one of the youngest mages ever accepted into the Order, his talent for magic evident from the moment he could crawl, if the scorch marks on the nursery walls were any indication. He’d been a prodigy, a once-in-a-generation kind of power, and he’d known it, too, with a cocksure grin and a toss of his sandy hair. But for all his skill, there was much he still had to learn, a fact that his mentor, Olaya, never let him forget.

“You are like an untempered blade,” she told him, her voice a gentle reprimand as they stood in the courtyard, the spires of the Silver Tower rising high above them. “All that raw power, but no discipline to shape it. You must learn control, Aric, or one day your flames will consume you.”

Aric bristled at the rebuke, as he always did. He was in control. Mostly. But he knew he had to master the more delicate aspects of magic if he was to achieve his true goal: protecting the human realm at any cost. And if that meant enduring Olaya’s endless drills and exercises, then so be it.

One of those exercises involved training the younger apprentices, a task Olaya had assigned to him in the hopes that it might instill a sense of responsibility and humility in her headstrong protege. Aric did his best, he really did, but there was only so much patience he could muster for those who didn’t share his burning passion for magic.

“You must always be ready to act,” he told the young apprentice he was currently mentoring, a bookish boy named Tomas. “The demons will not hesitate to strike, and neither can we. If you take nothing else from our time together, remember that.”

Tomas nodded, his eyes wide as he tried to absorb his mentor’s wisdom. Aric had been much the same when he was a young apprentice, in awe of the older mages and hungry for knowledge. But he’d also been headstrong and overconfident, thinking he could master the most powerful spells before he’d even learned the basics. If only he could go back and shake some sense into his younger self.

“Let us begin with the summoning circle,” Aric said, leading Tomas down into the chamber where they would conduct their practice. “You have to be precise with your measurements, or the whole thing will be thrown off.”

Tomas dutifully set to work, measuring out the intricate design of the circle with a nub of chalk. Aric watched over his shoulder, his impatience simmering just below the surface. There was a time and a place for caution, but this was not it.

“Like this,” Aric said, snatching the chalk from Tomas’s hand. In a few quick, careless strokes, he completed the circle. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to work.”

Tomas winced, but he held his tongue. Aric was not his mentor for nothing, and the younger mage knew that Aric would never strike him for such a minor infraction. “I know it has to work, but⁠—”

“But nothing,” Aric said. “You have to trust in your own power. If you doubt yourself, even for a second, the demons will sense it. They will smell your fear, and they will use it against you.”