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“Yeah.”
Mal’ik pushed the door open to see Oliver standing in front of the mirror, staring into it with his hands braced against the sink as though it was the only thing holding him up. The white towel wrapped around his waist accentuated the paleness of his skin and the angry red of the scrapes, scratches, and contusions along his torso.
Oliver looked up at him from the mirror’s reflection as the door swung open. His eyes and forehead were tight, his eyes wide but pinched. “Was that Patrick outside?”
“Yes.” Mal’ik didn’t dare step any farther into the bathroom, not with the smell he caught drifting off Oliver’s clean skin. “They’ve caught the torvar. It’s over, for now.”
Oliver hung his head with a heaving sigh. “Thank god.” He paused, then turned slowly and leaned back against the sink. He lifted his hazel eyes to Mal’ik’s. “Mal’ik.”
Mal’ik had to close his eyes against that look and the sweet, earthy molasses scent that rolled off Oliver. His instincts told him to step forward and pull the human against him, but there was fear under that arousal—a lot of fear.
He shook his head slowly as he opened his eyes. “Oliver.”
“I’m sorry.” Oliver grimaced and glanced away, but then his eyes dragged back to Mal’ik’s as though he couldn’t help it. “I just…when I thought Patrick might—” He cut himself off with a ragged breath. When Oliver thought Patrick might hurt Mal’ik, Oliver had tried to fight him. The memory of his fierce eyes as he threatened to kill Patrick over Mal’ik made all sorts of emotions Mal’ik couldn’t possibly handle swirl in his chest.
“I’m fine,” Mal’ik said, and he’d meant to be reassuring, but even he heard the dismissiveness in his tone.
Oliver nodded, and he shrank back a little against the sink, but he couldn’t pull back the smell of his own desperation. Oliver bit his lip as he looked up at him. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m not trying to be demanding or to put you on the spot. I can go find the scent cream; it might still be in my pocket; I had it in my clothes.”
He tried to step past Mal’ik and go back out into the bedroom, but Mal’ik reached out before he could stop himself.
“You don’t have to.” Mal’ik put a hand on Oliver’s arm, stilling him before he got to the door. He didn’t grab him, just touched him, but Oliver froze immediately. “I know you hate it.”
He’d seen how eager Oliver was to get it off at the end of every day and the flicker of disgust in his eyes as he reapplied it.
Even now, his nose wrinkled. “I do hate it.”
Mal’ik huffed a laugh and drew his hand back, but Oliver caught it. The look in his eyes paired with his scent was unmistakable.
“Oliver, you’ve been through a lot.” Mal’ik tried to pull his hand back gently, but Oliver tightened his grip.
“And?”
“And I can smell the fear on you.”
“Is that all you can smell?” Oliver stepped in close, so they were chest to chest, just a hairsbreadth of distance between them.
Mal’ik inhaled deeply and growled. “You know it’s not.”
Oliver’s fingers flexed over Mal’ik’s wrist. “You can say no, Mal’ik. You can tell me no. Is that what you’re doing?”
Mal’ik groaned and shook his head. “I can’t say no to you, Oliver.”
Mal’ik pulled the loose towel from around Oliver’s hips, grabbed the backs of Oliver’s thighs, and lifted him into the air. He wrapped Oliver’s legs around him, kneaded his hands into the warm bare skin of his ass, and felt him shudder.
“Fuck yes,” Oliver hissed as he wrapped his arms around Mal’ik’s neck and squirmed against him. He kissed eagerly down the side of Mal’ik’s throat and pressed his already hard cock against Mal’ik’s abs.
Mal’ik pulled Oliver’s hips against him and trapped that hard length against his body. “I’ll do anything you want to you.”
The smell of fear was gone. Dissipated without a trace. Mal’ik wondered at it for a moment, but then Oliver tugged his earlobe with his teeth, and Mal’ik stopped wondering about anything other than how to get Oliver to writhe with pleasure. He carried Oliver back into the bedroom and tumbled them onto the bed. He settled between Oliver’s spread thighs and ran his hands up his lean torso.
Oliver arched up into him. He tangled his fingers into Mal’ik’s hair and tugged him toward him. “Kiss me.”
Mal’ik went easily, letting Oliver pull him down and slot their mouths together. Oliver’s lips were soft—so soft—and his mouth so warm and pliant. When Mal’ik licked at the slit of his lips, he let out a little gasp and surged up to meet him. He thrust his tongue into Mal’ik’s mouth and rolled his hips up into him, and Mal’ik moaned into the kiss.
Oliver braced his foot on the mattress and pushed against him. He was so small compared to Mal’ik. Mal’ik could keep him trapped here if he wanted to, writhing and thrusting and pushing. He entertained the thought for a moment and ran his metal hand up the back of Oliver’s thigh to cup the swell of his ass again. But then Oliver whined insistently into his mouth and pushed again, and Mal’ik let himself be rolled onto his back, pulling Oliver over with him to straddle his hips.
Oliver sat up, hair mussed, lips swollen, with color high on his cheeks and his cock standing proudly.
