His fingers tiptoe down a bare abdomen, which rises and falls in a steady rhythm beneath his touch. The flesh beneath his fingers is alabaster pale, tinged pink, and oh-so-sensitive.
Stark grins, and lets his tongue follow the path of his fingers, tracing over skin that shouldn’t taste sweet but does. Like spun sugar, the same to match the hair on his lover’s head, and the thatch of bright pink at his groin.
Szayel sucks in air through his teeth as Stark nips at his bare belly and sticks his tongue in his navel, something that should tickle but doesn’t. Freak that Szayel is, everything is a turn on. All Stark has to do is breathe.
Szayel moans when Stark’s fingers trek over a prominent hipbone, and his tongue quickly follows, nibbling a love mark over the nub.
“You tease me,” Szayel accuses, his voice tight, his body taut with need. Sweat paints his pale, pale skin, giving it a delicious sheen.
Szayel’s cock is hard and weeping, Stark swipes a thumb over the head of it just to prove his point, and Szayel’s back arches beautifully. He cries out, but Stark grips him tightly again, preventing him from coming.
Stark’s mouth moves lower, nibbling on the tender flesh of an inner thigh, one that marks even easier than the rest of Szayel’s skin. “You like to be teased,” he returns with a breath of warm, moist air against Szayel’s thigh.
“Not indefinitely!” Szayel argues, and when Stark looks up, Szayel is sucking his lower lip into his mouth, a hazy look of want and need in his ocher eyes.
Stark grins. “I’m not seeing a reason to hurry up yet,” he replies, and drags his nails down Szayel’s abdomen, little red marks raising in his wake.
Szayel’s breath quickens, his eyes dilate. And his reiatsu rises in the room, little more than a slap to the head cushioned by Stark’s own.
“I’ll eat you,” Szayel threatens through gritted teeth, fingers clenching in the bedsheets. Yet, he’s made no move to grab Stark, no move to take what he wants.
He knows that he can’t. That Stark will push him down, blanket him under power, and make Szayel scream his name each and every time.
Stark laughs. “I’m sure you would,” he says, and scoots down a little further on the bed, until he’s right where he is sure Szayel wants him to be. “But for right now, allow me to take that honor.” And he lowers his lips, much to Szayel’s shriek of delight.