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Shane’s plane has already touched down by the time Ryan arrives at LAX. He pulls into the passenger pick-up area and finds a space near the entrance to wait, making sure his cap and sunglasses are firmly in place before he exits the car.
He tries to adopt a casual lean as he scans the doors, though the effect is probably ruined by the nervous tap of his sneaker against the sidewalk. He forces his foot to still, grimacing.
There’s no stopping the anxious swirl of his blood, however, or the heat that has been steadily building beneath his skin for the past few days. The past week, really.
Pathetic, he thinks, because it is. He’s gone without for much longer, has learned to control his hunger, and yet here he is, unable to suppress the physical effects of his desire. They’re mild for now, nothing a few accessories can’t hide. At least the weather is on his side: the mid-afternoon sun gives him enough of an excuse to wear shades, and Shane won’t find anything strange about him wearing a cap.
Not that Ryan will be able to hide for long. He never can, not with Shane. His ridiculous beanpole of a boyfriend always seems to know when the hunger strikes, can pick up on even the most subtle of changes in Ryan’s demeanor: a hitch of breath, a loss of focus, a sudden desire for contact. Hell, he encourages it more often than not, enjoys riling Ryan up whenever those familiar cravings strike, which, honestly, is news to no one. The sky is blue, water is wet, and Shane Madej loves to watch Ryan Bergara squirm.
Not even learning what Ryan was had changed that, and though Ryan would never admit it, he’s grateful – for Shane’s consistency, his acceptance, and his apparent ease when faced with the knowledge that his friend and coworker wasn’t entirely, well, human.
He could do without his own body’s visceral reaction to the guy, though – the shiver that courses down his spine as Shane appears in the entrance, the simmer of heat in his belly at the sight of that familiar goofy face and crooked grin. He has to grit his teeth as his hunger flares from a mildly inconvenient itch to a sharp, insistent ache.
Get your shit together, Bergara, Ryan thinks, plastering a smile on his face as Shane catches sight of him and heads over, his suitcase clattering along behind him.
“Welcome home, big guy,” he says, a prickle of sweat building along his brow as Shane’s long legs eat up the distance between them in seconds. He should not find those giraffe limbs as attractive as he does, goddamn it. “Sorry I didn’t have a sign.”
“No big deal,” Shane replies easily, ducking down to press a kiss to his mouth. Ryan know it’s coming, could avoid it if he really wanted to – it’ll do him no favors, not in his current state – but he closes his eyes instead, parting his lips and shivering at the soft touch of Shane’s mouth against his. Chaste as the kiss is, it sates the restless itch beneath his skin, if only for a moment. Shane pulls back and smiles, a teasing lilt to his voice as he says, “I recognized your hat and lack of height.”
“Oh, hardy har har,” Ryan deadpans, taking a careful step away. It’s easier to breathe once the familiar scent of Shane’s detergent and aftershave recedes; muted as it is by the stale air of a plane, it’s still overwhelming after a week without it. “Get in the car before I leave your ass.”
“You’d miss it too much,” Shane chortles, stowing his suitcase in the back and folding his body into the passenger seat.
Ryan doesn’t dignify that with a response, focusing instead on sliding into the driver’s seat and maneuvering the car into the steady trickle of traffic, pointing them toward home. He asks Shane about his trip as they leave the hustle and bustle of the airport in the review mirror, calming beneath the familiar low cadence of his boyfriend’s voice. It sates the prickle of hunger at the back of his throat, somehow, just listening to Shane talk, and Ryan can almost relax, his spine falling out of its rigid line as Shane regales him with stories of his family and how they had spent the week.
Eventually, though, his voice trickles to a stop. “I think that’s enough about me,” he says, a contemplative tinge to his voice, and – fucking shit – snatches the cap from Ryan’s head.
“Damn it, Shane,” Ryan curses, making a grab for it. He immediately takes back every nice thought he ever had about the asshole or his stupid voice. “Give it back, you dick.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Shane tsks, stowing the cap out of reach between his seat and the car door. “Eyes on the road, Ryan. No distractions while you’re towing precious cargo.”
Ryan scowls, muttering, “Precious cargo, my ass,” under his breath, but turns his eyes back to the road all the same. He knows Shane is watching him, can feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch, and can already imagine the idiocy that’s about to come out of his mouth. “If you make one comment about me being a horny boy, I’ll drop-kick you out of the car.”
Shane snorts. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Ry,” he says, in the tone of voice that implies the exact opposite. Ryan refuses to look at him, and so isn’t prepared for the weight of a palm curving around the base of his skull, long, slender fingers dragging through the short hairs there. They don’t stray any further, a fact for which Ryan is suddenly extremely grateful, because even that touch is enough to make his hands spasm around the steering wheel. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Shane asks him, softer. “I could have come home sooner.”
Ryan shakes his head, even as he fights the urge to arch into the caress like some kind of goddamn housecat. “It’s not a big deal,” he murmurs. “I had it under control.”
“Mm hm,” Shane hums, unconvinced. “Is that why the boys are out?” His fingers brush over the top of Ryan’s head, a light, almost ticklish touch against the charcoal-colored horns sprouting from his skull – small enough for now to be nearly hidden amongst the strands of his hair, though that won’t last long if Shane keeps touching him – and Ryan nearly vibrates out of his seat.
He ducks his head safely out of reach of Shane’s sneaky fingers, shooting him a glare. “Don’t call them that.”
Shane smirks, tapping his finger against the rim of Ryan’s sunglasses. “Wanna explain these, then?”
“Do I really need to explain the function of sunglasses to you, Shane?”
“You could,” Shane drawls, unruffled. “Or you could stop avoiding the subject and give me a straight answer.”
“I’m not avoiding anything,” Ryan says. “I’m just… refusing to talk about it.”
“Ryan.”
Ryan goes still, fingers clenching around the steering wheel. He’s familiar – intimately so – with that tone of voice. He’s never been able to refuse it.
“I’m gonna ask you once, okay?” Shane continues. To the untrained ear his voice would sound perfectly casual, almost bored, but there’s an edge to it that drives a spike of want straight to Ryan’s dick. Fuck. “All you have to do is answer yes or no, and be truthful. Can you do that?”
Ryan chews on his lower lip, nodding slowly. At Shane’s pointed silence, he parts his lips and croaks, “Y-yeah. Yes.”
“Good.” The satisfaction is so thick in Shane’s voice that Ryan nearly bristles, but he’s soothed by the warmth of a wide palm curving over his thigh. Soothed and a little annoyed to find the touch soothing. His relationship with Shane has always been a conundrum. “Okay. Yes or no – are you hungry?”
Something in Ryan’s chest crumples. He thinks it’s the last sliver of his control, the bit of resistance he had been clinging to so tightly since he felt the first stirrings of need days ago. It’s there and gone so quickly that his breath hitches at its loss, the desire (the hunger) clawing like a wild thing at his throat and in his belly. The answer is so obvious it’s laughable – Shane already knows, had been able to tell on sight, like always, and there’s no point in trying to hide from him.
So Ryan gives in, and his voice, when he can finally dredge up the mind to speak, skirts the border between anguished and desperate. “Yes.”
He was never like this, before. He’d always had the hunger under control, didn’t need to feed often or much at all unless he had gone too long without. Food sustained him just as well, though it never did quite sate that itch, the craving for skin and sweat, breath and heat.
He could go weeks without indulging, though, or even months, and had done so before. It was ridiculous that a mere seven day fast had reduced him to this, panting against Shane’s collarbone as he’s pressed into the door, a groan tearing from his throat as Shane’s bony hips slot between his thighs.
He blames Shane: Shane and his goofy grin and sleepy eyes and messy hair. Shane and his huge hands and ridiculous layers and stupid laugh. Shane and his stubbled jaw and long legs and soft, deep sighs.
Shane and his taste, sweet and thick and rich on Ryan’s tongue, in his lungs, familiar and hot and so fucking good. Ryan’s never tasted anything like it, can’t help but to gorge himself whenever the opportunity arises, until they’re both sweat-soaked and blissed out and sore, Shane plastered against his side and shaking with laughter at Ryan’s languid sprawl, teasing him for how sleepy and content he becomes after sex.
It’s no different now; one taste and Ryan’s hooked, not just hungry but starving. He surges beneath Shane’s hands, mouthing along the dip of his collarbone, tasting salt and sweat and remnants of Shane’s cologne. He’s hard, has been since Shane reached for his thigh in the car; they both are, hot and straining against the zip of their jeans, and it’s suddenly too much and not nearly enough. Ryan grabs fistfuls of Shane’s flannel shirt and struggles not to rip the offending garment away.
“M’not going anywhere, Ry,” Shane murmurs, a hint of laughter in his voice. He’s short of breath and so warm, his hands wrapped low around Ryan’s hips, guiding them against his own in a slow, aching grind. “Or are you just in that much of a rush to get me naked?”
“Sorry,” Ryan mumbles, forcing his fingers to unclench from Shane’s shirt. Guilt churns in his stomach, dulling the sharp edges of his hunger. What he is, what he needs – it’s a lot to deal with. He wonders sometimes if it’s too much, if Shane ever feels overwhelmed by it all, or burdened, or worse, if he ever feels used, like all Ryan needs him for is to sate his hunger.
But it – them, together – has never been about that. Ryan’s hunger is a factor, yes, especially now, when he’s aching from their separation (short as it was, and fuck, he really needs to get a grip), but it’s only one aspect of their relationship, one single facet of a complicated, amazing whole. Ryan – he needs Shane, wants Shane, and had for years before they ever decided to explore an intimate relationship, not because he needs to feed, or calm his hunger, but because he loves him. Loves Shane. Big, ridiculous, infuriating Shane.
Fingers curl around his cheeks, lifting his head until Shane can catch his gaze. His thumbs stroke over the arch of Ryan’s cheekbones, just beneath the curve of his eyes. No longer hidden behind his shades – those had been knocked off as soon as they’d stumbled into Shane’s apartment, along with his cap – they stand out in stark relief, the usual soft brown of his irises swallowed up by molten gold.
“It’s bad this time, isn’t it?” Shane asks. His voice has lost its familiar teasing lilt, and is all the softer for it. “C’mon, Bergara, tell me. How hungry are you? Scale of one to ten, one being airport hot dogs, ten being popcorn.”
A laugh escapes Ryan’s lips, genuine as only Shane can coax from him, though a little shaky around the edges. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, not answering the question. Shane merely arches a brow in response, and Ryan sighs, ducking his head. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” Shane ducks his head so Ryan can’t hide, lips lifted in a grin. “You’ve just been missing your daily dose of Shane, which, honestly? Is perfectly understandable. I’m surprised you held out this long.”
Ryan snorts. “You’re a little full of yourself, big guy. Anyone ever told you that?”
Shane’s grin shifts into a smirk, like a switch being flipped. “Tough talk coming from someone who seems pretty damn eager to be full of me.” He waggles his eyebrows; it’s such a ridiculous display that Ryan nearly chokes on his laughter, even as a fresh wave of heat pools in his belly.
“Jesus Christ,” he wheezes, wrapping his fingers in Shane’s collar. “Just kiss me before I start to wonder why I put up with you.”
Shane huffs against his mouth but complies, and Ryan licks the taste of laughter – light, airy, sweet – from his lips with an eager roll of his tongue. There’s always been something a little addicting about Shane’s laughter, how sweet it tastes – how sweet it sounds – when he’s happy, how dark and rich it becomes when he’s aroused. Ryan surges up on the tips of his toes and chases the taste with a happy groan.
It’s a clumsy, somewhat treacherous path from there to Shane’s bedroom, but Shane gets them there easily enough. Ryan barely notices the change in scenery, too preoccupied with the sensation of so much warm skin beneath his palms. He’s managed to pop the buttons free on Shane’s flannel and undershirt and has his palms splayed over a firm chest, drunk on the thrum of Shane’s pulse beneath his fingertips.
Shane slips free of his hold, but Ryan only has to mourn the loss for a moment, until gravity and the arms wrapped around his hips pull him down to join Shane on the bed. They land in a sprawl of limbs and soft laughter, quickly muffled by one hungry mouth catching on another. Minutes pass, the bedroom awash with the sound of heavy breaths and soft groans, the slick, muted pop of lips meeting, clinging wetly, and parting again.
The rustle of clothes soon joins the cacophony: buttons plucked from their holes, zippers parting, fabric slipping over broad shoulders and pulled free of wriggling hips – all barriers stripped away in the pursuit of skin on skin. Discarded, they fall to the floor or sail from the bed, cast away and forgotten until none remain.
Finally bare, Shane stretches beneath him, stomach and groin tucked against Ryan’s. Thighs splayed around Ryan’s hips, long legs wrapped loosely around Ryan’s thighs, the length of him deliciously naked and exposed beneath his lover’s hungry gaze. Miraculously, the effect isn’t ruined by the wide, goofy grin plastered across his face; if anything, it only serves to stoke Ryan’s desire, his dick twitching where it’s pressed against Shane’s, and god, he really does have it bad for the big guy, doesn’t he?
“Well?” Shane breathes, nudging Ryan’s hip with his knee. “You waiting for an invitation or what?” He stretches out his arms, wiggling his hips beneath Ryan’s bulk. “Bon appétit, baby!”
Ryan shakes his head, ducking down to suck a bruise along the curve of Shane’s stubbled jaw so that he won’t give in and laugh at the man’s antics. “Shut up, Shane,” he murmurs, his mouth trailing a path down the length of Shane’s neck until he can press the curve of his smile into the dip of Shane’s collarbone. “You’re gonna ruin the mood.”
Shane’s laughter rumbles against his lips, low and husky. “Gonna go ahead and call bullshit on that, little guy,” he says, smirking as he reaches between them, long fingers curling around Ryan’s cock.
Ryan sucks in a sharp breath. “And I’m gonna have to ask you not to call me that when you’ve got your hand wrapped around my dick,” he bites out between gritted teeth. It’s a testament to how far gone he is that he’s unraveling from such a simple touch; Shane isn’t even moving, just holding him, and Ryan can already feel tremors working down the length of his spine.
“You could always shut me up,” Shane muses, and Ryan bristles at the self-satisfied tone of his voice. He’s supposed to be in his element here, not shaking like a leaf because of a few strokes, yet here he is, panting as Shane’s big hand trails up the length of his cock, fingertips catching on the head and smearing the drops of pre-come gathered there.
He’ll just have to even the playing field.
“Oh yeah?” He leans over Shane toward the bedside table, hissing as the movement drags his cock through the circle of Shane’s fist, and plunders the top drawer for the lube he knows is stashed there. “That what you want?” Ryan has no preference either way. He’d be just as eager for Shane to fuck him into the mattress as he is to feel Shane’s body part around his cock. Both, if Shane’s amenable to the idea.
“I mean, I did just get off a long flight,” Shane drawls, a lascivious curl to his lips. “The least you can do is do all the work.”
Ryan smirks, dropping the lube by Shane’s hip before gently freeing himself from Shane’s hold. “Is that Shane-speak for please fuck me, Ryan?” he asks, his lips fluttering over Shane’s chest.
“Oh, is that what you heard?” Shane breathes, shoulders sinking into the mattress as Ryan’s mouth draws a path down the center of his torso. “I mean, you may as well, since you’re headed that way and all.”
Ryan breathes a laugh against Shane’s sternum, but doesn’t respond. He has a goal in mind now, but that doesn’t mean he can’t make a few detours along the way. There’s a lot of ground to cover, after all, and Ryan prides himself on being thorough.
He hits up all of his favorite spots: laves at each nipple in turn, feeling them pebble beneath the ministrations of his lips and tongue; nibbles at the dip of Shane’s navel, grinning as Shane’s abdominal muscles twitch beneath his mouth; sinks his teeth into the curve of Shane’s right hip, just deep enough to ache but not break skin. Shane arches beneath him with a muttered curse, his hands grasping for Ryan’s hair and sinking in. His fingers brush over the horns half-hidden by dark strands; at Ryan’s hitched breath, they begin to stroke, over and over the rounded points, drifting down to scratch at each base where they sprout from Ryan’s scalp.
“F-fuck,” Ryan whimpers, golden eyes slipping closed. Pre-come dribbles from his slit at the electric sensation, each caress to his horns going straight to his cock, and he reaches for the lube before his thoughts can scatter like leaves in the wind, slathering his fingers and ducking down to mouth at the head of Shane’s prick at the same time.
He savors the gasp he receives for his efforts, savors the taste of Shane’s flesh on his tongue, sharp and thick and hot. He wraps his fingers around Shane’s base, sparing a glance at Shane’s face – half-lidded eyes trained on him, mouth slack as Shane draws in heavy breaths – and sinks down as far as he can go.
Shane’s thighs go rigid against Ryan’s shoulders, his fingers clenching tight in Ryan’s hair. A burst of slick eases from the head of his dick, tucked into the wet heat of Ryan’s mouth, and a growl builds in the back of Ryan’s throat as he swallows it down.
"Holy shit," Shane rasps, his head falling back with a muffled thump. His fingers shake within Ryan's hair, nudging clumsily against his horns, and Ryan's eyes slip closed as he surrenders to the blissful push and pull against his sensitive skin. Combined with the heavy weight of Shane on his tongue and the sweet musk of his flesh, it's enough to sink Ryan into a haze – a haze of heat and skin and the scent of sex, pleasure curling thick and hot in the pit of his belly.
His body aches to cast off its glamours: the bronze leeching from his skin to be replaced by deep, rich burgundy, the whites of his eyes bleeding into pitch until all that remains are the rings of his golden irises, the blunt edges of his teeth and nails growing sharp.
If there’s anyone he could drop his disguise around, be his true self around, it’s Shane. Shane, who had taken one look at him, all those weeks ago when Ryan had stood before him in his true form, swallowing back more fear than he could ever remember feeling in any of their haunted locations, and said, “All those times we risked our necks to catch some horny boys and one was right next to me? That’s some fantastic irony at work, Ryan. Also? What kind of piss poor demon is scared of ghosts?”
Ryan had been so relieved that all he could do was laugh, though his eyes had been wet with more than just mirth by the time Shane had approached him, wrapping long arms around Ryan’s shoulders and bumping their foreheads together with a solemn, “Really, Ryan. This is what you’ve been freaking out about? Thanks for making me worry over nothing, asshole.”
And that had been it. No condemnations, no disgust, no fear. Plenty of questions, yes, and a newfound fascination with Ryan’s horns that caused him no shortage of grief (Shane had learned early on that they were a bit of an… erogenous zone, and never failed to take advantage) but there had been acceptance too, and a brand new moniker – Little Red – that never failed to make Ryan groan in abject misery. Trust Shane to take his most well-guarded secret – not to mention concrete, irrefutable evidence of the supernatural – and turn it into yet another opportunity to tease him.
He’d never really stopped, either, but Ryan could handle some good-natured ribbing about his horns or his totally understandable fear of ghosts and evil spirits despite being a demon himself (“Seriously, Bergara, how does that even fucking work?”), if it meant that Shane wasn’t afraid.
Shane jerks at his hair, a hoarse groan spilling from his lips. Ryan’s eyes flutter open at the sound, his gaze drawn to his lover’s face, and oh, that’s a sight he’ll never get tired of: Shane’s mouth slack, his lips kiss-swollen and wet, no traces of a smirk or his typical shit-eating grin in sight. His eyes are clenched shut, his hair mussed all to hell and falling over his brow, and there’s a red flush across his chest that’s traveled up along the line of his throat. He’s completely gone, lost in the sensations Ryan’s wringing out of him, and it’s good, it’s addictive, it’s fucking delicious. Ryan bobs his head, his tongue curling around the slick head of Shane’s cock, and Christ, that’s delicious, too.
The same could be said for the bitten off curse that Shane mutters as Ryan’s free hand dips beneath the swell of his ass, lube-slick fingers delving between his cheeks.
Definitely not afraid, Ryan thinks smugly, and sinks his finger into soft, snug heat. A fresh gush of pre-come bursts from Shane’s slit, salty and slightly bitter, and Ryan laps it away with eager flicks of his tongue, humming as a backdrop of Shane’s heavy pants fill the air.
He takes his sweet time, his thrusts calculated and slow. One finger becomes two, becomes three, aided by copious amounts of lube – more than they need, probably, but Ryan prefers to indulge, loving the wet squelch as he fucks Shane open, how the excess drips down the line of his wrist, warmed by his body heat.
“Ry, c’mon,” Shane cajoles. He seems torn between thrusting back on Ryan’s fingers or fucking his face, and Ryan’s not making it any easier. He is in his element here, after all, regardless of how often Shane scoffs when he’s reminded of it. “I’m ready, I’m good, fuck, how loose do you want me to be?”
Ryan doesn’t bother to answer – not with words, anyway. The press of a fourth finger against Shane’s hole, easing into slick heat alongside the other three, gets his point across well enough.
Shane nearly shouts, the sound muffled at the last moment by a clench of his teeth. “You’re such a fuh – fucking tease, Bergara,” he pants, grabbing for the pillow beneath his head, fingers sinking in and pulling tight.
Ryan hums around his mouthful, even as he mourns the loss of those long fingers twined around his hair. I know, it means, and You love it. The muscles in Shane’s thighs draw taut as the vibration soars up his spine, his hips rocking erratically as he nears release.
A few deep, searching thrusts and a curl of Ryan’s fingers against his prostate is all it takes to get him there, spilling down Ryan’s throat with a guttural groan and a clench of his thighs around Ryan’s shoulders.
Ryan swallows every drop with a happy little groan of his own, as much at the taste as the squeeze of Shane’s muscles contracting around his fingers. Satisfaction purrs in his chest, a contented beast, and he peers dreamily up at Shane, bestowing a few last, lazy licks to his cock as it softens in his mouth.
Shane squints at him through heavy lidded eyes, his breath hitching as he recovers from his orgasm. His chest and belly and thighs gleam with sweat; it shines in the hollow of his throat, along his brow. Ryan follows a drop with his eyes as it slides over the curve of Shane’s ribs and feels another pang of hunger strike his belly.
“Good?” Shane asks him, his voice rough. Knowing.
Ryan nods, pulling off Shane’s dick with a wet pop, satisfaction flaring hot in his gut at the string of saliva connecting his lips to the head. “Always," he croaks, nearly groaning at the picture Shane makes: long, lanky body covered in a light sheen of sweat, eyes heavy and dark, his cock soft against his thigh, wet with his own fluids and Ryan's saliva. "Every time. You don't even know, Shane. Fuck, I wish - I wish I could tell you.” Shane has asked before – what it feels like to feed – and though Ryan has tried to explain it there are no words adequate enough to describe the experience: the satisfaction it brings, the pleasure, the release, how it – how Shane – fills up every empty part of him and makes him feel whole again.
“Don’t have to,” Shane breathes, canting his hips up. Jostled by the movement, Ryan’s fingers, still nestled in the warmth of his body, sink deeper into his hole. “Just show me.”
So Ryan does. He withdraws his fingers, rearing up to catch Shane’s mouth in a kiss. Its softness belies the urgency swimming in his blood, the persistent ache in his groin, and it’s all the sweeter for it. Ryan chases that taste, bracketing Shane’s scruffy jaw with his palms, and parts his lips so that Shane can devour him in turn.
Only the pop of a cap disrupts the cacophony of their sighs and scattered breaths, and it’s followed by Shane’s fingers slicking his cock with lube. Ryan gasps, a whine trapped in his throat as he’s tugged closer, a hand at the small of his back and the other wrapped around his dick.
“C’mon, Ry,” Shane coaxes, guiding the head of his cock to his hole. Ryan whimpers at the heat of him, and Shane’s lips curl into a smile against his. “No more teasing, Little Red. S’not fair.”
A laugh tumbles from Ryan’s mouth, though it shifts into a keen as Shane bears down against him, sucking him in. “D-Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he hisses, wrapping his hands around Shane’s hips.
“You love it,” Shane breathes against his mouth, kissing him softly. Once. Twice. He huffs as Ryan sinks in deeper, part laugh and part moan. “Might as well just admit it. You’re not – fuck – foolin’ anybody.”
“Don’t you ever – just – shut up?” Ryan murmurs, punctuating each pause with a snap of his hips, until he’s buried in Shane as deep as he can go, the whole of his length encased in slick, grasping heat.
Shane yelps, his hands flying to Ryan’s shoulders. “Dirty pool, Bergara,” he rasps, though his glare is undermined by the eager wrap of his legs around Ryan’s hips, the soft red flush stealing over his scruffy cheeks. “You’re such a – “
“Demon?” Ryan offers, baring his teeth in a smile.
Shane tilts his head, his lips twitching. “A brat,” he says, carding his hands through Ryan’s hair. His fingers catch on the jut of his horns, and he smirks as Ryan arches into the caress. “And you’re not looking very demonic now, baby. Not even with these.” He scratches over the base of Ryan’s horns, digging in, and Ryan whimpers.
“Don’t want to scare you,” he murmurs, his hands sliding over slick skin, up along Shane’s ribs and over his chest, feeling him breathe.
Shane scoffs, tugging on a lock of Ryan’s hair. “You couldn’t even if you tried,” he says, a hint of steel underlying the softness of his voice. He squeezes his legs around Ryan’s hips, tugs him closer until there’s no space left between them. “No disguises in the bedroom, Ryan. Them’s the rules.”
“Shane – “ Ryan starts, only to be silenced by Shane’s lips against his.
“Please?” Shane asks, all hints of teasing gone, and Ryan breaks.
It only takes a moment, and he keeps his gaze locked on Shane’s as he allows his glamours to fall away, his skin to flare deep and red, the whites of his eyes to be swallowed by black, his nails and teeth to grow fierce and sharp. Atop his head, his horns grow in length until they flare out beyond his head.
He searches for fear in Shane’s face, and he finds none.
It’s just Shane, patient and unruffled, all messy hair and sleepy eyes and goofy smile, not flinching away from Ryan but pulling him closer, always.
“There’s my horny boy,” Shane breathes, grinning as Ryan slumps against him with a long, drawn-out sigh.
“You’re a dick and I hate you,” he groans. “Seriously, Shane.”
“Your dick doesn’t seem to agree with you, baby,” Shane chortles, clenching down against the hard length inside him and making Ryan hiss. “You should probably do something about that.”
Ryan bares his teeth in a sharp-toothed grin, the sort of which would send anyone else running. Anyone other than Shane Madej, anyway, and damn if there isn’t a sense of freedom in that level of surety.
“Oh, I plan on it,” Ryan promises, hitching Shane’s hips up and delighting in the strangled gasp it tears from Shane’s throat. He’ll coax out more of them before the night is through – gasps and whines and the hoarse cries of his name that he loves so much.
He’s still hungry, after all.