Vidyut sat against the bed frame, and Surya reclined on him sideways. The weight of Surya's head on his shoulder fastened his heart the way an anchor moored a ship. He smelled of flowers and oils and sweat and musk, the mixture of scents enough to burn Vidyut with desire. They remained so for a while, their skin slippery from a sheen of sweat where they touched each other. Surya was warm against him and very spent, not a movement from him other than his soft breathing.
"You will tell me if it hurts you," Vidyut said.
"It does not," Surya quickly asserted before Vidyut even finished his sentence.
The tantric moved his hand down the firm muscles of Surya's back and carefully rested it on his hip. It was still hot from the hard slaps, and Surya inhaled sharply when Vidyut's fingers press on his tender skin.
"Still doesn't hurt?" Vidyut teased.