[All the while, Sullivan is watching Iggy - watching the way he responds to pain, both past and present. He puts his thumb over the shiny red mark he left on Iggy - he's not like Zephir who can heal it away, but he can age it, turning it from blister to scar in a painless application of pressure. Zephir can remove it, revert the act of time, but he wonders if Iggy would ever willingly approach him again.

Sully shifts, unzipping his pants - he's decided on something, and decides it's best to lessen the use of those phantom hands and replace their girth with that of his cock. It slides into Iggy easy, at least to start, unburdened by friction but he groans lowly at the tightness of his hole before bucking in. A few pumps is all it'll take before he's resuming the same rhythm.

But where Zephir can reinvigorate, Sully can instead keep someone on the edge - pulling Iggy just moments shy of his orgasm, balancing him precariously in one spot while he fucks him.]

This will feel sweeter in the end, I promise. Tell me more about your mother. Your father. Your life and the death all around you.