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THRILLER NIGHT: A CRESCENT CITY KINKTOBER EVENT

Something Evil's Lurking in the Dark

Thriller Night: Part 6 - Declan x Marc

Declan Emmet is a male on a Death Day mission of discovery. One he had entirely resigned himself to alone. Until a storm rolls in, forcing him to face his greatest fear—and revealing wicked things hidden in the dark.

Content Warnings: NSFW, M/M

Read on Ao3

Author: @mystical-blaise | Masterlist

This is the sixth installment of Thriller Nights: A Crescent City Kinktober Event. Make sure to check out the rest of the collection and the other amazing authors!

Part 1: Ruhn x Lidia by @hlizr50

Part 2: Hunt x Bryce by @headcanonheadcase

Part 3: Ithan x Wolf Mystic by @headcanonheadcase

Part 4: Hypaxia x Celestina by @damedechance

Part 5: Fury x Juniper by @vikingmagic33

Part 6: Declan x Marc by @mystical-blaise

Part 7: Flynn x Ariadne by @ofduskanddreams

Part 8: Tharion by @damedechance

Thriller Night Masterlist

Declan Emmett hurried the short distance from the parlor to the library, eager to review what, if anything, they'd caught during the seance. Despite suspecting that the entire thing was complete bullshit, excitement prevailed.

Placing the recording devices down, he took a seat at the sturdy mahogany table, his makeshift command center for the overnight stay. The library was the perfect location. Centralized and quiet, with plenty of space for his array of laptops, monitors, and stacks of carefully packed backup equipment. Far enough from the thumping base and partying in the kitchen.

He'd learned the lesson long ago that laptops and parties don't mix. Fun fact; melted jello shots and a keyboard were a terrible combination.

Note to self, Flynn still owed him a computer.

This night at the haunted house was Dec's idea after Lidia had nixed any notion of yet another drunken, rowdy celebration at their shared home with a fuck no. Not that he blamed her one bit. Cleanup was a bitch and a half. So now, at his suggestion, they were here at the "haunted" house on the outskirts of Lunathion.

While the remaining members of Team Fuck-You might have come for spooky Death Day revelry, Dec was there for an entirely different purpose: to document proof. Some evidence that secondlight was now free to roam, free to exist. Perhaps even some vindication for a younger Declan who used to hear things go bump in the night in his childhood home—and the reason he still secretly hated the dark.

Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone other than Ruhn and Flynn. And that was only after they'd witnessed him in a near panic attack. After all, he would have never made it out of those damn Avallen catacombs without their encouragement. Their loyalty.

Muffled laughter traveled through the far wall as the gathering carried on without him—and had carried Marc with it.

Not that he could blame his boyfriend. As of late, the two of them had been like ships passing on the Istros. The entrepreneur, now CFO of his own company, had been stuck late to work almost every day, cutting into every single date night for nearly three weeks.

Three. Weeks. Three very long, frustrating weeks.

It wore on both of them. Stress and exhaustion showed in the circles under the shifter's usually brilliant topaz eyes, in his lumbering stride. So much so, Declan even felt guilty for asking Marc to assist with tonight's setup.

His boyfriend deserved a night to dress down and chill, to have fun.

But perhaps selfishly, the fellow techy had hoped he'd want to chill with him. Find what he was up to interesting to spend some time together staring at the monitors.

Yeah, real fun. Like he said; selfish.

Back to the task at hand, Declan glanced between the two screens; one streaming live while the other allowed him to pull up any previously recorded video. Plugging in the video recorder to transfer the file, he put the stupidly expensive, noise-canceling headphones on his head as he studied the green-hued footage.

Each nightvision camera had been placed strategically in and near the locations that stories claimed were the most haunted. Unfortunately, all Declan was seeing was evidence of other activities.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me," he grumbled as he stared at the screen, staring at Ruhn and Lidia emerging from the study, a fine sheen of sweat over their brows and a shit-eating grin on the Crown Prince of the Valbaran fae. Rewinding a little further back and raising the volume, Declan heard exactly the reason for Ruhn's pleased expression.

Gods knew he'd heard those same noises plenty of times coming from his roommates' bedrooms on too many nights.

A deeply masculine groan sounded over the audio.

Declan set his head in his hand. "Ruhn, I swear to Urd. You couldn't keep it in your pants for one godsdamn night?"

And apparently, Ruhn and Lidia weren't the only ones having trouble.

Next, there was a wobbly-legged, disheveled Bryce who blew a kiss at the camera before she and a smug Hunt strolled back into the kitchen. Quinlan gave Athalar's ass a good slap before the door closed behind them.

Then there was Fury glaring up at another camera poised outside the door to the basement. A look that promised death if he followed her to presumably wherever June was. Noted. For his own safety, he promptly turned off the basement camera feed.

Moving to another view, there were Ithan and Willow, walking down the stairwell from the third floor, her pigtails and pants askew. His arm slung over her shoulder, trying to help fix the hair best he could, ultimately resorting to plopping a baseball cap down atop her head. He kissed her blushing cheek, a look of pure masculine pride lining the pup's handsome features.

Rolling his eyes and shifting in his seat, Declan switched over to the live. All six cameras seemed normal—except for one.

The master suite on the second floor.

Stories claimed that a crying woman in white, as pretty as Luna herself, was seen pacing the room and floor. Other stories told of a more devious shadowy figure slinking through the drafty halls. He had Marc mount a camera in the room's upper southwest corner, in perfect view of the entire space and the open doorway. In case the alleged specter was wandering the halls, the stairs—the very same that had caught Ruhn and Lidia.

But although the camera registered a signal in that room, there was nothing but a blank box on the split screen.

He squinted, moving to the other monitor to review the older footage to see if there was anything. There. And just as a tall, shadowed figure. There was an oily sheen to the humanoid form as the silhouette moved incredibly fast across the lower right of the screen—

Lightning and thunder flashed and clapped in unison, plunging the house into utter darkness.

A distant, slurred, hey, who turned off the fucking light, joined the chorus of muttered curses and surprised shrieks sounded through the plaster and lath walls of the old mansion.

Thanks to the portable backup battery, there was still the dim glow of the steadfast monitors and the constant hum of the computers—for now. Even so, the rest of the house was nothing beyond but a void.

Shit.

A foreboding creak resonated in the dark.

"Guys?" Nothing. "Guys, this isn't funny."

Was he… alone?

No. No fucking way. The rest of them were just being dicks. That was all.

The sudden familiar, unjustified panic of his childhood crept up his spine. Like bony fingers reaching out of the past, out of the shadows, reaching for him again. Declan stiffened, swallowing hard as he reminded himself of what his parents used to calm him. The dark wasn't bad. The sounds were just the wind or the house settling. Repeating those same words of reassurance, he reached out for one of the three compact flashlights he'd packed just for this instance.

His thumb pushed on the rubber button. Click—and nothing.

"Come on," he said, shaking it as if that would actually work. With a press of the button again, still nothing. Bringing it closer to the bluish dull glow of the monitors, he removed the batteries. The fresh ones he'd put in just before he'd packed up. How could they be drained already?

Nervously, he picked up the third flashlight—his backup for his backup that Ruhn had made fun of—finding it oddly lightweight. Too light. Unscrewing the back, he found the battery pack empty.

Godsdamn…

Okay. No problem, he just needed more light. Any light. His phone.

He dug into his back pocket and found… nothing. Not even his spare lighter. Fucking Flynn.

Given all the mirthroot his roomies brought, one of those fuckers had to have a light. Hel, maybe Ruhn could use that barely useful sparkle of light he possessed. Or better yet…

Bryce. Or even Athalar—if they would have remembered to keep their godsdamn walkie.

As if any of them would have remembered given the keg Tristan had rolled in earlier.

"Shit. Shit. Okay. Okay." Declan sucked in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Calm the fuck down. You know what you need. You need…" Something to do. To focus on.

His eyes skipped back to the glowing flat-screen monitors, to the battery-fueled cameras still rolling. Straight back to the blank square on the bottom right corner of the six-split screen.

The mission pushed his fear aside, much like it did when he was out in the field with the Aux. Give Dec a task, and he was on it regardless of what was going on around him.

He could find out why the camera wasn't working. Fix it. Totally forget about the weird shadowy figure in that damn room that had something to do with it.

No, just fix the damn thing. You're a problem solver, Declan. Mr. Reliable-as-fuck.

In the darkness, he felt around the floor, finding his smaller duffel bag filled with some equipment and supplies.

Even with his fae eyesight, he could barely see shit. His eyes caught on one device on the table. He grabbed for it, muttering a please work under his breath as he pressed the power button.

The thermal camera's screen flared to life.

"Thank Urd," Declan breathed out as made out the different heat signatures of the shelves and books, the table, and his equipment, giving him a visual of the space in the darkness.

And gave him the boost of confidence to set the strap of the duffel over his shoulder and go in search of the room with the broken camera.

With the space lit up on the screen in shades of violet and blue, cold on the spectrum, there were some fading oranges on the steps from when some guests had walked. Declan took the stairs hurriedly, praying to all the gods that there was no one behind him.

But he just had this feeling.

That prickling on the back of his neck and a niggling of his fae senses.

Finally reaching the landing on the second floor, he relied on the small visual representation of the long hallway, counting the doors until he reached the one on the far left. And he swore as he walked he smelled sweet… smoke.

Cigar? No…

Wait? Wasn't there a story about the original owner?

He shook that thought out of his head. Probably someone with the fucking mirthroot getting blazed.

His hand reached for the doorknob to the master suite and—

Creak.

Not daring to turn around, the genius just called out, "Hello?"

He could hear Flynn in his head—while mock slow clapping—going, Smooth, Dec. Hello? Really, dude? What if it's a killer-stalker, huh? And then Ruhn's voice chimed in with, Yeah, you just gave away your position. You're an Aux member, remember? Use that giant brain of yours.

Yeah, he was an Aux member, trained for combat. He survived the Drop. His Ordeal. The latter barely. And he still couldn't shake the same feeling he'd had that night in that terrible cave—the feeling of being followed.

Fuck this.

He spun around, pointing the camera back down the hall, finding only residual heat from his own treadmarks on the planked floor, all glowing orange and yellow. Even farther back to the landing.

But no weird floating, undiscernible blobs or misty humanoid figures. Just his overactive terrifying imagination mixed with his fear and wanting to actually see something.

Confidence renewed and led by the camera, he took the knob and strolled into the room with the busted equipment.

The room was…

Empty.

Nothing but the sounds of lashing rain and the howl of the wind banging the louvered wooden shutters sealed over the windows. Not even the lightning graced Declan with a bit of illumination in the reportedly most haunted location in the pitch-black house.

Basically, Declan Emmet's nightmare scenario.

On the thermal, he could make out the ethereal, hazy violet silhouette of a large bureau against the far wall covered with a sheet like a shroud. Heavy curtains covered the windows, blocking out the outside world. And then there was an ornately carved, massive four-poster bed.

A low massive blur of orange and yellow zipped passed through the image. Something with glinting, burning eyes.

And then it was simply… gone.

"What the…?"

Panning the room, he tried to follow the direction of the unknown shape.

Something slid around and rubbed against his leg. All he could think of was a hand grabbing for him under the bed out of the shadows of Hel just like in his childhood…

"Boo."

He spun around as a crouching form on all fours rose onto two legs, keeping his camera pointed like a weapon. A towering, muscular male figure rose up in the viewfinder. Declan's heart nearly fucking stopped.

"Burning fucking Solas! You scared the shit out of me!"

Marc's squared, broad shoulders moved with his deep chuckle on the thermal. And if Declan wasn't so pissed off, he might have taken more time to appreciate the entire glorious, naked build delineated by the heat signatures more thoroughly.

"That was you that touched my leg?"

He smirked. "My tail, to be exact."

Cursing under his breath, Declan rolled his neck, his shoulders, and made his way to the wireless camera mount. The camera now oddly twisted to face the corner.

With the battery icon already flashing red, the warning that death was imminent, Dec set the thermal to point upwards to give him some ambient light as he worked, swiveling the equipment around back into position. No need for his tools after all.

"Dec," came that low, familiar voice.

"What?" he snapped back after adjusting everything back in place, assuring the only way the camera was moving again was if someone fucked with it. Which is exactly what he suspected had happened. A prank. Another prank, anyway.

"Hey, Dec, are you mad?"

He didn't reply to that, because what could he say? Yeah, he was pissed and annoyed and—

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Declan! I was just having a little fun. You were the one who wanted to come here. You convinced me it would be fun for Death Day."

"Yeah, and that's what everyone else is doing. But you also know I was taking this seriously, too. But if you'd rather go hang with them…" He blew out a curse, dragging a hand through his dark red waves, tugging at the ends in frustration. "You know what? Forget it."

"Hey," Marc breathed out, the sound ever closer. Dec refused to turn around. Those massive hands gently grasped his shoulders, rubbing up and down over his biceps. "I know out of your housemates you're the most responsible but—"

Declan huffed out a laugh, nearly shrugging off Marc's touch. "And what about you? You're the epitome of responsibility."

"Maybe dating a hot-as-Hel party boy has made me want to have some fun. Live a little."

"You mean I gave you a personality?"

With a chuckle, he gave Declan's shoulders a rub, then another. And Dec could feel the tension melt away with each ministration of those magic hands.

"No, smartass," Marc replied, his fingers kneading harder. "You make me want to cut loose and have a good time. When I'm with you, I don't have to be—"

Declan sighed with gratitude and forgiveness, leaning into Marc's working palms. "Don't have to be the sexy-as-fuck start-up tech company founder?"

Lips trailed the back of the fae male's neck. "Exactly. You make me want to have fun again, Dec. I shouldn't have at your expense, though. I apologize if I scared you."

"I'm sorry I flipped, babe. I'm just a little on edge," Declan admitted in his relaxing haze, his eyes adjusting to the dark, and still seeing nothing. Still, he was grounded by Marc's reassuring touch, his own hand coming up to rest upon the leopard shifter's much larger one.

"Mmm… I can tell."

"I just… I saw something when I was a kid in my room. I mean, this was before all the shit we know now about what the Asteri was doing with the secondlight. Before I really knew about Hel, you know? My parents didn't believe me, but I swear to all that's holy, Marc, there was something in the dark in my room." Something evil lurking in the dark, a demon reaching for him. Despite himself, he still shuddered at the very thought.

Marc's firm grip continued to knead muscle, those full lips placing tender kisses on the back of Dec's bare neck, making him blush in the night. Almost like a fog, the ancient bedchamber became thick with desire. As electric as the sky outside.

"That's why I'm determined to find some evidence, Marc. Maybe just to prove I wasn't crazy. Hel, we have a damn necromancer; if there are spirits here, there should be something… if spirits can now freely roam around." Or if they were indeed stuck here in hiding from the Under King for centuries. "And I know it's Death Day, and I know all my friends want to party. It's supposed to be a night of—"

"Mischief," Marc offered before the briefest touch of his lips to the tip of Declan's delicately arched fae ear. Another soft press of lips. "I love that about you, Dec. How focused you get on a task. How determined you are."

"Well, someone has to be. Everyone else here is so focused on fucking—" His lips pressed together, holding in a grateful moan as those fingers continued to work at the tension.

"You don't say. And how do you know what everyone was doing, I wonder? Declan Emmet, were you watching?" Marc asked with feigned outrage.

Even though he couldn't see a damn thing, Dec still twisted his face to peer over his left shoulder. "You make me sound like a perv. It wasn't on purpose."

Marc's warm breath brushed his lips. "I'm sure. They're a horny bunch. But I bet it still turned you on, just a little."

Declan wasn't going to respond to that accusation—even though the shifter's words were on point. Yes, he was turned on, just a little. Maybe it had started from all the dirty sounds caught on the microphones, but now it only had to do with the beast of a male standing behind him.

The handsome male whose wide palms were now skimming from his shoulders and over his biceps.

"What—" Declan swallowed hard as the heat of the towering shifter pressed into his back, searing him deep as it always did. Maybe it was the residual autumn fae in him, but he was attracted to the depth of his warmth, inside and out. Then a wide hand skimmed over the front of his shirt, down further still. Lower and lower, until he reached the top of his black jeans, that he finally managed to finish his ask. "What are you doing?"

Marc's dark chuckle brushed against the shell of his ear. "Like you, I'm eager for evidence, Declan." Teeth nipped and tugged on his earlobe, on the steel hoop in his ear. Lust shot through him, his body responding to the wicked little nip in the dark. Declan gasped, tipping his head back in a groan as that wandering touch cupped him through the denim, finding his hard length. "There it is."

"Fuck," Declan hissed, unable to hide, unable to feel anything. Unable to think about his goal for the evening. Not when the heel of that palm was rubbing him in rough circles. Not when his hips were pushing against that hand, desperate for more sensation.

"You like that?" Marc crooned.

Declan groaned, his erection uncomfortable in the confines of the denim, the delicate skin digging into the metal zipper.

When his hand reached back to pull Marc to him, he knew what he would find. With his clothes long removed before he shifted, only beautiful bare skin and corded, hard muscles remained. Aside from his shifter genes, his physique was delineated by years of regimented workouts and healthy eating. Marc was thorough, practiced and put together in all things. But if his sexy, put-together, tech executive wanted to cut loose tonight. If he wanted to let loose with Declan, then so be it.

"Dec," Marc hissed as the redheaded male ground back against him to the tempo of the hand working his front, the shifter's hardness already a taunt against his ass.

"What?" he asked teasingly. "You want me to let loose and have a good time tonight, right?"

"Yeah," Marc said, his words ending with a grunt as Declan bumped him backward.

Despite not being able to see Marc, Dec turned around to face him. "Then let's let loose. Get on your knees, babe."

Over the howl of the wind outside, he heard the shifter's knees hitting the wooden floor before him.

Declan whipped off his gray t-shirt, tossing it away to some corner. His hands went to the button of his jeans, popping it open. Then he towed the zipper down, taking his time, the sound of it somehow more arousing in the absence of light, of sight. As he worked his jeans down his thighs, he grabbed hold of his cock.

"Godsdamn," Marc growled.

With the satisfaction that he could bring the mighty leopard shifter to heel, Declan gave himself a pump. Then another, slow and firm, his head falling back and eyes shut with the wringing pleasure. "You and your damn shifter eyes. You can see me, can't you?"

"Fuck yeah. And I love what I'm seeing."

Wrist twisting on the upstroke, his thumb smeared the bead of liquid gathering over the tip. And he swore the enormous leopard shifter whined at that. Good.

Still stroking himself, Declan followed the alluring scent of sandalwood and rain and heady arousal until he could sense the body heat radiating off the other male.

He cursed as his head dropped back, his grip tightened, and the pumping became rougher and faster. "Open."

Heat puffed over throbbing skin, a tempting combination of hot and wet. Marc's tongue slid back and forth as Dec tapped his stiff cock against it. From the base to the tip, that talented tongue laved unprovoked, tormenting and flicking every sensitive inch.

With his mind almost blown with need, he couldn't stop the demand welling up from his lips. "Oh fuck, Marc"—his breath caught—"suck me."

And holy Hel, he did. No hesitation, only a satisfying growl before Marc's mouth closed around him and sucked him down, his hand peeling Dec's away so he could take control. That hand wrapped around his cock while the other clamped onto the fae male's hip, those fingers biting into the flesh of his ass—

Grasping Marc's head, Declan thrust his hips forward.

He wished he could see it. See himself disappear in that sensual mouth, sinking in as topaz eyes blazed into his own. But, burning Solas, the blind feel of him in the darkness… The way Marc's cheeks hollowed out and his tongue swirled around, coating him in the warm sensation of his mouth, his lover's enthusiasm dripping down his length to his sac. His own rapid panting blended with the enthused sloppiness and pleasured hum of the supplicant, sexy male before him.

A wandering finger slipped in between the crevice of his ass, circling the tight hole there. Circling endlessly. An opening, tantalizing tease. Until that thick finger finally pressed in.

Unable to stop himself, Declan bucked forward, forcing himself down Marc's throat until the shifter's nose met his pelvis. "Fuck!"'

Marc merely chuckled darkly, sinking his finger deeper and deeper. Declan wasn't even sure how either of them could breathe. They were frantic, muscles straining and flexing, racing to the edge. With each passing moment, Dec's brow beaded with sweat.

He moaned, scraping his fingernails across Marc's scalp. His hand tightened on the back of that head in plea and warning. His shifter male only loosed a muffled groan, still sucking and fingering him.

Climax came on as suddenly as an autumn storm. Shaking from head to toe, his damn knees nearly gave out as his release spilled over and over. And Marc took it all. Didn't let up, still working him as the last blissful tremors of orgasm ebbed. In a lazy glide, his boyfriend's mouth drew off of him and that digit slipped out, making him shiver.

"Gods…" Declan swallowed hard, trying to regain balance. Marc pressed a sweet kiss to the scar across his stomach. "Babe, that was—"

His words cut off with a rough, demanding kiss. The taste of himself on Marc's tongue went directly to his head, still dizzy with pleasure and desire. They both groaned as the shifter's hard, demanding length pressed against Dec's stomach, spurring his own back to attention.

Marc always did that to him. No matter what, with him, he always seemed ready to go.

"Luna fucking save me," Marc said with a groan, grabbing onto his partner's ass to bring him closer, as they writhed against each other. That finger teased Dec again from behind with just enough pressure to drive him wild. "I want to fuck you so bad. You have no idea how bad. If only—"

"I brought lube."

With an erotic chuckle, Marc slowed the roll of his hips and asked, "What?"

"I-fuck. I brought lube."

Marc snorted. "Why am I not surprised?"

Declan reached down, gripping Marc's thick cock at the base, taking satisfaction at the hitch in the larger male's breath. "Always prepared, seldom disappointed."

"I would expect nothing less from a former Otter Scout. Bet you know how to tie all sorts of knots, too."

His hum practically a purr, Declan answered with, "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Oh, make no mistake, I do. But not this time. Right now, I need to fuck you and in order to do that, I need that lube. So where are you packing such a thing?"

"In my bag. I actually brought it to loosen the stuck screws holding up the cameras. It was all I could find in a pinch." A pinch was an understatement. All of his mechanical lubricants had mysteriously disappeared. Declan didn't want to know the why or the what. "So I just took the first thing I thought of."

"In the duffel you brought with you?" Declan nodded vigorously, his mind solely on the drag. He pushed his hips forward, the friction alone of their dicks against one another nearly enough to make him come again. But before he could, Marc was gone.

There was a brief rustling sound over to the left and then—

Kissing him senseless, breathless, pants still tangled around his thighs, Dec was marched backward, stumbling until his back met something. That something unyielding and rounded against his spine. They kissed and kissed and it only stopped when a deep, rasping voice demanded as he tugged on the open flap of denim, "Off."

He didn't have to be told twice, already shoving them off, removing everything in a blur. Stripping until it was just the two of them, skin to skin, clothed only in darkness.

In a blink, Declan was spun around, his hands finding and clasping around the carved wood pillar now at his front. A bedpost, he realized absently.

"God, have I told you how much I love your back, Dec? These shoulders." Whack! Dec jumped as a splayed palm came down on his rear, then rubbed out the slight hurt. "This perfect ass of yours. It's the prettiest sight."

"Well, at least you can see me. I feel like it's unfair that I can't see—" Declan's scoff turned into a moan as something chilled slid between the seam of his ass.

Pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive spot below Declan's ear, his boyfriend's whisper a silken persuasion. "It's just the two of us here, alone and together. Embrace it, Dec. I'll always lead you out of the darkness if you let me."

And Declan knew at that moment Marc always would.

The wet slide of a tongue down the column of his neck had Declan's hips bucking backward, feeling that massive cock slipping against him.

Marc's cool, coated fingers found their way, pressing, pushing into him, working him just enough. One… Then two… Fuck, three fingers. Even after all this time, after all their bouts together, the leopard shifter still took good care. Something he was eternally grateful for.

Declan was no slouch of a male. As a member of the Aux, he took good care of his body. But the leopard shifter still dwarfed him, made him feel small. Marc was flawless. Chiseled dark-skinned perfection with broad shoulders, perfect for holding onto. And while Dec had seen a variety of fine dicks in his day, had experienced his fair share—nothing and no one compared to Marc Rosarin.

No one ever would.

Not to mention, none of the males before had a pierced cock, either. Not even the draki he'd had an intense, albeit brief, fling with.

Who would have thought that out of all of them, the one pierced there was the put-together tech entrepreneur? And, Solas, what that little barbell of steel through the tip could do…

As fingers slid out, he heard that telltale click and squirt, followed by a hoarse groan in the darkness. Though he couldn't see it, the fae male could picture it clearly. How Marc's forehead furrowed as he stroked the thick liquid over his shaft. The dark, rigid length of him glistening and ready, already weeping with need.

A soft kiss on his shoulder and a settling grip on one hip helped tip the redhead's head back as another jarring drip of cold fell on his skin.

Declan gripped the post, his knees widening as he braced himself. His brows drew together as that broad blunt head started to push in. Slowly easing, gliding in inch by delicious inch. Each gain intensified the pressure, the burning stretch that tensed them both.

After another slow thrust, Dec's body had time to adjust as Marc stilled. All the while, the broad, calloused palm spanning his flank caressed and soothed as if the solid wall of male behind him was the one with the true healing power.

"Fuck, you're still so tight. Have I told you how amazing you feel, Dec? Like you were made for me."

Declan shivered at the gruff possessiveness in his voice. Shaking. He was shaking. Was going to jump out of his skin. Godsdamn. There was more power in everything without sight. Everything was more sensitive. Words. Touch. Already too good. Already too full.

Still, he was greedy tonight. For Marc to be with him. To take everything, to have everything. To swap his earlier fear with this pleasure only this male could give him.

"Marc, it's okay if you don't—" A grunt and groan followed. "Don't be gentle tonight."

Knuckles tilted Declan's chin upward. Marc's words were full of gravel when he asked, "You sure?"

While Declan could not see Marc beyond a hazy silhouette, he knew Marc could clearly read his intentions. "Yes."

"You got it, tiger."

Gripping him by the hips, Marc's mouth slammed on Dec's at the same time his pelvis surged forward, driving all the way in on a single thrust. Holy fucking Hel, Declan had to force himself not to scream, not to lose it all right there.

Ragged breath puffed against his mouth, both of them trembling as Marc held himself still again, both of them trembling and throats bobbing.

And then Marc was moving, pulling out before plunging back in. Each time, Declan could feel the drag of chilled metal, stroking deep to hit that spot that made him see stars.

He rocked back into it, bracing and trying to keep up with the rhythm as every sliding thrust shoved him farther into the solid wooden post, jostling the entire bedframe.

So full…. So deep… So deep inside him…

Declan's desperate whimper had Marc fucking him even deeper, hitting that spot over and over.

Something in the pathetic sound must have begged for more, because a brawny arm came around his torso, bearing his back, his weight, to the shifter's sweaty, muscled front as he continued to pound him into oblivion. Every hammering thrust bounced his erection against his abs. Had Marc's balls slapping off his ass.

Everything was wild and frenzied. Primal. So much that Declan could almost imagine what Marc's sharp claws would feel like gently scraping across his skin. Wanted that lick of pain. Wanted to bruise.

He was climbing higher and higher, his spine tingling with the need to come. Marc reached around, cupping his balls with a squeeze, before he fisted Declan's cock, gripping him tightly.

"Shit!… Marc!" Dec panted through gritted teeth.

"Are you close? Can you do it, tiger? Can you come for me again?"

Declan's response was little more than a yelp as those hips slammed into him.

With that slippery hand jerking his dick, that swollen cock fucking his ass, Declan couldn't hold back.

Too much. It was too good.

Everything went taut and dark, then bright like starlight behind the eyelids Dec didn't even realize he'd closed. He cried out as he came all over Marc's hand, smearing between fingers and over skin as Marc didn't let up.

It went on and on. Those powerful hips behind kept their pace, going and going until—

"Fuck!" Marc shouted, burying himself to the hilt, each pulse kicking deep inside, over and over. With one last shudder, finally spent, the shifter's head fell forward until his forehead rested on Declan's mussed red waves.

The hand on Declan's front shifted until it spread over the center—over his heart.

And then everything went still as the wind whistled outside around the house, rattling the shutters. They didn't move, simply held each other in the dark, relishing in the silence, soaking in their love for one another.

"You okay?" Marc asked, pressing a tender kiss into his hair that shot straight to Dec's heart.

"More than okay."

Slowly, gently, carefully, Marc slid out, caressing along Declan's spine as he did so. "That was…"

"Yeah…" Declan said.

"I'm sorry."

Still wrapped in his arms, he turned around to face him. Declan wound his arms around Marc's neck. "For what? The best sex of my life?"

"Best sex so far," Marc countered, sighing before he continued. "I'm sorry I disappeared earlier. Made you think I didn't care about you. Truth is, I was in the kitchen to grab us some beers—I was on my way back to you when I got sucked into a conversation. You know how that crew can be. But you have to know the only reason I came to this party tonight was to spend time with you, Dec. I've missed you."

Softly and sweetly, he kissed him. "I've missed you too, babe. Now, can you find my bag? And my clothes? I still can't see shit."

After pressing his lips to Dec's forehead, Marc laughed, untangling himself from the fae male's arms. "Sure thing, tiger. Only if you promise to grab my clothes from the other room."

Declan snorted, wishing he could watch Marc walk away. Because, damn. "Didn't think that whole shifting leopard prank through, did you?"

"No, I did not. Here," he said, handing Dec his bag. He set it down, squatting to feel for supplies. "When we get back downstairs, I'll grab those beers I promised and we'll park it in front of those monitors. Maybe make out a little. What do you say?"

Declan couldn't hide the smile in his voice as he said, "Sounds great."

"Good. But first I need to clean up."

Declan was already taking out wipes, water, and hand sanitizer. Things he had brought with greasy hands and malfunctioning equipment in mind originally, but... "Always the Otter Scout," he quipped, blindly tossing his boyfriend the towel.

Marc laughed huskily. "Indeed, and I'm so very—ah, Hel."

"What?"

"I forgot you readjusted it before we…" He cleared his throat. "I don't know how to say this, Dec, but the camera was pointed at us the entire time."

His amber eyes snapping up, his face heated with the realization. "Oh fuck me."

"Already did, but if you want to go again, I'm more than happy to."

Merciful Cthona. Leave it to Declan Emmet, tech genius, to accidentally record a nightvision sex tape after making comments about no one else being able to keep it in their pants.

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