Chapter 181 - 179: Give In.

Chapter 181: Chapter 179: Give In.

​"What do you want?" The words are out of Drogger’s mouth before he can stop them; he can’t help it.

He needs to know. He needs to know if kissing him meant as much to Rogard as it did to him.

If he was just a passing fancy by twilight like so many before him, or something more.

​Rogard just shrugs, as if he should already know.

​"...Isn’t it obvious?"

​You.

(The difference is that Drogger Noog has always been able to tell what parts of Rogard are fake, and which are real.)

​Just like that, the last shreds of his resolve splinter, and then shatter.

​In the blink of an eye, Rogard’s back crashes into the wall behind him, and Drogger draws in too close, steely gaze fixed on him, searching.

Rogard’s not sure what he’s looking for, or what he sees, but the next thing he knows, his eyes sink closed, and Rogard’s world starts to spin as Drogger leans in and kisses him, deep and slow, like this is their last night on earth.

​For an instant, it doesn’t quite feel real. One moment Rogard’s feeling all muddled up; his heart in his stomach and his stomach in his throat, and not enough air in his lungs, and the next, Drogger’s lips are on his, warm and urgent, and putting his world to right like he knows just where all the jumbled pieces should go, and how to fit them back together.

​So Rogard kisses him back, and as he does, he feels a strong pair of hands reach for his face and then his hair, and the loose fabric of his shirt, like they want him all at once and don’t know where to start, and the fear constricting his heart dissipates into ash, scattering to the wind.

And Rogard greedily reaches for Drogger right back, hands dancing across the broad planes of his shoulders; fingers digging in wherever they find purchase and urging him closer.

​It’s filthier this time.

​Much filthier. And this time, when Rogard kisses him more insistently and moans into his mouth; tongue warm and questioning against his lips, Drogger doesn’t deny him, and kisses him heavy and heated and full until his breaths start coming out in pants, and his body starts to yearn for more.

​He hadn’t realised quite how desperately he wanted him –all of him –until right now.

​The stone is icy against his burning body as Rogard writhes under Drogger’s touch, pinned there by his body, hands coursing up under his shirt to explore the skin beneath.

There’s a restrained deliberation to the way he traces the lines of Rogard’s hips with the palms of his hands and Rogard keens into his mouth, breathless and hungry as he digs his fingers in just so.

He tries to arch into him; aches for him to touch him all over, but Drogger doesn’t let him have his way and presses in tight with his body to hold him where he wants him.

It’s desperately arousing and Rogard gasps into the air, sinking down into him so that Drogger can press hungry, open mouthed kisses against his pale throat.

He rocks him into the wall, granting him a fleeting taste of the contact he’s craving, and a choked moan escapes his throat as Drogger’s hands glide up the taut skin of his abdomen, and circle him as his body answers in kind.

​Reason giving over to a particular, steaming kind of madness, Rogard’s hands scrabble for Drogger’s shirt, clinging to his collar for dear life as they move; giving himself over to the desire building in his gut, and lower.

He aches. He wants. He doesn’t just want more, he needs it, and soon; needs to feel more of Drogger against his skin. In his hands. His mouth.

​All over.

​Almost as if sensing his intentions, Drogger suddenly puts a hand against his chest and pulls away with grey eyes lidded and hazy, panting.

​Face flushed, mouth damp, and shoulders heaving, the ever stern Drogger looks absolutely wrecked, and it’s so unbelievably hot that Rogard almost drops to his knees for him then and there.

​" –Sorry," he says into the inches of space between them, voice hoarse and shoulders shaking.

The hand on Rogard’s chest curls into the fabric once, and then twice, as if it can’t quite bring itself to let go.

​"Don’t be," Rogard assures him, just as breathless. Who kisses someone like that and then apologises for it?

​"No, I..." Drogger sucks in a breath to steady himself, and then lets it out again slowly, "I shouldn’t have gotten carried away."

​"It’s fine, really," Rogard assures him, and grinds down against the leg pressed between his thighs so that he knows just how fine it is.

"More than fine." Drogger’s breath stutters again, the fingers in Rogard’s shirt clenching tight again, and Rogard decides he quite enjoys watching him wrestle with himself.

​Get carried away, he urges silently, that familiar, aching need for more still building up his spine and along his limbs and down into his gut, where it waits, hungry.

Please. He wonders what it would take to get Drogger to take him right here against this wall.

Something in his expression must give him away, because when he leans in to kiss him again, Drogger ducks aside and holds him at bay.

​It doesn’t feel like no, so much as it feels like a not right now, but the disappointment must show too plainly because Drogger releases his shirt to press a thumb to the corner of his lips, like he’s seen a pout and is trying to rub it away.

Then when that doesn’t look to have worked, he reconsiders, and tries a kiss instead –just once, and much softer and more gentle than before –and it makes Rogard blush most fiercely.

Unaware of just how unfair he’s been, he steps away, and Rogard isn’t sure whether his shivers are from the cold, or from his body aching at being left wanting.