By the time evening filtered in through the curtains, dim and gold-tinged, Elias had lost track of how many times Victor had pulled him back beneath him, again, and then again. He lay sprawled on the tangled bed now, flushed skin tacky with sweat, lips parted around shallow breaths, Victor's shirt that he dressed in at some point, now long discarded and replaced only by a thin sheen of heat.
His thighs ached, his hips were sore from the rhythm Victor had refused to break until Elias was hoarse and trembling, his throat dry from gasping and pleading and half-formed curses that dissolved between kisses. His entire body throbbed with something in between pain and pleasure, the echo of having been claimed and held and pushed past his own limits until all that remained was sensation.
