Chapter 35: Dangerous Desire

Basil let out a sharp, ragged breath as Darius’s hand closed around him, the contact sending a jolt straight through his entire body. His head tipped back, every muscle drawing taut as sensation washed over him.

A low, helpless sound escaped his throat.

"You like it when I do that, my prince?" Darius murmured against his ear, his breath stirring the fine hairs at the nape of Basil’s neck.

The words only made everything worse.

Darius’s hand began to move, slow at first, almost unbearably so, each deliberate motion drawing out the tension already coiled tight inside him. The steady rhythm left Basil struggling to hold on to a single coherent thought, his pulse pounding louder and louder in his ears.

Darius’s fingers, longer than his own and more confident, the hands of someone who had never second-guessed his place in the world, gripped him harder and increased the pace of his strokes.

"Oh, my Gods, yes." A sharp breath hissed through Basil’s nose.

The pace quickened. Basil’s hand flew to Darius’s shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt as he anchored himself. His forehead dropped into the crook of Darius’s neck, and the scent of him, sandalwood, salt, and something warm and distinctly his, flooded Basil’s senses.

Darius’s thumb found the sensitive ridge beneath the head and pressed.

The resulting jolt of pleasure wrenched Basil’s jaw tight. A strangled sound vibrated against Darius’s throat, and his fingers curled harder into the solid warmth of that shoulder. The world tilted. His body felt weightless, untethered, as though the floor beneath them had dissolved and left only the heat of Darius’s palm and the slick rhythm of his strokes to hold him in place. Floating. He was floating, and Darius was the only thing keeping him from drifting away entirely.

"Look at you," Darius breathed, his voice a low rumble that Basil felt more than heard. "Falling apart for me so easily."

Basil couldn’t muster a response. Words had abandoned him somewhere between the third stroke and the press of that thumb.

Darius’s hand moved faster now, the slide of skin against skin growing slicker with each pass. He twisted his wrist on the upstroke, a devastating little flourish that made Basil’s hips jerk forward involuntarily.

"That’s it," Darius said, his lips grazing the shell of Basil’s ear.

A whimper punched out of Basil’s chest.

Darius’s hand never faltered, never losing that torturous rhymes. An embarrassed whine bubbled up from Basil’s throat. His hips began to move on their own, thrusting into the tight circle of Darius’s fist and setting a rhythm he couldn’t control. The pleasure had sharpened, honed itself to a fine point that threatened to pierce him straight through.

"Darius—" The name escaped before he could swallow it.

Darius pulled back just enough to look at him, and Basil immediately regretted the loss of that warm refuge against his neck. But the expression on Darius’s face, eyes dark and intent, lips slightly parted, a flush riding high on his cheekbones, sent a fresh surge of heat spiraling through his belly.

"What is it, my prince?"

Darius’s hand slowed, and Basil nearly sobbed at the sudden change.

"Tell me what you need."

"Don’t stop." The words were ragged, barely recognizable as his own voice. "Please. Don’t—"

Darius’s thumb traced a slow circle around the swollen head, and Basil’s vision blurred at the edges.

Basil nodded, his forehead nearly brushing Darius’s jaw. "Yes. Yes, just... there..."

Darius’s hand resumed its pace, faster than before, merciless and steady. The wet sounds of each stroke filled the quiet of the room, intimate and impossible to ignore, and Basil found he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed by it.

"You’re so beautiful like this," Darius said, the words coming out rougher than before. His free hand came up to cup the back of Basil’s neck, fingers threading into the damp hair at his nape.

Basil bit down on his lower lip, hard enough to taste copper, but it did nothing to muffle the groan that tore from his throat.

Darius’s grip on the back of Basil’s neck tightened slightly, demanding his attention. The strokes grew faster still, his wrist snapping with practiced precision, and his thumb swept over that devastating spot with every other pass.

"I... I... please..." Basil gasped as heat flooded his chest. The relentless motion stripped away the last shred of his composure. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, his hips bucking helplessly into Darius’s grasp.

​The coil inside him wound tighter and tighter, threatening to snap, as the relentless grip became too much.

His body seized. His back arched, a cry tearing from his throat as the tension inside him finally broke. Darius’s hand kept moving, drawing out every pulse, every shuddering aftershock, ruthless until the very end, as Basil spilled hot and thick over his own trembling fingers.

​The illusion dispersed the moment he came to his senses. The phantom weight of Darius vanished into thin air, leaving Basil standing alone in the cold, silent washroom.

A sick feeling twisted in his stomach.

Not only had he spent twenty-one years living a life that should have belonged to Darius, but now he was using the man’s face, his voice, and his imagined touch to satisfy desires Basil didn’t even understand.

The realization hit him like a punch to the chest. "God, I’m fucking disgusting."

His throat tightened with self-loathing as he dragged a shaky hand across his face. Shame settled over him like a heavy blanket, suffocating and impossible to escape. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at his own reflection. "What the hell is wrong with me?"

He stumbled toward the glass shower stall, shoved the door open, and twisted the handle with more force than necessary. A second later, icy water crashed down over him.

Basil braced both hands against the tiled wall and lowered his head, letting the freezing stream soak his hair and run down his face.

The cold bit into his skin, but he welcomed it.

Anything was better than the lingering heat still clinging to him. He stood there beneath the relentless spray, eyes closed, desperately trying to wash away the shame, the confusion, and the stubborn memory of Darius’s touch and voice that refused to leave him alone.