by Peyton Bogue
Rhys had taken it the wrong way, much to Sage’s continued dismay. Rhys hadn’t realized what was wrong and noticed the harsh shift from the scent of Sage’s arousal to confusion and shock in the air, and had stared into Sage’s eyes for answers, asking in barely suppressed panic, “What’s wrong? Are you alright? Did I hurt you?," only to see the reflection of his red eyes glowing back at him in Sage’s blue irises.
Sage thinks he was probably just embarrassed, but a part of himself still hates that he made Rhys feel like he needed to hide himself from Sage of all people.
Rhys had pulled out and turned completely around, his eyes screwed shut, and worked on reeling himself back in. Sage had put his hand on Rhys’s shoulder, trying to comfort him and apologize, when Rhys had shaken him off and growled threateningly, defensive. Sage’s heart had sped up at the sound, still not scared but frozen in that moment, and then Rhys’s eyes had cleared of the Alpha red and the concerned gray had flooded back in, the smell of burnt cardamom attacking his senses and making him spring into action. He’d reached out to Sage to apologize, hearing the sporadic and panicked beating of Sage’s heart, but Sage was frozen to his spot and flinched when Rhys had reached out to him.
Rhys had felt horrible that night. He’d repeatedly apologized, sitting stark naked on top of his own bed in the apartment he’d been living in at the time, keeping his distance in case Sage didn’t want him near.
Sage had told Rhys that he’d had nothing to feel sorry about, that he was just shocked and not scared because, dammit, he knew what he might be getting himself into when he decided to start a relationship with a werewolf. Until Rhys had revealed that he was a werewolf, Sage hadn’t known that supernatural beings had even existed. He didn’t know if their first time together would be. . .different because he wasn’t sure how Rhys’s body worked. But Rhys had explained all of it—all of his wolfy proclivities, how it's hard for him to control his shift when his adrenaline starts flowing like that sometimes—and had made sure, even before they actually became sexually involved with each other, that Sage understood that it was a possibility that Rhys might start shifting while they were having sex. Sage knew that. It had just caught him a little off guard to actually see it, especially when Rhys, for as long as Sage had known him, had always ensured that he was in control of himself and his shift whenever he and Sage were together.
It had only taken half an hour of going back and forth in their apologies for them to start back up again, and Rhys’s eyes had strictly stayed that beautiful gray that seemed to fluoresce on their own in the moonlight.
For Sage, though, Rhys’s eyes shifting during their lovemaking is an absolute turn on. The fact that Sage can get Rhys so lost to his own arousal that he loses control over his shift enough that he can’t stop his eyes from bleeding red is such a turn on to Sage that it makes his entire body run molten with desire.
He’s told Rhys as much too, but Rhys still remains adamant about keeping his shift in check. He’s even asked Sage to promise to tell him if his eyes shift when they get like this, too caught up in both of their pleasure that he forgets to rein in his wolf.
While Sage understands that Rhys is trying to keep his shift under control now, he also knows that part of Rhys’s inability to control his wolf also has to do with stopping himself from reacting too strongly to hearing Sage beg for him. The moment Sage starts begging him, Rhys completely unravels. Rhys has never admitted to it, but Sage knows that it’s the one thing that turns him on the most, that it’s his greatest weakness—the way Sage moans for him, will whimper out a breathless plea for him—and that it’s the one thing that always gets Rhys aching with desire.
Rhys brings a slicked finger up to Sage’s center a moment later, crawling back in between Sage’s legs and gently pushing in. Sage inhales at the first feel of pressure, before exhaling on a moan when Rhys fully thrusts his finger in.
“God, Sage, you’re so beautiful, baby,” Rhys says breathlessly, beginning to thrust his finger in and out slowly.
Sage moans loudly at the gravel in Rhys’s voice. He loves it when Rhys talks to him like this—sweetly, as if he’s the most precious thing Rhys has ever seen.
“You’re so gorgeous, Sage,” Rhys continues, thrusting his finger in faster, harder. “I wish you could see yourself, sweetheart. You look so pretty like this.”
Sage whimpers at Rhys’s words, writhing in pleasure as he blushes bright and chokes out, “Rhys.”
“Look at you, baby. You can’t ever get enough, can you?” Rhys asks, his voice low and deep. Sage moans, pushing his hips down onto Rhys’s finger and forcing it deeper into his body. Rhys’s eyes darken. “Are you ready for another finger, baby?”
Sage nods shakily, too worked up to respond as he shoves his hips down again and feels Rhys slowly push in another finger, stretching him even further. He gasps at the buildup in pressure, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
Rhys lets him adjust for a few minutes, and when Sage nods at him again, he begins thrusting his fingers up in wanton, working Sage open while Sage breathlessly pants his name.
Soon, Rhys has worked four fingers into him, thrusting in and out fast and hard as Sage absolutely loses it from his place on the bed. Rhys thrusts his hips down against Sage’s thigh, making himself moan and whimper from the friction. Sage clenches around Rhys, crying out, “Rhys, oh my, God.”
Rhys smiles a predatory smile down at him, pressing his fingers deeper, and Sage whimpers and begs, “Please, Rhys.”
Rhys chokes out a groan and shakily pulls his fingers out as Sage whines at the loss before Rhys is quickly moving to rub lube over his shaft and positioning himself between Sage’s legs.
Rhys can’t carry or receive diseases because of his werewolf healing, and Sage has been clean his entire life, so they’ve stopped using condoms for a while now. It makes their lovemaking much hotter and more intimate, but it also allows Sage to feel every egregious inch of him, and Rhys stretches him so nicely.
“Okay, baby?” Rhys asks him, his eyes flickering up to watch Sage. Sage momentarily pauses, inhaling deeply. Rhys always asks him this, as if he’s always trying to make sure that Sage is alright when they’re like this.
Sage looks down at him, trailing his eyes over Rhys’s gorgeous body, and feels himself flush further. Rhys is trembling between Sage’s legs, his eyes wide, and a deep red blush on his cheeks, betraying exactly how worked up he's gotten. Sage feels a thrill run down his spine at the sight of him, and he nods, panting, “Yeah, Ree. Wanna feel you,” and then Rhys is slowly rocking his hips forward and pushing into Sage’s tight heat.
The thing about Rhys, much to Sage’s continuous appreciation and praise over, is that he’s very endowed. He never fails to make Sage’s entire body ache with want every time he catches sight of Rhys’s huge, swollen shaft. Sage doesn’t know if Rhys’s enhanced werewolf genes had any help in making that part of his anatomy match the rest of him, because he’s a big, muscular guy, but Sage’s body shakes and trembles with desire when Rhys is finally deep inside him. The feeling of Rhys pressing against him so tightly sets his entire body alight, and his brain turns to mush, too overwhelmed by the feel of Rhys stretching him deeply, like Rhys was made specifically to fit inside of him like a piece Sage never knew was missing.
Sage lets out a gasp at the stretch, feeling the thickness of Rhys’s shaft hug his insides. The sensation makes his head feel like it’s full of cotton balls, and his eyes roll back in his head as his back arches off the bed and he digs his blunt nails into Rhys’s arms.
Once Rhys is fully sheathed inside of him, Sage feels the slight tremble of Rhys's arms as his body shakes, wrecked with desire and the feel of Sage’s body wrapped so intimately around him, and Sage brings his hands up from where they were on Rhys’s arms so that he can cup Rhys’s jaw and place a kiss on his lips while he forces his body to adjust to the thickness stretching him.
Rhys moans into Sage’s mouth, moving one hand down and grabbing a hold of Sage’
s right thigh so that he can gently maneuver Sage's leg around his waist. The angle causes Rhys to shift even further inside of him, and Sage gasps when he feels a wave of heat erupt down his spine.
Rhys tentatively pulls his hips back and thrusts back in, causing the both of them to groan at the sensation of pleasure.
After a few shallow and slow thrusts, Sage digs the heel of his foot that’s wrapped around Rhys’s waist into the skin of his thighs, silently pleading for him to move harder and faster, his arousal building inside of his veins.
Rhys complies quickly, pulling out and thrusting back in deeply. Sage groans loudly, and a possessive, deep growl emits itself from Rhys’s chest as he begins to steadily pick up his pace.
Evidence of Sage's pleasure spills onto Sage’s abdomen, and the smell of it makes Rhys’s vision blurry at the edges.
A particularly deep thrust causes Sage to let out a high-pitched whimper, and Rhys immediately thrusts down into him again, overcome with desire and heat.
Sage is a mess below Rhys, his arms wrapped around Rhys’s back, and Rhys can feel Sage's nails as they dig into the skin of his shoulder blades and pull at every gentle caress inside of him.
The hand gripping Sage’s thigh digs in roughly and squeezes, and Sage knows that he’s probably going to have finger shaped bruises on his skin later from how hard Rhys is gripping him, but he’s so lost in his arousal that the thought of it only sends another wave of heat to pool between Sage's legs.
Rhys is never rough with him, always so gentle in the way he touches Sage. He sometimes forgets how much stronger he is than Sage when his head is clouded with lust like this, when he’s too caught up in the feel of Sage’s body that he doesn’t realize that he’s not really holding his strength back anymore. Sage knows that Rhys is holding him tightly enough that he’ll bruise. Sage loves the way Rhys touches him, though, and all he feels in this moment is safe and wanted.
It’s overwhelming for Sage sometimes to make love with Rhys when Rhys makes him feel so safe and vulnerable, so open and bare like this. In these moments together, their love for each other feels so much more heightened. Sometimes, Sage often wonders if love is too weak of a word for what he feels for Rhys, or for what Rhys feels for him. He’s never felt this strongly for anyone else like how he feels for Rhys—like their love is beyond what anyone else has ever felt before, so tender and strong and unbreakable. They're devoted to each other in ways that Sage has never experienced with another person, and he just feels so much love for Rhys that he feels it in every atom that makes up his body. He doesn’t think he’ll ever want anyone else the way that he wants Rhys.
Rhys moves so sinuously inside of him that Sage feels like every nerve ending inside of him is igniting beneath his skin. He’s completely narrowed in on Rhys as he’s driven right to that edge he’s tumbling along. He feels like his heart is beating just for Rhys, as if Rhys is a beacon to the blood in his veins, to the air in his lungs.
Every thrust as Rhys moves inside of him deeply makes Sage whimper beneath him, his ass clenching. He digs his nails into Rhys’s shoulders again and groans, throwing his head back as he pants, “R—Rhys.”
Rhys growls hotly, snapping his hips as he increases his pace even faster, pushing in even harder and says, “Let go for me, baby. You’re so amazing, Sage. Let me see you make a mess for me, sweetheart.”
His words have Sage gasping, and a minute later, Sage tumbles right over that edge with a loud groan. Rhys growls again, his eyes bleeding Alpha red at the sight of Sage falling apart below him, before he’s thrusting in once, twice more and chasing after his own release in Sage’s tight heat, groaning out, “Sage!”
They’re both panting, gazing down into each other’s eyes, but Rhys makes sure not to collapse on top of Sage and runs his thumb against Sage’s cheekbone, smiling down at him.
It’s silent for a moment, both of them working to catch their breaths. Sage runs his hands up and down Rhys’s ribs, tracing over them with his fingertips until his hand is resting against Rhys’s heart. His pulse beats erratically under Sage’s fingertips, and Sage grins, moving his hand up to rub his thumb against Rhys’s jaw.
Rhys’s werewolf abilities may allow him to run for miles on end and do a thousand different workouts and never get winded, but as soon as he’s got Sage underneath him, he’s breathing heavily like he’s just run a marathon, trying valiantly to get his breathing under control.
Sage smiles at him, turning his head so he can kiss Rhys’s palm as he looks back into Rhys’s red irises, and careful to keep his voice level and steady, he says slowly, “Your eyes are red, Ree.”
Rhys immediately closes his eyes sharply, taking a deep breath. “Oh. Sorry. I got a little carried away.”
Sage reaches up and grabs Rhys’s face and gently asks, “You have nothing to be sorry for. Let me see your eyes, baby.”
Rhys sighs softly and opens his eyes slowly after a moment of hesitation, unable to refuse Sage anything, and sighs deeply once more as he stares down at Sage. Sage just gives him a warm smile.
“There’s my Alpha wolf,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to Rhys’s lips. “I love your eyes, Rhys. They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
Rhys flushes at the compliment, tilting his head so he can playfully nip at Sage’s fingers that are still close to his mouth in deflection.
Rhys has never been able to accept the compliments and praises Sage bestows upon him, as if he doesn’t know how incredibly attractive he is, or how stunning he is. He barely notices the looks he receives when he and Sage are out in public together, too busy watching the people around him and Sage with a menacing look because being out in public sometimes makes his wolf antsy with so many scents and conversations. For as much as random people flirt with Sage, even more of those people flirt with Rhys, who always just looks back at his admirers with a blank look. Sage is confident that no one spares him a glance when Rhys is around because they’re too enamored with his mysterious eyes and brooding face. Sage is well aware of the effect Rhys has on people, but if those same people could see the usual cold and stoic man now, wrapped around his boyfriend as he blushes a deep scarlet at a compliment, they’d fall even deeper into Rhys’s mystery, pulled in by his captivating allure.
Rhys just gives Sage a small smile, shaking his head and replying, “Not as beautiful as you. Just the sight of you takes my breath away.” Sage blushes at his words, and Rhys’s smile widens as it turns sinful. He purposefully lowers his voice and says slowly, “Especially when you make that face that you do when I’m deep inside of you.”
Sage feels himself flush even deeper, and he shakes his head bashfully, turning his face away shyly. “Rhys!” he says exasperatedly, even as he huffs a soft laugh. Rhys has always had quite the mouth on him. Rhys’s own chuckle makes Sage grin, despite Sage's bashfulness. Sage shakes his head again, but he feels his smile widen as he says, “You’re wicked, you know that?”
“Mmm,” Rhys responds, nosing along Sage’s jaw. “I can’t help it, baby. You just always feel so good. Like you were made just for me.”
“God, Rhys, so do you,” Sage replies, laughing lowly, but he blushes even deeper. “I swear, you make me crazy, you know that?”
“Hmm,” Rhys hums again, pressing a kiss to Sage’s swollen lips. “Ditto.”
Sage laughs, before he winces at the pull inside of him, oversensitive from where Rhys is still pressed to the hilt inside of him. Rhys pulls away from him slowly, muttering apologies, before Sage is left feeling open and empty, and he can’t stop his face from twisting up in displeasure.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Rhys says, pressing another kiss to Sage’s lips before climbing down and off Sage, and Sage can’t help the way his eyes trail over Rhys’s muscular back, down to his amazing ass, and over his chiseled thighs and calves as Rhys disappears into the bathroom. Sage hears the water turn on a second later, and then Rhys is returning just as quickly with a wet, warm washcloth.
Sage smiles
and says, “Thank you, baby,” as Rhys cleans him, closing his eyes as Rhys’s gentle touch runs over him. He’s relaxed and tired, content to let Rhys take care of him, but he opens his eyes tentatively when he feels Rhys freeze over his right thigh and inhale sharply.
Sage looks down at his right thigh, sees the finger-shaped bruises he knew he was going to have, and looks up in time to see Rhys’s jaw clench in anger, and a noise that sounds like a low growl emits from his throat.
“Oh my, God,” Rhys says quietly, before he inhales sharply again and exhales a trembling breath. Sage recognizes this as Rhys trying to calm himself down before he can get angry or upset, but, as Rhys growls deeply in frustration again, Sage would guess that his efforts clearly aren't helping. “Sage, I’m so sorry, oh my, God.”
“Rhys, what are you talking about?” Sage asks, moving to grab Rhys’s face so that Rhys will look at him. “Hey,” Sage says, trying to look Rhys in the eyes. “I’m fine.”
Rhys’s jaw clenches again, and still not meeting Sage’s eyes, he says sharply, “Sage—” he cuts himself off, then bites out, “look at what I did to you.”
The soft glint in Rhys's eyes has completely disappeared, and the stoic, brooding mask begins to take its place over Rhys’s face. He stares down at Sage’s thigh with a menacing scowl on his face, and his body is stiff and tense, clearly alert and defensive.
Sage shakes his head. “Ree, you know how easy I bruise. It’s not a big deal, baby. It doesn’t even hurt.”
Rhys’s eyes snap to Sage’s, still blazing that bright red as he coldly says, “‘Not a big deal’? You have a bruise of my handprint on you, Sage. It’s a lot more than a big deal.”
This is the Rhys that Sage knows everyone else sees—the brooding, scowly and stoic man who exudes intimidation and malignity. Sage has had three years’ worth of practice to read Rhys’s body language, and while he looks seconds away from outright snarling and ripping someone’s head off, Sage knows that he’s just upset with himself because he thinks he’s actually done something to hurt Sage. Sage can see just by the way Rhys is holding himself, breathing heavily, and clenching his fists tightly before relaxing them at his sides that he’s worried and scared, as if it physically pains him to think that he’s caused Sage harm.