Moonlight draped across the bed like silk—soft, silver, sacred.
Lucien lay beneath him, trembling, flushed, utterly exposed. Every inch of him shimmered in the dim light, a portrait of aching need and fragile beauty.
"Hah—ahh... nngh—"
Lucien’s breath hitched, his head falling back as Silas pressed a single finger inside him, slow and deliberate. His other hand gripped Lucien’s waist, anchoring him, while his thumb brushed teasingly over his pink nipple—drawing a soft, startled moan from Lucien’s lips.
Fingers tangled in Silas’s hair, desperate and clinging, as if Lucien needed something—anything—to hold onto.
"S-Silas... I—nghh—can’t..."
"Yes, you can," Silas murmured, his voice low, rough with restraint. "You’re doing so well, love."
Lucien whimpered, his whole body trembling—hips jerking up instinctively, thighs tensing around Silas’s sides. The air between them was heavy with heat, with want, with the silent language of two souls lost in each other.
"I’m going to add another," Silas whispered, brushing his lips against Lucien’s trembling thigh. "Breathe for me."
Lucien nodded—barely—eyes half-lidded, lashes damp. "Ahh—Silas—!"
The second finger slid in slowly, carefully, and Lucien cried out—high, helpless, raw. His back arched off the sheets, chest heaving.
"Hnghhh—Silas—please—"
"I’ve got you," Silas soothed, kissing the inside of his knee. "You’re so beautiful like this. So open. So perfect."
Lucien bit his lip, his moans breaking into little gasps as Silas moved—his fingers stretching, stroking, coaxing more of those breathless sounds from Lucien’s parted lips. There was no rush. Only reverence. Only devotion disguised as desire.
The room was thick with it. With silver light and shadows. With soft, broken moans. With the quiet promise of something more—something deeper.
And then, without a word, Silas added a third finger.
Lucien shattered.
"HNNNGHH—AAAHHH—!!"
He cried out, his voice cracking like lightning. His spine arched, his head was thrown back, and his thighs trembled uncontrollably.
Then—
Splurt.
Warm Release painted his own belly. His chest heaved in ragged breaths as he lay there—completely undone, trembling, flushed, and spent.
Silas froze for a second, his gaze dropping to the mess across Lucien’s stomach. Then he looked up.
And smiled.
"Well, well," he murmured, his voice dipped in velvet sin. "You came just from my fingers, sweetheart..."
Lucien whimpered in response, barely able to lift his head. His skin burned with overstimulation, his lashes heavy with exhaustion. Silas leaned down, licking a stripe up Lucien’s belly—tasting him, savoring him.
"You’re so lewd when you moan like that..." he whispered against Lucien’s skin, his voice amused, dark, and reverent. Then, rising to his knees, Silas reached down and slowly pushed his own pants past his hips.
Lucien turned his head toward the sound—still dazed, breath catching in his throat.
And then he saw it.
His eyes went wide. Color drained from his face.
"Wha—WHAT IN THE SEVEN HELLS IS THAT?!"
Silas blinked. "What?"
Lucien pointed, horrified, at the very obvious problem between Silas’s legs. His voice trembled. "That... that THING—! That can’t be real! You’re—you’re not human—how the hell is that supposed to go inside me?! It will never fit inside me!"
. . .
. . .
Silas burst into a low, wicked laugh—his smirk slow, predatory, teasing.
He leaned forward, gripping Lucien’s waist like he owned it. "Love," he whispered, eyes darkening, "this exact thing has already been inside you...once."
Lucien’s lips parted. His mind scrambled. "Y-you’re lying..."
Silas leaned closer, his voice a sinful breath against Lucien’s ear. "You took it so well, my love. So deep. So tight around me... crying and moaning like you were made for me."
Lucien whimpered again, hips twitching despite himself. His fingers clawed at the sheets. "Nnngh—stop saying things like that..."
But his body betrayed him—trembling again, flushed with new heat.
Silas smiled against his neck. "You’re already hard again."
Lucien cursed beneath his breath, cheeks red, jaw tight as he tried to turn away.
But Silas caught his chin—gently, firmly—and made him look at him.
"Don’t hide from me now," he whispered, brushing his thumb along Lucien’s bottom lip. "You’re breathtaking like this, Lucien. And you’ve already taken me before. You’ll take all of me again."
He leaned in—kissed Lucien, slow and deep, until his protests melted into soft whimpers.
Then Silas eased him down onto the bed again, lips brushing over Lucien’s cheek as he whispered, "Spread your legs for me...wider this time."
Lucien obeyed, dazed and trembling, thighs parting as Silas guided one up over his shoulder—exposing everything, completely vulnerable, completely his.
"I’m going to put it in," Silas said softly, and the words weren’t a warning—they were a promise.
Lucien gasped, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat as he felt the first hot press of Silas against him. His fingers gripped the sheets.
"H-Hnnnh...! S-Silas—"
"Breathe," Silas murmured, kissing the inside of his knee. "Just breathe, love..."
Lucien’s moans were soft at first—little hitches of breath, lips parted, lashes fluttering. Then came the deeper sound, the one Silas lived for—raw, broken, helpless.
"Ahhh—nnghh... S-Silas, it’s... it’s too much—!"
"You can take it," Silas whispered, his voice strained now, even his control fraying as he slid deeper into Lucien’s warmth. "You’re doing so good—gods, you feel perfect around me."
Lucien’s head lolled back against the pillow, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead, his skin flushed and fever-warm beneath the silver wash of moonlight. Every inch of him trembled—open, overwhelmed, undone.
His moans spilled from parted lips—high, sweet, and breathless.
And then—
THRUST.
"AHH—HNnnghh!!"
Lucien cried out, voice raw, hips jerking as his back arched off the bed in a taut, perfect curve.
Silas groaned low in his throat, bending over him, his breath a furnace against Lucien’s temple. He kissed his forehead, tender amid the storm, and whispered hoarsely, "Gods... You’re so tight—so warm—feels like heaven being inside you..."
Lucien whimpered, lashes fluttering, his voice cracking between gasps. "S-Stop... d-don’t say things like th-that—nghh!"
But Silas only smiled—slow, dark, worshipful—and rolled his hips again.
Lucien choked on a moan, fingers clawing at Silas’s back. "Nnnh—Silas...!"
Silas brushed his lips along Lucien’s jaw, breath ragged. "But it’s true," he murmured, his voice dipping low and dangerous. "You feel like you were made for me, love. Every inch of you... mine."
Another thrust—deeper, slower.
Lucien sobbed into his shoulder, clinging tight, breath hitching, "S-slow down... I—I c-can’t—"
"Yes, you can," Silas whispered, lips brushing Lucien’s ear.
Lucien gasped, body trembling violently, every nerve alight, every moan stretched thin with desperation. "S-Silas—ahh—y-you’re too deep—!"
Silas didn’t answer with words.
Instead, he kissed him—deep, possessive, like he was branding Lucien’s soul with his lips. His hips rolled in time with the kiss, slow and unrelenting, dragging broken moans from Lucien’s throat like a hymn.
"Ngghh... haa... S-Silas..."
They moved together—slow, steady, sacred.
Not just lust. Not just need. Something deeper. Something binding. Something that whispered forever.
Lucien clawed at his back, his breath breaking apart. "Ah... ah—S-Silas—I... I-I’m cu... cu... cumming—!"
But Silas didn’t stop. He kept moving, kept thrusting deeper, until Lucien arched like a bowstring beneath him—crying out as his body gave in.
"AHHH—HNNNGH—!"
Splurt.
White heat painted across Lucien’s stomach, his chest shuddering with every shaky inhale.
Silas slowed, finally, brushing back Lucien’s damp hair, gazing at him like something rare and breakable. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice hoarse but warm.
Lucien’s head lolled back, dazed and blinking. "Huh...? O-Oh... y-yeah..."
Silas pressed a kiss to his damp forehead, lips reverent. "Good..." he whispered. "Because I’m not done yet."
Lucien’s eyes flew open.
"W-What...?! B-But—"
THWOP.
FWOP.
Silas began again.
Lucien’s whole body jolted. "Hngh—haa—w-wait—s-slow... slow down—"
But Silas didn’t. He was lost in it—lost in Lucien. The sounds. The heat. The way Lucien clung to him like he was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Lucien’s voice turned soft, wrecked. "I-I’m... I-I’m c-cumming... a-again..."
Silas leaned down and kissed his throat—slow, sensual. "Me... too..."
And then—together—they broke again. Lucien’s body trembled beneath him, his voice catching in a whimper as he fell apart. His skin glowed with sweat and moonlight.
Silas kissed him softly—on the lips this time. A long, lingering kiss. "I love you," he whispered against Lucien’s mouth.
Lucien’s fingers curled at his nape. He looked at Silas through half-lidded eyes, a flush still blooming across his cheeks. "I... love you... too..."
Silas smiled—content, blissed-out—and slid beside him, finally ready to rest.
Or so Lucien thought.
Until Silas lifted one of Lucien’s legs into the air again.
Lucien’s eyes went wide. "W-Wait... What are you doing...?"
Silas blinked innocently. "We’ve only done it once, love..."
Lucien’s face drained of color. "A-Are you crazy?! I’m—Silas—I’m pregnant!"
Silas smirked wickedly, brushing a thumb along Lucien’s inner thigh. "Don’t worry... I’ll be gentle. I promise..."
Lucien tried to push at his shoulder, too weak to fight properly. "B-But I’m already—"
Silas made the most devastatingly innocent face Lucien had ever seen. "But... it’s our wedding night..."
Lucien froze. Then groaned—defeated, breathless, hopelessly in love. "...Fine. But—please... please... go slow..."
Silas grinned, dark and dangerous, and leaned in like a man about to devour his fate. "As... you... command... my love."