Hanz wasn’t being silent as he approached. At least three times his shoes scuffed in the loose pebbles on the roof, but Seraph didn’t turn. Hanz reached down and picked up Seraph’s wrist.
Now Seraph did react, turning on him. He snarled, exposing his fangs. Hanz held Seraph, one hand on his wrist, the other on his throat, and he waited for Seraph to recognize him.
And recognize him Seraph did. His eyes widened, which considering they were already bugging out a little, was downright comical.
“You.” The word was spat at Hanz’s feet.
“Me,” Hanz agreed. He pointed to Lyall, who was just then moving off. “Not yours. Leave him alone.”
Seraph exposed his teeth again, curling back his lip. Hanz squeezed the wrist he still held hard enough that he felt the bones separate. Seraph’s snarl deepened, as though daring him to snap the damn thing. Hanz came within a fraction of an ounce of actually doing it.
Still, Seraph didn’t break. His mouth twitched, now more from pain than anger, but he kept Hanz’s gaze the whole time.
Hanz let him go. Seraph only closed his eyes for a second, then took his wrist back, delicately. He couldn’t fool Hanz; Hanz could smell the broken capillaries and torn tissue in the wrist, but Seraph reacted as though it had been a minor wrist slap. He brought his hand back and licked where the bruises of Hanz’s fingers were starting to form.
“You doing bitch runs for Janus now, too?” Seraph asked. He cocked his head, leaning towards Hanz. Hanz wanted to take a step back, but he’d already broken once in front of Seraph and didn’t want to do it again.
And Seraph knew it. He took another step closer. “You’re full of elder blood,” he said, and dared to put his injured hand on Hanz’s chest.
“What did you expect I’d be full of?” Hanz asked.
Seraph looked up at him, eyes slitted. He wasn’t smiling, not yet, but the ghost of it was on his lips. Perhaps he was prettier than Hanz had originally allowed for, if Hanz were to go for the china doll look. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Maybe I want to see how clever your tongue is.”
“Surely you can think of a better way.”
Hanz wanted to draw back. He wanted to go back down to the street and get in his car. He wanted. Yes. He wanted. “Get on your knees.” His voice was a growl.
Seraph smiled, his tongue slipping between his lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Seraph dropped down, undoing Hanz’s slacks. Hanz wanted to push him back. It wasn’t right. He didn’t stop Seraph from licking his way up Hanz’s thigh. It tickled, but not in a bad way. He even went so far as to stroke Seraph’s cheek.
He grabbed Seraph’s chin, letting Seraph fight, but he was stronger and at the better angle. “That is not on the table,” he said, but didn’t apply pressure.
“What’s another kind of suck between friends?” Seraph looked up, but didn’t put his fangs away.
“So many things wrong in that one little sentence.” Hanz was just beginning to feel the stir of his erection. For some reason, feeling Seraph’s throat and the blood just beneath his fingers was turning him on more than it should. “You going to play nice or am I going to have to –”
“What, hurt me?” Seraph broke in. “You tried that, remember?”
“Go,” Hanz finished. “I’m going to have to go.”
Seraph’s fangs pulled back in, and he bared his flat, human teeth at Hanz. “See? Puppy has no teeth. You want to be sucked off or not?”
Hanz let him go. Seraph took a moment to adjust his jeans, then began drumming his fingers behind Hanz’s testicles. It was so sudden and unexpected he jerked, and was rewarded by another smirk from Seraph.
And, he was hard. Seraph’s long, cold fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, holding it up to expose the thick vein on its base. Hanz tensed, expecting to have to push Seraph away, but couldn’t move. Even after Seraph ran his teeth — flat and dull — against the length.
Someone had trained Seraph well. The coordinated effort involved in making the fingers still rubbing Hanz’s perineum match the movement of Seraph’s fist was maddening. Hanz had nothing to hold onto, but didn’t want to grip Seraph’s head if it meant disrupting what he was doing with his tongue.
So instead, he spread his legs further and concentrated on just standing upright while the master went down. He thought he’d kept track of all Seraph’s fingers, but then Seraph managed to find his prostate. It didn’t entirely seem possible; if Hanz’s brain was any more functional he would have demanded a re-count. But it wasn’t, and Seraph’s slick fingers rubbed just exactly right. Hanz couldn’t help himself. He grabbed Seraph’s head, pulling himself deeper down Seraph’s throat, and Seraph held onto his hips and let him push.
The intense wave of the orgasm didn’t last, though his cock still in Seraph’s mouth did help prolong it an extra moment. His blood sang in his ears, his stomach muscles tensed, and his knees and elbows ached with pleasure. Then it was over. He wondered, incongruously, if he’d parked in a no-parking zone.
Seraph sat back first and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Good?” he asked.
“You don’t need me to tell you that,” Hanz said, then took a second to do his slacks up again. “But thank you.”
Seraph shrugged, then stood up in one fluid motion, more cat-like than human. “You wouldn’t have done the same.”
“You don’t know that.” Hanz took a step forward.
Seraph held out his hand. “No, but I can guess. And knowing you, you’d only do it wrong,” he said, and took three steps backwards.
He was only two steps to the edge of the building. The third one wasn’t a trip, and Hanz couldn’t quite follow Seraph flipping over the edge and falling — jumping? — the seven stories. Seraph landed on his feet, again, like a cat, and was gone, running down the street.
Hanz, wisely, took the stairs.
Master of the Line series
Barbara Geiger 