Title: While Away The Time
Characters: Kyran, Justyn, Jevyn, Jasyn
Origin: World of Egaea (WIP)
Advent Day: 8 (December 4th)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3,953
Warning: Incest

—

The wind howled outside, whipping the thick snow around and making the shutters shake. Inside, the fire raged, warming the large room, and three pairs of identical eyes watched as Kyran slowly stripped off his robes of office. Oh, he’d known the triplets would be waiting for him. When the blizzard season struck Tira, the three of them were a force to be reckoned with.

“Busy day?” Jasyn asked, all sweet softness. His cheeks were flushed, his body bared to everyone, and his elder brother, Jevyn, was settled between Jasyn’s pale thighs. Kyran’s eyes honed in on Jevyn’s lips as they moved up the tender inside of a thigh, brushed over the scar Kyran’s teeth—over the course of years—had left behind. “Or were you utterly bored?”

Justyn chuckled from his spot at the foot of the bed, his cock thick, dark, the tip damp and sticky. “Of course it wasn’t busy, and I doubt he was bored. The blizzard struck. He knew what would be waiting—”

“—when he came back here,” Jevyn finished, glancing at Kyran. “And those thoughts kept him—”

Jasyn purred, “—so very hard, hungry and aching.”

The way the triplets could finish each other’s sentences had always been eerie to Kyran, but Gods above, it was one of the most erotic, mundane things they did. Their words coupled with the sound of their three heartbeats made his cock twitch as he freed it from the confines of his black trousers. Try as they might, the triplets hadn’t wholly succeeded in their efforts of influencing his bleak wardrobe. The dark, emerald green of his shirt had been a compromise, but right now, the color made his hungry, chartreuse eyes even more piercing. “Why do you even bother asking questions, when you fully intend on answering them yourselves?”

“Because it works you up?” Justyn suggested.

Jevyn chuckled from Jasyn’s lap. “Because it works all of us up.”

Kyran smiled, unable to even feign annoyance. The three of them were simply too charming to resist. Jasyn’s moan filled the room, and Kyran’s mouth went dry as he watched Jevyn slowly take Jasyn’s cock into his mouth. Justyn’s eyes glittered, intent on him, not his brothers, but Kyran couldn’t look away from the two younger brothers. They were beautiful in their pleasure. None of them could help but worship Jasyn, the youngest, the sweetest, the one who managed to cling to innocence even during the erotic heights of sex.

Kyran barely noticed Justyn slip from the bed, his attention so focused on Jevyn and Jasyn, but then Justyn’s hands were around him, touching him. “Jasyn waited all day. When we wanted to torment him, he refused, wanting you to see his joy… be a part of it.”

A moan filled Kyran’s throat, and if he’d had enough blood in his system, he just knew he would have blushed crimson. As it was, he could barely feel his heart beating in his chest, so rare were the pulses. His hunger, which had been nagging at him all afternoon and evening, now came back with a raging vengeance. “They’re beautiful, Justyn. The three of you… make me breathless.”

Justyn’s fingers teased across his skin, bypassing his nipples to grope his cock and balls without preamble. His groan nearly drowned out Justyn’s voice, which puffed into his ear. “I bet we make you a few other things, too. Hot, hard, and hungry. You’ve waited all day to feed, haven’t you? Who will have the pleasure tonight?”

“I… I don’t know,” Kyran whimpered, his mind scattered as he watched Jevyn pull off Jasyn’s cock with an audible pop.

“It’s my turn,” Jevyn insisted with a heated glance over his shoulder.

Jasyn squirmed, eyes glazed with need. “Jevyn…”

“Shh,” Jevyn murmured. “Soon, Jasyn. Kyran needs to warm himself first.” His eyes fell to Kyran, lust sparking in his eyes. “Unless you don’t want me, Kyran.”

Such a cruel question! Kyran untangled himself from Justyn’s arms and stalked to the bed. “I always want you.”

There was more writhing from Jasyn, and then he began to stroke his own cock. “You have—”

“—from the beginning,” Justyn said, crawling onto the bed beside Jasyn. “Even when you thought you shouldn’t have—”

“—you did,” Jevyn finished, rising up onto his knees, dark eyes on Kyran. “Our bodies. Our blood. Our hearts.”

Kyran crawled up onto the large bed and tugged Jevyn’s hair, bringing their lips together in a hungry kiss. He devoured Jevyn’s moans, loving the way the middle triplet’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. He pulled back with a soft cry. “Jevyn…”

“Yes, Kyran,” Jevyn panted against his lips.

Within moments, Jevyn’s hands were tangled in his hair, pulling him forward to Jevyn’s neck, and he instantly gave in, suckling the throbbing skin into his mouth. He could feel a shifting on the bedding, and his eyes opened to slits for a moment to see Justyn claiming Jasyn’s mouth in a passionate kiss. It only made his hunger flare even hotter in his gut, the need for fresh blood scratching at his throat as he deepened his mark on Jevyn’s throat.

Jevyn’s body was pliant in his arms, his cock hard against Kyran. Those hands held him fast to Jevyn’s throat, and while Kyran tried to draw it out a little longer, it was impossible. He struck quickly, cleanly, and Jevyn cried out, and then Kyran pushed that mental muscle, pressed the sheer pleasure of feeding from Jevyn into the pained mind. Within a moment, Jevyn whimpered and slumped against Kyran, his hands tangled in Kyran’s hair, but Kyran’s world narrowed to the thundering heartbeat, the rich taste, and the vision of Justyn kissing Jasyn, stroking Jasyn’s cock while Jasyn arched eagerly.

The longer he remained at Jevyn’s throat, the stronger his own pulse became. He could feel Jevyn’s wonderful connection to the earth moving through him, the taste of his blood spiked with that earthy energy. His cock hardened with the infusion of blood, and by the time he actually pulled back from Jevyn’s fragrant throat, they were rubbing against one another, dazed and overwhelmingly aroused. He reached out blindly and was glad when one of the other triplets handed him a bandage smeared with salve to stop the bleeding of his bite. He smiled as he pressed it to the wound, licking at the rivulets of blood that had escaped down Jevyn’s chest.

“Gods, Kyran,” Jevyn moaned, shivering and pulling him closer.

“Look at him, Jasyn,” Justyn purred, drawing Kyran’s gaze as much as Jasyn’s. “Do you want those bloodstained lips around your cock, sucking you to completion?”

“Yes!” Jasyn gasped, and, gods, he was trembling, actually trembling with need. The sight alone made Kyran desperate to suck Jasyn between his lips. “Kyran…”

Kyran gave Jevyn’s throat a parting kiss, and then helped the middle triplet onto the bed, into Justyn’s waiting arms. It warmed Kyran’s heart to see how tender Justyn was, murmuring to Jevyn, kissing him, securing the bandage, and it allowed him to focus utterly on Jasyn. His body thrummed with life. Borrowed life, yes, but it was intense, heat like the sun’s rays, and he crawled up onto the mattress, eyes on Jasyn’s waiting cock. “Will you spend the moment I suck you in?” he asked, grinning lustily, not bothering to hide the bloody gleam of his fangs.

Jasyn spread his legs wide. “Won’t take long,” he said, words breathless. “Justyn and Jevyn have me so ready, Kyran… so ready…”

“Taste Jevyn’s blood… your seed,” Kyran breathed, lips brushing over the slight arc of Jasyn’s cock.

“Please,” Jasyn begged, fingers reaching down and delving into Kyran’s black hair.

It was impossible to deny Jasyn when he pleaded like that, and Kyran didn’t even try. He gave in to the tugging of Jasyn’s hands and carefully sucked him into his mouth. He made certain to cover his sharp fangs with his lips and used every ounce of skill he had learned from Jevyn in order to bring Jasyn pleasure with his tongue and throat.

No matter how many times he sucked each of the triplets, it always made his cheeks burn, throbbing in time with his racing pulse. The mixing of Jasyn’s musk with Jevyn’s blood was intoxicating, and he sucked with all he had, loving every cry he was able to coax from Jasyn’s lips.

From behind him, over the pounding of his own heart, he could hear Justyn groan. He wanted to turn, to see what Jevyn was doing to bring that sound from Justyn. Then, he heard a wet sound, and his mind easily provided the image: Justyn against the foot of the bed, Jevyn in front of him, swallowing Justyn’s cock with that rabid enthusiasm Jevyn had for cocksucking. It spurred Kyran on, made him want to bring Jasyn as much pleasure as Jevyn brought Justyn, and he bobbed quickly, used his tongue lavishly.

“Kyran!” Jasyn’s fingers tightened in his hair, and then he felt the tell-tale swelling of Jasyn’s sex. He didn’t stop, didn’t give Jasyn a minute to doubt his intent. With a loud, musical cry, Jasyn came over his tongue, and Kyran moaned, drinking down the musky fluid as eagerly as he had Jevyn’s blood.

He milked Jasyn’s cock of every drop, and even then, he refused to let up, knowing he could push Jasyn, show a hint of dominance by demanding Jasyn remain hard. The whimpers and desperate moans told him just how well he was doing, and he groaned wetly around Jasyn when he heard Justyn’s loud, curt grunts, picturing him thrusting roughly forward, his fluids coating Jevyn’s throat.

Kyran finally released Jasyn’s cock and sat up, stroking Jasyn’s slick cock with one hand while the other pulled their lips together. The kiss was short-lived, however, as a sharp pull to his hair, yanked him away with a cry.

“I want a taste,” Justyn all but growled, devouring Kyran’s lips with a ferocity that made Kyran’s toes curl.

“Gods,” Jasyn panted, trying to sit up, but Jevyn slid up beside him and kept him down. “Jevyn!”

Jevyn grinned. “Not done tonight, brother,” he purred. “The blizzard is raging, and so are we.”

“Going to leave you aching,” Justyn promised between those deep, possessive kisses. “You’re going to be—”

“—dripping our come,” Jevyn promised, glancing at Kyran. “Two in your ass—”

Jasyn’s eyes flashed silver at the same time Justyn’s and Jevyn’s did, and that unique voice—one whole soul speaking through one mouth instead of three—rang out in the room, breathy and hungry. “—and one in your mouth. Which of us do you want to suck, and which two will pierce you? I want to possess your body utterly tonight, Kyran.”

That voice… the voice that told him the one soul fractured in three bodies was speaking directly to him as a whole. There was nothing more erotic than that, to know he was so loved, so desired. Kyran shuddered almost violently, his eyes darting hungrily between the three of them, so similar, and yet so very different. “I… I want…” But damn them, it was so difficult to chose between all the wonderful options! His eyes finally settled on Jevyn. “I want to suck you, Jevyn. Justyn… Jasyn… you’ll take me, spread me wide.”

Jevyn’s eyes lit up, the color returning to normal, as the middle twin grinned. “I love feeling you swallow around me.”

“Especially because he knows he taught you how that first time,” Justyn snorted, and when it earned him a punch in the shoulder from Jevyn, he punched playfully back. “You know I’m right.”

“You can also just relax this way,” Jasyn said, ever the mindful one of the wounds left by Kyran’s bites. “Take it easy for once and just watch.”

Jevyn shivered. “I love watching.”

“We know you do,” Justyn said, easing Jevyn back against the pillows. “How many times did you sit back and stroke yourself as I took Jasyn?”

A moan lilted up from Jevyn as he reached for Justyn. “Too many times,” he admitted breathlessly. “You’re always so masterful with Jasyn.”

“I love when he orders us about,” Jasyn said as he sat up, moved closer to Kyran. “It makes our blood boil—”

“—and our cocks hard,” Jevyn whispered against Justyn’s mouth. “To feel whole while watching—”

“—is a truly wonderful feeling for us,” Jasyn finished, nipping Kyran’s mouth. “And Kyran likes to watch, too, don’t you? But there will be—”

“—no watching tonight,” Justyn growled just before taking Jevyn’s mouth in a hungry kiss.

Jasyn smiled, tracing his finger over Kyran’s lower lip, eyes dark and large as he gazed up at the vampire. “No, not tonight. Tonight,” he said, eyes shifting to silver again, a mark of three minds made one, “you’re mine.”

Kyran shuddered violently, the statement of possession making him melt in Jasyn’s arms. “Yours,” he echoed. “All yours.” He reached over to their nightstand, retrieving the oil without delay. It was rare for Jasyn to take him, but right then, it felt as if he would perish if he didn’t give himself over to his youngest lover.

Jasyn flashed him another smile, took the oil, and coated his fingers. Their lips met, tongues tangling in a languid, sweet kiss, and when Jasyn’s fingers teased against his hole, Kyran moaned. He reached back with his own hands, spreading his ass to give Jasyn better access. The effort earned him a soft, needy sound from Jasyn, and he smiled when their lips parted and their eyes met, Jasyn’s their normal color again.

“You really want me inside, don’t you?” Jasyn asked.

“Desperately,” Kyran purred, licking Jasyn’s lower lip. He was about to continue teasing when two fingers glided inside him, pulling another moan from him. His body protested the intrusion at first, a side-effect of his incredible healing ability. No matter how many nights of passion he spent with his beautiful triplets, his body remained as virginal as it had been when he’d landed in Doran’s twisted hands. Justyn, Jevyn, and Jasyn didn’t seem to care.

And why would they? He was tight. Always so tight, and while there was an edge of pain to every joining, there was also this. Long, thorough foreplay, fingers teasing him open, lips keeping him hard. Every inch of his body caressed, kissed, loved, all while more and more fingers were added to his ass, spreading him wider bit by bit. He cried out, not knowing anymore whose fingers—or how many—filled him, whose mouth took his, and whose lips were wrapped around his cock. It was intoxicating. The triplets were a force he could never have truly hoped to resist.

“Want you,” Justyn panted hotly in his ear. “I want to feel your ass squeeze my cock.”

Kyran shuddered and moaned helplessly into Jevyn’s possessive mouth. “Yes!”

Jasyn finally pulled his mouth from Kyran’s cock. “I’m on the bottom,” he said with an eager grin.

Kyran looked at the three of them through dazed eyes, and when Jasyn tugged him forward, he followed without an ounce of resistance. It meant leaving those fingers behind, but as he straddled Jasyn and got lost in another bout of kissing, he found he didn’t care. Jasyn’s hands guided his hips, and he sat back, taking Jasyn’s cock inside with a single smooth thrust. His moan was contagious, echoing around him from all three of his lovers.

“Gods, yes. Take him deep,” Jevyn encouraged, and Jasyn gripped at his ass, thrusting up into him, getting just a little more depth. It forced a gasp from Kyran’s lips, but gods, it felt so good!

“Kyran,” Jasyn whimpered, his hips rolling up.

“So good, Jasyn,” Kyran breathed, dipping down to kiss him again. “You always feel so good.”

Justyn’s hands smoothed over his ass then, and Kyran felt his heart speed in his chest. “Will we feel just as good together?” Justyn asked, oily fingers stroking around his hole where Jasyn pierced him. “Will you cry out even louder when I shove inside, love?”

“Yes!” Kyran gasped, his cheeks a bright pink. The press of Justyn’s fingers threatened to drive him mad with need, and he shifted back until Justyn gave in and gently pushed them in alongside Jasyn’s cock. The stretch was intense, but then Justyn shifted his fingers down inside him and rubbed against the spot that sent a jolt of pleasure through him, and he broke his kiss with Jasyn to cry out.

Jevyn chuckled nearby. “Don’t even have to slide your cock inside to make him shout.”

“Yes, but I want him to scream with pleasure,” Justyn ground out, rubbing relentlessly at that gland.

Kyran was a mass of need, and Jasyn’s squirming beneath him wasn’t helping. When Jasyn arched up and latched onto his throat, Kyran thought he’d come right then. Between the press of Jasyn inside, Justyn’s wicked fingers, and Jasyn’s mouth sucking and biting at his sensitive throat, Kyran couldn’t tell which way was even up. All he knew was the molten pleasure the triplets inspired in him, edged him into. It was a controlled loss of control, and Kyran loved it.

It took a firm tug at his hair for him to register the question that Justyn asked him a couple times, and even then, the world of organized speech seemed so far away. His tongue fumbled over itself, and Justyn asked again. “Are you ready for me?”

Kyran looked back at the eldest triplet and nodded with a groan. “Yes… ready… please, Justyn…”

Justyn countered the harshness of his hair-pulling with a sweeping touch down the center of Kyran’s spine, pushing him down over Jasyn. Though he knew what was coming, it helped that Jasyn reached up and massaged his scalp as they kissed again. He could feel the blunt head of Justyn’s cock at his entrance, and when it pushed inside, stretching him to capacity, he couldn’t help but scream at the wave of pleasure, pain, and possession that crashed into him.

“Yes,” Justyn groaned. “Like that. Scream for me.”

Kyran vaguely remembered a time Doran, his master and tormentor for so long, had ordered him to do the very same. But this time, those words are laced with such lust, love, and desire. They were safe. Justyn didn’t want his agony, his tears. Justyn only wanted his pleasure, and it was pleasure he felt. Hot and consuming, driving him mad as Justyn pushed deeper, as Jasyn rocked up with his brother to claim him in one, thick thrust.

Jevyn reached over, drew Kyran away from Jasyn’s lips. Jasyn immediately moved back to Kyran’s throat, sucking and biting, only adding yet another sensation to the windstorm of feeling that raged in Kyran. Jevyn’s gentle hands lifted Kyran’s face, brushed back damp hair, and caressed Kyran’s lips with his fingertips.

“Do you want to suck me now?” Jevyn asked, voice pitched low, tempting. “You’ve had my blood, do you want my come?”

“Jevyn…” Kyran panted, another choked sound escaping him as Justyn and Jasyn both thrust deep inside him again. “Yes. Gods, yes, please…”

His eyes were wild with need as he reached with lips and tongue, trying so hard to reach Jevyn’s cock, which was just out of reach. He craned his neck, but that just gave Jasyn more opportunity to suck and bite at his throat. He moaned desperately, his hand darting up to touch the toned, flushed skin of Jevyn’s abdomen.

“Kyran,” Jevyn moaned, a hand cupping the back of Kyran’s head and guiding him closer. “Just like I taught you.”

The words brought to mind those endless hours Jevyn had spent with him one season teaching him how to suck cock. Not just suck it, but to love to suck it. He put all those long lessons to work now, swallowing Jevyn down the moment the triplet brought his cock within reach. The moment Jevyn’s shaft filled his mouth and throat, Kyran was swept under a tide of lust. There was nothing but the scent of sex, the sounds of their bodies moving, and those three cocks laying utter claim to his body.

It was decadent, mindless. He was being fucked, taken by the triplets, and he was loving every instant. Never in the past had he felt so whole, so shameless and open. He had fucked around with Cathal, had even reached out to Bleidd in the past, but none of his partners had ever touched his heart and made his spirit thrum with life like these three beautiful Maith who housed the soul that was bound to his.

Their bodies rocked against one another, and Kyran was lost in the push and pull, the intense shift inside and the claiming thrusts into his mouth and throat. There were hands, so many hands all over him—brushing along his spine, teasing his nipples, massaging his scalp—and the drumming of their heartbeats all around him just pushed him higher.

One moment, and then another, sucking, taking, giving, and finally screaming as his body jerked. He would have arched, but the three of them had him caught. All he could do was cry out and tremble as he came, and the cries of his lovers were like distant echoes, lost beneath the pulsing of their heartbeats.

Even amid that spike of pleasure, he heard them. He heard Justyn’s throaty, deep cry that signaled his peak. Under that was the soft whimpering of Jasyn, the trembling of that toned, golden body beneath his. His ass was slicked with their come, scenting him, marking him, and then Jevyn came. But Kyran was crying out, shuddering, caught between them, and Jevyn’s come spattered over his face, down his throat, and dripped to Jasyn’s waiting body.

Hedonistic. It was both base and the most holy of acts he could have engaged in. Kyran gasped, tasting Jevyn’s seed on his lips, and his eyes darted around, trying to focus on one of them—any of them, and when he did settle on someone, it was Jasyn’s soft, sated gaze he landed on. Jasyn’s hands moved up and down Kyran’s arms and chest, and he lifted his head, darted his tongue out, and licked at a smear of Jevyn’s come with a moan.

That one lick made Kyran shudder even harder, and he whimpered as Jevyn dipped down to claim his lips, lapping up the fluids smeared on his chin before tangling their tongues together. When Justyn’s mouth joined in, kissing and nipping along his shoulder blades, the sense of debauchery was complete. A smile broke out over his face, and he panted harshly, nearly sobbed from the intensity of it all. It was joy that made him feel so overwhelmed, though, and those sobs quickly became laughs as he regained control over his hands and could touch all three of them in turn.

“Love when a blizzard hits,” Justyn said, his voice slurred and deep.

Jasyn laughed. “Kyran always keeps us thoroughly engaged.”

“Mmm,” Jevyn purred, licking at Kyran’s lips again. “Maybe he can engage us again after we have something to eat.”

Kyran shivered, his muscles tightening around Justyn’s and Jasyn’s softening cocks. “Have to keep your strength up,” he said, looking down at Jasyn.

Jasyn grinned. “And yours, because—”

“—we aren’t nearly finished—” Jevyn breathed between sweet kisses.

Justyn bit at Kyran’s shoulder. “—with you yet.”

Kyran groaned, eyes closing as the triplets descended on him, kissing and touching, gentling him as the passion receded. They weren’t done. The blizzard battered the main house, piling snow outside, and Kyran knew the four of them would spend the night tangled up in the sheets… and he thought it was the perfect way to while away an icy, windy night.

Title: Endurance
Characters: Reue (Sorrow), Morgan
Origin: House of Cards (WIP)
Advent Day: 7 (December 3rd)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,524
Warning: Rape

—

There had been a time when the silvery glow of moonlight had felt magical to Morgan, but as it filtered in through the high windows onto the blood-spattered stone floor, it only served to drive home how harsh and cold his existence had become. The lash fell over his back, the force of the blow making him shut his eyes and catch himself with a hand against that cold, sticky stone. The pain was such a regular affair that it only pulled the softest of sounds from him. It still hurt—Gods, his back was on fire after such abuse—but he had learned sound only encouraged his master.

Crius was in a mood tonight, agitated over some spat with another vampire in the region. Visits from those outside the household always upset the balance, and Morgan felt a thrill of fear move through him as Crius threw the whip aside and pulled him to his feet by the length of his red hair. “You bore me, Morgan,” Crius hissed, his fangs still tinged with Morgan’s blood, dark eyes ablaze with anger and lust.

He knew what those words meant, knew what was coming when Crius forced him onto the bed. He fought to keep his composure as his arms were shackled up to the ceiling, stretching the raw lashes on his back open. Utterly exposed on his knees, he tried not to look at the sadistic, gleeful expression on Crius’ face. He knew what was coming, but he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t do anything but pull futilely at the chains. The more he struggled, the more Crius would enjoy their time together, but he couldn’t not struggle, no matter how much more it made his wounds bleed down his back, ass, and thighs.

Crius laughed and licked along his rippling muscles. Morgan lifted a knee, but his sluggish attempt at a kick was met with a harsh scratch that beaded blood and pulled a gasp from his parched lips. Crius licked along the bloody scratches, and Morgan hated the way sharing his blood with his master sent a spark of pleasure to his groin.

“Yes,” Crius mocked, dragging his fangs over Morgan’s skin. “You give much more sport here, struggle, writhe. You just can’t help yourself.”

The moment Morgan glanced down, he instantly regretted it. The dark, silky curls of Crius’ hair didn’t hide the smile on those lips, and a deceptively gentle touch to his cock was followed by the heat of Crius’ mouth, the harsh suction that made him renew his struggles. It wasn’t that it hurt, but that it didn’t hurt. His body responded rapidly, and the sheer force of shame nearly ripped a sob from him by the time Crius finally decided he was hard enough.

The agony of his back was something he could handle, but forcing pleasure alongside it just ensured Morgan couldn’t lose himself in the numbness he’d worked so hard to craft over the two centuries he had spent with Scylla. His maker had been a harsh mistress as well, had set the foundation, but Crius pushed him in more subtle ways that had started chipping away at the control he’d managed to train into himself.

As Crius slid between his parted thighs and forced his way into Morgan’s body, Morgan wished he could escape. But where would he go? He survived only because of the blood pact that bound him to Crius. He could feed on humans like the other vampires, but he didn’t have the power to be free of his oath. Crius would always control him, and that fact cut deeper than those bloody lashes on his back, deeper than the harsh bite on his throat.

He had thought he was strong, that the blood in his veins was that of a warrior. He had believed he could survive any torture, even after the horrors he had endured that made this act look like an afternoon spent lounging on the seashore. The truth, however, was harsher than the moonlight, harsher than the burn of his ass as he was taken by Crius until he was raw.

The truth was, he was powerless, and the futility of his struggles hit him hard. It was only when he slumped in his chains and sobbed that Crius’ hand teased over the rigid length of his cock. “Do you want to come, Morgan?”

The question made him shudder, both from inward disgust and from the way Crius’ thumb rubbed against the slit of his cock. “Yes,” he finally choked out, his skin flushed with arousal and shame.

“Say it, Morgan,” Crius growled, landing another harsh scratch across Morgan’s chest. “Tell me that you love my cock, that you love what I do to you.”

Something fragile inside Morgan’s spirit broke as he opened his mouth again. “I love the way you take me, love your—your cock. I want to come…”

“Please,” Crius prompted cruelly.

Morgan hung his head and echoed obediently. “Please, Master…”

The tightening of Crius’ hand around him pulled another broken sound from his throat. He bucked and came, rewarded for his subservience, but there was no true pleasure, only shame and pain and despair. The world spun, and he barely acknowledged Crius’ pleasure beyond the sting it added to his ass. Time ceased to matter as he sobbed, lost in the shame as he was unshackled and left on the bed. There were words. There were always words, but whether they were mocking or sweet, he didn’t know. He wasn’t listening. All he could do was stare past his tears into the other side of the room.

He could hear the ocean, the beautiful sound he adored so much. It was another torture to hear the sea, taste the salt in the air, but never be allowed to see it, to touch it, to go sailing as he had before Scylla had ensnared him. His vision blurred as another wave of despair overtook him, and in the hazy shadows, he could have sworn he saw a girl emerge, pale, dark-haired, with piercing blue eyes.

Morgan blinked again, and then he was certain. There was a girl. Why would Crius have sent a girl up to him? Was he to be allowed to feed finally? Had he pleased Cruis this time? The sick need in him to please his master only made the pain of his soul that much deeper. He closed his eyes as she approached, and it was then he noticed she wore the robes of a noble Roman woman. Crius had given him a noblewoman? Morgan curled in on himself when she reached the bed, silent as a ghost. He wondered if she’d witnessed every humiliation he’d just been dealt. Of course she had. She’d been in that corner, hadn’t she?

He jumped when he hand—so warm and alive—touched his sweaty brow. Morgan expected a blow, some new torture, but the girl only looked at him with those large, sorrowful eyes of such a deep, endless blue, he thought he could become lost in them. He swallowed against his tears, and she smelled so good… and he was so hungry…

“I’m sorry I can’t take you from here,” she murmured, and her voice! Morgan hadn’t heard something so sweet and musical in a very, very long time. Innocence seemed to thrum in that voice, draw him in, promise him things he could no longer experience. “I wish I could.”

Morgan’s breath hitched, and it was then he realized she wasn’t speaking Latin. She was speaking his language, the mother tongue of his island beyond what the Romans were calling Britannia. Now that Crius had left, probably heading for the baths and the young servant boys there, he didn’t have to censor himself or speak only Latin. He forced his throat to work, and his voice was broken, raspy as he whispered, “Who are you?”

She smiled at him, and he thought he might go blind. It was so beautiful, so… understanding, even if he didn’t know what it was she understood. “You may call me Mairg.”

“Mairg?” He thought that such an odd name. “You’re named after sorrow?”

Her long, pale fingers moved through his hair, soothing him, making his heart ache with a visceral need for comfort. “My father believed it poetic at the time be bestowed the name. It will suit us for the time being, Morgan.”

“Suit… us?” He couldn’t help but ask. Maybe he was asking too much, trying too hard to understand. If he spoke too much, she might decide he was annoying and leave. The thought of losing her gentle touch froze his heart with fear, and he stared at her with wide eyes. “Are you one of Crius’ cruel tricks, Mairg?”

“No,” she breathed with heartbreaking gentleness. There was such pain in her expression, such empathy. If anyone had given him such an expression in the past… He would have hated being the subject of anyone’s sympathy, of showing any such weakness to another, but Mairg seemed to look right through him. She saw him broken and bloody but didn’t pull her hand away.

“If he didn’t… then how did you…?” His eyes darted to the door, and when he looked back at Mairg, there was the smallest smile on her lips.

“Doors and magic hold no sway over me.”

Morgan’s head and body hurt. He just wanted to sate the hunger burning in him, ease his exhaustion. He closed his eyes, confused, but then her hands cupped his face. When he opened his eyes, her face was near his. She was so close, smelled like home, and his mouth watered.

“The winter comes,” Mairg whispered. “It will be hard and cold and cruel. But you must endure. You’ll be so important a long time from now to a lot of people.” She wet her lips, and he thought to kiss her, but then she was inching closer to him, pulling his head up, his mouth to her throat. “You must endure.”

For an instant, Morgan meant to ask what she thought she was doing, but then he caught the scent of her blood, so close to the surface. It smelled so nice, the sound of it a siren’s song to his aching body. Hunger overpowered his wit, and he bit the first chance he was given, digging his fangs into her throat and crying out at the potent sweetness of the first swallow. He drank deeply, overwhelmed by her flavor, which was like the sun captured in a warm, fragrant wine, like all things bright and good and lost in time. After the denial Crius had put him through—another of his favorite tortures—he couldn’t force himself back, couldn’t restrain himself after a couple swallows.

Her blood seemed endless, and Morgan drank until his gut ached. Every gulp brought life back into his limbs, made his wounds begin to slowly knit back together, but it only added to the wounds inside. This young, beautiful girl would die. He couldn’t stop drinking, and with how much he had already managed and her shallow breathing, he knew it wouldn’t be long before she would slump against him. The first one to take pity on him, and he would kill her. A strange, new despair crept over him, and he sobbed softly as he held onto her, trying to pull her close so she wouldn’t fall crudely to the floor when she fainted.

Another thick swallow, and another, but Mairg didn’t collapse, didn’t sink in his arms. When Morgan felt like another mouthful might make him ill, he pulled back, his eyes wide, his body surging with her blood. “Mairg!”

Mairg’s breath was short, but her eyes… her eyes seemed to glow, bright and blue and limitless. The wound on her throat was deep, a brilliant bruise surrounding his teeth marks, but she was alive. Alive and flushed and reaching for him. He flinched, brow furrowed as he swallowed, her flavor lingering in his throat. By all the gods, the taste of her! The sizzle of that blood inside him. His limbs no longer were heavy, his head stopped pounding, and his flesh… he felt warm! “Who are you?” he choked out.

She withdrew her hand, let it fall to her lap. “Just Mairg. Just… me. I… only wanted to help… however I could.”

“You aren’t dead. I drank enough to kill you.”

A gentle shrug of her shoulders. “I can’t die. Part of what I am.”

“You don’t taste human.”

“I never said I was.”

The thrill of fear invaded his warmth again, and he swallowed thickly. Gods above, he could still taste her! Even though he’d taken all he could stomach, the need for another lick was overpowering. “Are you a servant of the goddesses? One of the Tuatha Dé Danann?”

Her laughter was like the chiming of bells. “No, I’m just me.”

Morgan didn’t need to be told yet again. If Mairg wanted to keep her secrets, there was nothing he could do about it. He slumped on the bed, a hint of a smile gracing his lips for the first time in longer than he could remember. “What can I do to repay you?”

Mairg bit her lower lip, eyes bright. “Promise me that when I ask for payment in the future, you will give it to me. I ask nothing of you now, but there will be a time I will.”

A future time? That would mean he’d see her again. The thought made his heart flutter with hope. Hope. He wanted to laugh. He hadn’t felt hope in far too long, and in just a few minutes, she had not only soothed and fed him, she had gifted him with hope. “I swear, m’lady.”

She leaned over and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Remember, endure… and don’t forget me.”

The soft caress was the first kiss he’d been gifted without there being some horrible price to pay, and he reached up, daring to touch her beautiful face, even though his hands were dirty and left a smudge of blood on her. “I won’t forget. I’ll never forget.”

Mairg smiled again, leaning into the touch for a moment, and then rose from the bed. She walked backward toward those deep shadows again, and just before she faded from sight, her voice filled the room again. “One day, I’ll take you to swim in the ocean again. One day.”

And then he was alone once more in his prison.

Her words rang in his ears, the promise nearly bringing tears to his eyes. Swim in the ocean? Oh, it was the most wonderful dream, a fantasy that he had kept closely guarded over the many years he’d spent with Crius. Could Mairg be trusted to fulfill that wish? Did he truly care? As he rolled over and rested against the padding of his bed, he knew the answer was no. Even if it took centuries, he’d live in hope of her visit, of the moment when she would take him to the sea.

It was the most precious gift anyone could have given him.

Title: Midnight Snack
Characters: Aric, Nikola
Origin: Rachmaninoff
Advent Day: Day 6 (December 2nd)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3,016

—

Aric all but stumbled into the penthouse hotel room he was sharing with Nikola, and a laugh bubbled up out of him as he was caught by the man behind him and steadied. He turned and pulled the lad inside by his scarf. “Come in! I’ll introduce you to my partner, and then the party can really begin.”

“Aric.” Nikola’s voice cut through the pleasant haze of his mind when he was just a breath away from kissing the man in his arms. He turned and tugged the man forward with him, stumbling again when the man hesitated in order to shut the door. It earned him a raised eyebrow from Nikola. “Are you drunk?”

“Of course not!” Aric laughed, crossing over to Nikola and rising up onto his toes to wrap his arms around Nikola’s broad shoulders. “There’s this wonderful thing called a contact high. It’s this place. Dublin is magic this time of year. Good carolers, good music…”

“Good young men to ensnare?” Nikola questioned with a soft chuckle.

Aric lowered his voice to a whisper. “I know! Isn’t he gorgeous? I’d already had a snack, but I couldn’t resist him!” The young man cleared his throat, and Aric’s cheeks flushed a little as he turned and flashed him an apologetic smile. “God, excuse my bad manners. Nikola, this is Liam. Liam, this is my partner, Nikola, the one I told you about with the amazing cock.”

“Even a decade later, you’re as crude and crass as ever,” Nikola said, ducking his head to nip at Aric’s throat.

He couldn’t help but moan when Nikola did that. His throat had been sensitive before Nikola had turned him, but ever since? Just that nip made him achingly hard in his jeans. “You wouldn’t have me any other way, Count.”

Liam shifted on his feet. “If you would rather I go…”

“That accent!” Aric shuddered and reached for Liam. “I love a man with an accent.”

Liam stepped forward, his smile a bit more confident. “But does your lover also love a man with an accent?”

Aric grinned and kissed Liam, teasing his lips until Liam deepened the kiss just how he’d wanted. When he pulled back, it was with a purr. “He’s learned I know how to pick my midnight snacks. Haven’t you, Nikola?”

Nikola slid his hands down to cup Aric’s ass, squeeze it. “Aric has quite a taste in men. It’s a talent he’s spent almost as long honing as his piano playing.”

“You play the piano?” Liam asked, lips trailing down Aric’s throat.

Aric tilted his head back, his lips brushing against Nikola’s as Liam’s found his pulse. God, the pleasure was just mind-blowing, and Aric knew tonight would be a hedonistic wet dream for him. The indulging in a third sexually was something Nikola only did on special occasions. Nikola, much to Aric’s never-ending enjoyment, didn’t like sharing him much. He smiled against Nikola’s beautiful mouth, teased the perfect lips with his tongue. “I was tutored by the best,” he purred.

Nikola smiled, and he could all but scent the pride Nikola took in that compliment. Nikola had taught him everything there was to know about feeling his music, experiencing lovemaking, and being a vampire. He often failed to give back in kind, even though he did his utmost to ensure Nikola never regretted turning him.

“I bet you have amazing hands, then,” Liam said against his pulse with the sexiest Irish lilt Aric had ever heard.

Aric reached up and played with a lock of Nikola’s long, blond hair. “I also have an amazing mouth. What do you think? Should Liam feel my mouth first, just to get things started?”

“Your mouth is always an excellent way to begin an evening’s festivities,” Nikola purred. “Am I to simply watch?”

A smirk curved Aric’s lips. “I thought you liked watching.”

Nikola nipped at Aric’s lip. “To bed with you and Liam.”

Aric righted himself, his hungry gaze on Liam, and then he pounced the man, pulling him into a kiss. Nikola would join them, Aric knew, in his own time. It was always the same. Nikola gave him the pleasure of the conquest, of luring the prey, ensnaring the prey, and taking those first sips. It had helped him to learn how to capture mortals’ minds, how to bring them pleasure like he remembered Nikola bringing him all those years ago.

He pushed Liam to the bed, their hands pulling at each other’s clothing, and Aric practically growled. Hunger clawed at him, tested his resilience. Maybe he should have fed more. Maybe he was just horny as hell. His sex drive still hadn’t properly leveled out, and he was beginning to wonder if it ever would. “Going to suck you ’til you scream,” Aric panted as he finally got his hands into Liam’s pants.

Liam was hard against his palm, slender but long, and he devoured every sound the man made until Liam managed to get them completely naked. Only then did his mouth leave Liam’s and start on the path down to his cock, licking and nipping all along the way. “Freckles… Fucking love your freckles,” he moaned as he moved past collarbones and down along the center of Liam’s body. He took Liam’s cock between his lips without a moment’s hesitation, sucking him right into his throat.

“Oh, bloody fuck!” Liam cursed, causing Nikola to chuckle from the sidelines.

Nikola finished stripping and climbed on the bed behind Liam, and Liam groaned. “Like a fucking statue, all muscle and pale skin. Don’t you ever go—ah!—into the sun?”

“I’m a night owl,” Nikola said, voice thick with that Russian accent of his. “The world comes alive at night, and I love to share that time with my precious Aric.”

Aric looked up the line of Liam’s body and groaned. Nikola was devouring Liam’s mouth, his large hands moving over Liam’s tanned chest. Aric could smell the blood under Liam’s skin, and all he wanted to do was pull back and sink his fangs into Liam’s thigh. His teeth itched, but he fought the sensation, focusing entirely on sucking and swallowing Liam while Nikola tormented Liam’s mouth and nipples.

He’d been teasing Liam from the moment he’d met the man in the pub. It didn’t surprise him when Liam’s cock swelled in his mouth, and he sucked even harder, using lips, tongue, teeth, and throat to push him over the edge. Liam’s shout echoed in the room, and Aric’s mouth was flooded with come. Even come was full of life to Aric, though, and he drank it down hungrily. It made him even more desperate to sink his teeth into Liam, but he had to hold himself in check, do it properly, and he didn’t have the concentration at the moment to control Liam’s mind.

Even without his otherworldly mind control, Aric wasn’t about to let Liam grow soft. They had so much more time to spend with him! He pulled back from Liam’s cock with a gasp, stroking the length firmly with his hand, his wrist working to make every gesture pleasurable.

“Aric,” Liam moaned, still quivering and supporting himself against Nikola’s chest. “Oh, fuck, your mouth is…”

“Exquisite,” Nikola finished with a deep purr. “And it only gets better.”

Aric grinned as Nikola guided Liam’s hand to Nikola’s cock. The look on Liam’s face was priceless, the wide eyes and open-mouthed awe at Nikola’s size. “Do you want to taste him?” Aric asked, rubbing his thumb along the slit of Liam’s cock. “Touch him? Feel him spread your ass wide with his cock?”

Liam’s eyes fluttered, another moan lilting from the man. “Yeah, God, to feel this in my ass…” He swallowed and looked down at Aric. “What about you?”

“Oh, I think we can manage a position so that all three of us get what we want,” Aric murmured, squeezing Liam’s cock for a moment. “Nikola, get the lube?” Nikola reached to the bedside table, and Aric kissed back up Liam’s body. His lips brushed Liam’s. “Hands and knees. I think that’s one of the best ways to enjoy Nikola’s cock fucking you. He can pound into you, take you deep.” He nipped at Liam’s lower lip, and the man shivered, dazedly turning until he was on his hands and knees.

It was a good position, one that Aric enjoyed frequently with Nikola, but it wasn’t Aric’s favorite position. No, he liked when Nikola pressed him to the bed, all that muscle pushing him into the mattress, and fucked him deep and slow, kissing him, biting at him. It was intimacy and intensity Nikola had taught Aric to crave, but in these moments, when it was about fucking and feeding with a third, Aric didn’t want such intimacy. Intimacy was saved for when it was just him and Nikola.

Aric watched as Nikola prepared Liam, and the panted curses in that Irish accent made Aric practically melt. They really had to travel abroad more often. By the time Nikola slicked himself and thrust inside Liam, Aric was nearly trembling with need and hunger. His eyes swept over the scene, and even the light sweat on Liam’s body made him want to taste the throbbing blood just under the surface of Liam’s skin. He looked up along the gorgeous line of Nikola’s body, and his breath caught when their eyes met. Damn, but Nikola’s pale blue eyes were blazing, and the heat that gaze sent through him went directly to his cock. He leaned down and devoured Liam’s mouth, his tongue trying to pull every bit of life he could from the gesture without breaking skin. He felt his teeth start to descend and pulled back before Liam could feel them. “Ready to suck me, Liam?”

“Yes! Oh, fuck, yes!” Liam groaned, his hands clenching tightly at the sheets.

Aric chuckled but kept his smile in check so his fangs wouldn’t flash in the lamplight. “Spread your legs wider,” he ordered before flopping down on the bed and wiggling his way up between Liam’s arms and legs. The sixty-nine position brought him in line with Liam’s cock, and he wasted no time, craning his neck to suck Liam inside again. He couldn’t take him nearly as deep as before because his fangs refused to stay back, and after a couple minutes of torturing the head while Nikola thrust deep and slow, he finally pulled back. Finding Liam’s femoral artery was second nature, and he paused only to stretch that inner power to fog Liam’s mind before striking.

Blood trickled hotly into his mouth, his teeth sinking to the perfect depth to make the act linger. He stroked Liam’s long cock and enjoyed Liam’s groan vibrating around his own shaft. The man tasted of mulled wine and the spice of someone who sought out life at every moment, taking nothing for granted. It was a heady combination, something he always craved and rarely found when he would hunt.

Feeding was as good as sex. When he was mortal, Aric wouldn’t have thought anything could be as good as sex, but now… Now, he knew. It made sense to him why Nikola had loved to feed from him whether they were fucking or not. This was an intimacy beyond sex, something life-giving to them and mind-blowingly good for their prey. Nothing compared. He drew on Liam’s thigh, and his arousal rode high and hot inside him. He could see Nikola’s cock, thick and dark, moving in and out, stretching Liam’s hole, and he had that stab of desire for it to be his ass Nikola fucked. Yes, Nikola had fucked him before he’d even gone out tonight, but he could never get enough of his creator.

That was the both the boon and bane of his existence now. He craved Nikola. That bond Nikola had once spoken of between a master and their chosen—when properly made and nurtured—was intense and driving. When he’d gone looking for prey tonight, he’d done it with the intention of impressing Nikola. And now that they had Liam, all he wanted to do was cast the man aside and spread himself for his master. It was as exhilarating as it was frightening.

Liam’s mouth came off his cock, and Aric groaned against the bloody wound at Liam’s thigh. He could hear Nikola speaking softly in that hypnotic, erotic way he did, but he was too concerned with feeding, with the thickening of the blood that told Aric Liam was close to release. His hand was pushed away from Liam’s sex, replaced by Nikola’s, and Aric could then let himself drown in the pleasure of feeding.

Liam cried out, and Aric almost pulled back both his mouth and his mind, but then he felt Nikola’s power brushing against his own, deepening the spell Liam was under. God, his cock was so fucking hard. Nikola was feeding, too, and Aric loved watching that. He consoled himself with the fact he would get to watch it next time, and then Liam was screaming. Streaks of hot liquid spattered over Aric’s chest and stomach as Liam came, and Aric thought he’d also come just from that decadent, wicked sensation.

Liam’s moans and grunts lingered for a few seconds as he panted above Aric, but Aric could feel that soothing heat of Nikola’s power. Added to his own power, they quickly subdued Liam, and Aric pulled back from the clotting wound just in time to catch a bit of Liam’s weight. He chuckled as he wiggled his way out from under Liam’s slumped body, but it quickly morphed into a loud groan as he glimpsed Nikola’s blood-slicked lips and that icy gaze boring into him.

Aric’s pulse thundered in his ears, and Nikola seemed just as rushed as he was to get Liam settled at the far end of the large bed. The moment they’d ensured Liam would sleep through the night, Nikola lunged for him. The power in Nikola’s body as it pulled Aric close made him cry out, and Nikola took advantage of that moment, possessing his mouth in a hungry kiss. Liam’s blood was the perfect flavor to share, and he submitted eagerly to Nikola.

This was the passion he loved to see in Nikola, but it was a rare thing. Nikola valued his control, his gentleness, and while Aric did love those deep moments of lovemaking, he also hungered for these moments of lustful abandon. His nails scraped over Nikola’s pale back as his mouth was utterly plundered, and then Nikola’s mouth was at his throat, the teeth scraping at sensitive flesh.

“Facing me or from behind?” Nikola growled, and Aric shuddered. From behind, Nikola could thoroughly fuck him, even bite him, but he wouldn’t be able to bite back. Facing Nikola, though, would allow for a hard, deep fuck and they could bite one another. He was torn, and he whined, to which Nikola answered with another, sharper bite to his throat. “Facing me or from behind, Aric? Answer me.”

“Facing!” Aric gasped, his hands tugging at Nikola’s hair. Nikola’s growl was nearly a purr, and he was all but thrown down to the sheets. Nikola’s long fingers were inside him a second later, pushing lube up into his body. “Oh, bloody fuck, Nikola! Take me!”

“Not until you’re slick.” Even in his passion, Nikola was careful never to injure him, and it oftentimes drove Aric nuts.

“I’m slick enough!” Aric writhed, spread his legs wide. “Please!”

Nikola surged forward, took Aric in one, smooth, slick thrust, and Aric thought he’d lose his mind. Sex with Nikola was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and when they were both high off a feeding? Fuck, he thought he’d come then and there.

Aric’s nails dragged over Nikola’s skin, leaving behind the most beautiful red lines, flushed with blood they had taken from Liam. His body clenched around Nikola, and he couldn’t help but stay on edge as Nikola set a brutal pace, fucking him hard and deep. It was exactly what he’d wanted all night, and every time he cried out, Nikola’s teeth gripped tighter at his throat until those fangs extended. Nikola bit, and the moment of pain was washed away by the sheer pleasure of sharing blood with his creator. There was nothing more personal, more mind-blowing than feeding while fucking with Nikola. His hands yanked at Nikola’s hair, and he ignored Nikola’s growl in order to crane his neck and strike with his own fangs. The moment Nikola’s pulse opened up to him and spilled over his tongue, the circuit between them was complete, and he cried out wetly over Nikola’s skin as he bucked and came hard.

Only mere moments passed before Nikola groaned and shook above him, and Aric felt the wet warmth of come flood his ass. When he pulled back from Nikola’s throat, his mind swam like he’d had too much alcohol. It was amazing, his heart hammering with the borrowed life from Liam, and he combed his fingers through Nikola’s hair as his lover licked at the bite at his throat.

“I love you,” Aric slurred.

Nikola moaned, bringing their lips together as he rocked in and out of Aric, prolonging their shared pleasure. “I love you, too,” he murmured into their bloody kisses.

It took several minutes for their raging pulses to slow down, but they stayed intimately synchronized with one another, and just the sound of their hearts beating as one brought a purr from Aric’s throat. It was moments like these, with their bodies close and their pulses aligned, that assured Aric that his choice to become Nikola’s eternal companion had been spot on. He might have lost the life-giving blood they both now needed to survive, but the bond they had gained was even more valuable. The sacrifice of his humanity had been well worth the eternity with Nikola that stretched before them. They shared a bond that would outlast all their flings with people like Liam. While human life was fleeting, their love would last forever.

Title: Holiday Dreams
Characters: Dorian Gray, Gabriel, Michael
Origin: Immortal Sonata (WIP)
Advent Day: Day 5 (December 1st)
Rating: R
Word count: 1,686

—

Gabriel laughed as he poured himself a glass of eggnog and refilled his small plate of holiday cookies. No matter how many times Dorian called them biscuits, he couldn’t start using the word. Biscuits were for breakfast, dammit. He couldn’t get used to all the British slang. Not to mention the Scottish slang at this particular estate. He shook his head and turned back to Dorian. “Want any more?”

“What I want is to go to Vivvy’s Christmas party,” Dorian smirked. “What she has there would make any eggnog seem tame.”

“Oh, shut up!” Gabriel laughed, flopping down beside Dorian on the sofa and stuffing the head of a gingerbread man into Dorian’s mouth before he could say another word. “Yes, I’ve kept you from your usual debauchery this Christmas. Yes, I know the customs must seem quaint, but you let me help decorate your huge-ass house, and now you’re gonna enjoy it.”

“Oh, will I, angel?” Dorian chuckled after swallowing.

Why would he? I don’t think Dorian’s all that into God and Jesus and shit.

Gabriel glared up above him, where he just knew Michael was hovering. “Don’t you get started, too,” he threatened. “He’ll at least like the presents part, if nothing else.”

Dorian nuzzled Gabriel’s throat after he’d chewed and swallowed his bite of gingerbread. “The brat-twin harassing us on Christmas?”

“Not really,” Gabriel moaned, tilting his head back a little. “He’s just being Michael.”

“We could give him something to harass us about.” Dorian chuckled and pulled Gabriel astride his lap. “Does this mean that there can be no debauchery tonight?”

Gabriel shivered in Dorian’s arms, and, God, how did the man do it? Just a touch, a word, and Gabriel was half-hard in his jeans. “I didn’t say that,” he murmured. “I’d never dream of denying you a little debauchery on Christmas.”

Dorian nibbled at Gabriel’s throat, tongue wet and hot against his flesh. “What do you dream about, angel?”

“Dream?” Gabriel moaned, trying to find his coaster blindly so he wouldn’t just drop his glass of eggnog. “I dream… of a white Christmas?”

A snort sounded in the air above him. Nice one, Gabe. Real classic.

“White?” Dorian chuckled, helping Gabriel to set the cup down. “I don’t think white is your color.”

“It’s not?” Gabriel wiggled over into Dorian’s lap, straddling him on the sofa with a grin. “What’s my color, then?”

Let me guess. Uh… green? Fuschia? Mauve?

Gabriel made a face, looking up with a half smile. “Mauve? What the fuck, Michael?” He laughed and shook his head, his eyes turning back to Dorian. “Whatever. Wasn’t asking him. I was asking you.”

Dorian’s fingers move up and down Gabriel’s back, slowly working their way under his shirt. “Sapphire. You should be dripping in sapphires, angel.”

“You going to provide those sapphires?” Gabriel moaned, arching into Dorian’s hands.

“You know I will. Head to toe. Silk and sapphires,” Dorian breathed, and then his mouth was on Gabriel’s throat, licking and sucking and biting.

It only took seconds of that kind of attention to make Gabriel harden the rest of the way, and he squirmed on Dorian’s lap. He hadn’t been a virgin before he’d gotten with Dorian, but the way Dorian worked him up and made him want to cream his jeans made it feel like he was fifteen again, not twenty-four. “Like the cock jewelry upstairs… and those amazing silk shirts you wear.”

“Mmm, like the one I was wearing when we met. You liked that, didn’t you, angel?” Dorian purred against his throat, every rumble traveling straight to his cock.

“Yeah…”

One nip to his throat. Another. “Is that what you dream about?”

“S-Sometimes,” Gabriel admitted.

Kind of pathetic, Gabe. Gotta say.

Michael’s voice was playful above him, that strange note of affection that took all the sting out of the words. Gabriel could tell Michael didn’t hate Dorian quite as much as Michael wanted him to think, but he wasn’t about to say anything to his twin about it. Michael would deny everything. He always did.

Dorian’s hands quickly did away with his shirt. Gabriel never knew how the hell Dorian was able to just sweep clothing away like he did, but it was a talent he hoped to learn. Dorian bent his head to Gabriel’s nipple, lips and tongue pulling a ragged cry from Gabriel as he shoved his fingers into Dorian’s gorgeous hair. “Dorian!”

“Tell me what you dream, angel,” Dorian whispered, moving from one nipple to the other. “I want to know every part of you, even the hidden ones.”

Gabriel bit his lower lip, tried to keep from answering, but Dorian had wonderful, twisted methods of persuasion. “All right!” he barked out, moaning and weakly pushing Dorian away. “You’ll think it’s stupid…”

“Try me,” Dorian demanded. When he blushed, hesitating, Dorian brushed the back of his hand over his cheek. “You’re flushing. It must be good. Tell me.”

How could he deny Dorian? Short answer: he couldn’t. He never could, even when he tried. “I dream…” He spared a glance upward, and then met Dorian’s inquisitive brown eyes again. “I dream of Michael being alive again.”

Gabe.

He could hear Michael whisper above him, but he continued. “I dream of hugging him, forcing him to watch my favorite movies, taking care of him when he’d get sick. Hell, I even dream of fencing with him like we used to in high school.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I-I guess that’s kinda weird, huh?”

Dorian’s hands swept up Gabriel’s chest, over his shoulders, until they cupped his throat. He brought their lips together, and Gabriel melted against him. They kissed for several minutes, Dorian’s tongue doing such wicked things until Gabriel was a trembling, hard mass of pent up need in his lap. Only then did he whisper, “Not weird. It’s never strange to wish the dead were with you.”

Gabriel trailed his fingers over Dorian’s perfect face. “Do you dream of Basil, Dorian?”

Pain lanced through Dorian’s eyes. “Always.”

Gabriel felt that pain as if it were his own. In a way, they shared a bit of loss. Michael might not have been his one true love like Basil had been Dorian’s, but that didn’t make the loss of him any less painful. He kissed Dorian again, soft and understanding. “I know being close can’t erase the pain,” he breathed, “but do you suppose it’ll help? Remembering the past but enjoying the present, eggnog and cookies and all?”

Dorian smiled at him, fingers teasing Gabriel’s nipples. “It’s helped since the moment you threw yourself at my car, angel.”

Despite moaning, Gabriel did manage to roll his eyes. “I didn’t throw myself! I tripped.”

“Mm-hmm,” Dorian purred, arching his neck to tease Gabriel’s throat once more with his mouth. “I believe you, truly.”

Gabriel laughed and tugged at Dorian’s hair until the leech finally let go of his neck and looked up. “Sounds good to me,” he whispered, and then their lips were sealed together in passionate kisses that stole every other thought, pushed every fruitless wish and painful dream far away.

***

As he looked down on his twin kissing and groping Dorian Gray, Michael had to wonder if he should skip out and take his ghostly spirit elsewhere to give them privacy. Gabriel’s words had cut deep, and he hadn’t known he could feel injury like that with his body long since buried in San Francisco. Might as well have been a different planet with the way Gabriel was stuck to Dorian. It was like that old Aesop story with the flies and the honeypot. Gabriel was drawn into all the pleasure and debauchery that made Dorian seem so sweet, but he just knew Gabriel was going to get burned, be suffocated by the honey and never fly free again.

If he’d had a throat, he would have swallowed thickly at the sounds Gabriel and Dorian pulled from one another, their hands now hidden beneath the waistbands of pajamas and boxers. Fuck, he was twisted. It would have been so easy to turn his awareness somewhere else, to just phase out of the house and into the snowy night, but he couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop staring at them as they kissed and groped and laughed.

Gabriel dreamed of him being alive again. Gabriel had no fucking clue how much he wanted it, too. He was careful to never let on, never make Gabriel feel somehow obligated to let him possess him just to get a taste of life again. He was supposed to be here to keep Gabriel safe, but maybe part of him was just selfishly clinging to life by clinging to the one person he’d always been closest to.

He loved his brother, but there were also moments he hated him. No, maybe not hate. He couldn’t hate Gabriel, who was so sweet and giving despite everything he’d gone through. Michael envied him, though. So many people complained about life — stubbing their toe on a corner, their food getting cold, any number of mundane things. Fuck, he’d happily take a deep breath of the stench after someone dropped a bomb in the bathroom if it meant he could feel his toes again, feel the winter air sting at his nose and ears… taste the hint of someone he kissed.

But useless wanting was just that: useless. Even as he wanted to turn away from the scene on the sofa, he couldn’t. It was his one guilty pleasure. Watching Gabriel enjoying life again was about as close to enjoying it himself he could.

Even if Dorian Gray was the last person on the planet Michael wanted his brother fucking. It was better than seeing Gabriel depressed and alone and scrambling to pay the power bill. There was a sparkle in Gabriel’s eyes again, one he hadn’t seen in a really long time. That sparkle was worth keeping his mouth shut for once, leaving Gabriel in the peace and joy of the holiday season.

Only for tonight, though. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut for long.

Title: Love and Duty
Characters: Maelog, Darron
Origin: World of Egaea (WIP)
Advent Day: Day 4 (November 30th)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5,860

—

Darron glanced at Maelog as he continued to play his flute, the notes lilting out from beneath the tarp protecting them from the falling snow. Well, sort of protecting them. A gust of wind sent a flurry into them both, dusting his eyelashes and sending his blue-streaked white hair dancing in the air around them. Maelog looked miserable, and it made his heart ache with guilt. Maelog wouldn’t even come here if it weren’t for him. Spinners Forest was not the most hospitable place, especially in the winter, not just because of the frigid snowstorms, but because the giant spiders became especially unruly during the winter fast.

Still, Maelog endured. It was heartening to Darron. The fact that Maelog loved him so much he would risk this forest—risk being in a place he’d once been sent to die—was more than Darron had ever hoped to be given. What he shared with Maelog made everything in his past pale in comparison. Even as the Widows tittered in the snow, moving in time with his flute and Maelog’s violin, Darron knew he had never been happier. The sacrifice of Maelog’s, the yearly winters among spiders and with the barest of necessities, was the greatest gift his lover could have ever given him.

Another gust of icy wind blew through the makeshift stage. A blizzard was brewing, and Darron finally brought their concert to a close. The Widows made noises of disappointment as Maelog’s violin fell silent, but Darron held up his hand.

“A storm brews,” Darron explained. “We cannot remain outside our shelter.” He smiled at them. “As soon as the blizzard passes, I promise, we will play for you once again.”

The spiders began to dissipate, and Darron helped Maelog put their instruments away as quickly as possible before leading the way back to their cabin. Another gust of wind blew at them, but Darron lifted his hand, and his own power created a wall of wind around them, pushing the ice and snow away. A flare of fire lit up the air around them so suddenly it made him jump, and he looked back at Maelog with a breathless laugh. “I think your power is a bit more effective here.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Maelog murmured, catching up with Darron with a couple long strides.

Darron reached out and wound an arm around Maelog’s shoulders, but when Maelog didn’t return the touch, his smile twitched, threatening to fall. The walk to their cabin was uncharacteristically quiet, and it set Darron on edge. When they finally stepped into the warmth of their shelter, closing the door and covering the seams, he licked his lips. “Are you all right?”

Maelog wiped the snow and water from his body, stripping himself of his wet, cold clothes. “Why wouldn’t I be all right? I’m in a forest full of spiders who want to fucking eat me, in the middle of a blizzard, and with the promise of coming out to play music for them yet again as soon as the worst of the snow—but not the worst of the cold—has passed.” He threw his sodden clothes to the floor and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “With an eternity of such winters stretching out ahead of me, why, Darron, I’m thrilled.”

Darron felt all warmth flee from the room, even though the fire was still going strong behind the grate. He shivered, standing there in his own wet clothing. “These spiders are integral to the House of Wood.”

“Oh, so now you grow a sense of duty. That’s just perfect.”

Darron’s eyes narrowed, and he struggled not to hug himself. “You’re unhappy here.”

“No,” Maelog growled at him. “I’m fucking miserable here.”

“Then that’s all you had to fucking say!” Darron snapped back. He’d been deluding himself. Gods, he’d actually started to believe Maelog was growing used to the woods. He’d known it was particularly difficult for Maelog, especially after everything that had happened when they had first met, but Maelog had started to relax just a little. They enjoyed playing together, and Maelog had struck up a friendship with Ardea. The little widow spider was endlessly fond of Maelog, and he could have sworn Maelog was beginning to warm up to her. Darron shook his head and sat on the edge of their bed, his clothes making a slightly wet sound.

“You’re getting the bed wet.”

Darron ground his teeth together. “Fuck the bed.”

“I have to sleep in that bed, and I’d rather not do it in a puddle. Take your goddamn clothes off,” Maelog ordered.

Anger flared inside Darron, but he stood and ripped at his clothing. The fabric fell to the floor in a sopping mess, and then he sat back down. “You should have told me.”

“Told you?” Maelog’s voice was sharp, discordant. “You knew. Darron, this isn’t a surprise! Three frigid months around starving spiders, playing endlessly, so Terfel can brag that he has the spiders. I’ve told you how the spiders frighten me. You knew! But you always throw up Terfel’s needs. Well, I have needs, too!”

“I know you have needs. I’m not a damn idiot! But, forgive me, I thought you might actually bring them up, since I can’t read your mind!”

“You can read my mind!”

“I read auras, Maelog, and you specifically forbade me from looking too deeply without your permission. I’m not about to rape your mind just to figure out why you have an attitude,” Darron hissed out, gesturing angrily. “Yes, Terfel roped me into this assignment without my permission, but my music brings the spiders joy. Yours does, too, if you’d take an instant to look around while you play. The spiders adore you.”

“They tried to eat me.”

“That was just the once—”

“Four times!”

Darron huffed. “Fine. Four times now. It’s just because it’s the winter. They get testy this time of year when prey is limited. You would, too, if you couldn’t eat for a couple months out of the year.”

“I am not going to sympathize with the damn spiders!”

Darron bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping again. He took a deep breath, struggling to pull in his control again. When he exhaled, he let some of his old icy demeanor return. It was safe, effective, and probably all that would get him through the argument without screaming. “Very well. No sympathizing with the spiders. You have needs that I haven’t been able to read or see to. What are they? What do you want?”

Maelog’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?”

“Go all cold and distant, like I’m some stranger.” Maelog shook his head. “I come here, year after year, with you because I love you. I have escaped serious injury three times, but that first attack from the wolf spider… Darron, you’re lucky I didn’t die. What happens next time? What if one of the jumping spiders gets too excited about the prospect of a meal when I’m walking by? I shouldn’t have to worry every time one of us steps outside this damn cabin!”

Darron threw his hands up. “So I tell Terfel to fuck himself? Find someone else? Or do we lose the treaty with the spiders? Start bringing them Elves to eat? Tell me, Maelog, what the hell am I supposed to do?”

Maelog glared at him. “Nothing,” he spat. “There isn’t a thing you can choose that won’t make you resent me, all of the House of Wood hate me, and put me right in line to be the first meal sent here in lieu of your music.”

“I would never let that happen,” Darron gasped, his eyes wide. “You’re my lover. I don’t want to put you in harm’s way!” How could Maelog think that?

“You put me in harm’s way by bringing me here every year while the spider’s are at their hungriest!”

Oh. Darron found he couldn’t argue with that. He hated being unable to argue, unable to defend himself, and—worst of all—admitting he was in the wrong. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, his hair falling in wet tangles on both sides of his face to the floor. He didn’t know what to do. How was he supposed to make everyone happy all at once? Not long ago, he would have simply told everyone to go fuck themselves and not committed to anything that would take away his personal freedom. Maelog had been the one to thaw his heart, made him feel something after being numb, and now he felt like he was torn in twenty different directions.

Maelog crossed his arms, looked at the fire in the grate. “I’m a warrior. I’m used to being in harm’s way.” He sighed. “I just… hate… losing a third of our lives to this. We spend a whole season cold, wet, and usually exhausted.” Maelog paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, Darron could hear the soft grief in his lover’s voice. “We haven’t even made love once in the last fortnight, but you’ve ensured we’ve played for the widows. Four seasons out of the five, we fuck like new lovers, but the one season we should spend buried in blankets, eating rich foods, loving until we’re sore… we spend here.”

Darron swallowed thickly. “Maelog…”

“I know,” Maelog murmured. “You’ve no real choice. And I accept that, but, please, don’t ask me to rejoice in losing so much and gaining so little. Yes, I adore Ardea. I know my music brings the spiders pleasure, and I’m happy to give them that small joy.”

Darron hadn’t felt so close to tears in a long time, and the moment he saw Maelog catch on to that fact, he looked away. Maelog let out a long sigh and sat next to him, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold Maelog close or push him away. “I… I don’t know what I can do.”

“Nothing,” Maelog repeated.

Darron straightened, glaring at him with tearful eyes. “Don’t say that. Don’t just tell me I’m fucking shit up, and then say there’s nothing I can do about it. There has to be something.” And then, Maelog actually ran his fingers through Darron’s hair, massaging his scalp ever so lightly, and Darron just wanted to weep. His glare lost all its heat, and he let Maelog see the hurt in his eyes. “What do you hate the most?”

“The most?” Maelog asked warily.

“Just tell me. If I know the worst thing, maybe I can fix it. I have to have somewhere to start.” This wasn’t something that he could fix just by changing a few colors in Maelog’s aura.

Maelog sighed, rubbing at his face for a moment. “Being looked at like a meal. I don’t like fearing each time we step out into the forest. It makes me feel like a prisoner.”

Darron took a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding. “I don’t want you to be afraid or feel like I’m holding you hostage.” He finally gave in to that soft touch in his hair, leaning against Maelog. “I never want to see you trapped like that again.”

But what could he do about it? He couldn’t change the spiders’ nature. They were hungry, and they would always see them both as food. He couldn’t make them any scarier or less appealing. The spiders weren’t frightened. Even a display of Maelog’s fire wouldn’t do the trick. He bit his lower lip. “I can’t help that they’re hungry. They’re always hungry this time of year.”

“What about other times of the year?”

Darron blinked several times, and then looked at Maelog. His pulse started to race as his mind put the pieces together. “Not really. Just winter. They’re much calmer and pleasant the rest of the year.”

“Then I have a suggestion,” Maelog said with the beginnings of a smile.

“Tell Terfel I won’t come back here in the winter ever again or he can take his treaty and shove it?”

Maelog chuckled. “I thought you couldn’t read my mind.”

“I can when you speak so plainly.” Darron sighed, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.” That phrase was one he rarely spoke, and mainly only to Maelog. With Maelog, Darron found himself sorry for a lot of things.

“I admire your loyalty to Terfel,” Maelog said against Darron’s hair, “but, I think it should only go so far. Being here, now, we risk so much. I would never ask you to cease coming to Spinners Forest—and gods know I want to see what becomes of Ardea—but it needs to be safer for us.”

“You’re right,” Darron admitted, and then shivered. “Gods, I was terrified when that wolf spider got to you. I can’t remember how long I yelled at them, at the Queen Widow herself.”

“I’d never seen you so fierce.”

Darron turned his face, his brows knitting together as he looked at Maelog. “You saw? I thought you…”

“—had passed out from the pain?” Maelog shook his head. “Not quite. I could hear you. Saw you threaten to never step foot in their forest again if I didn’t survive. That was quite a threat.”

“I meant every word. And yet, another attack the year after that.” Darron sighed. “I just don’t think the spiders can control themselves like we can.”

“They’re like the Wood Elves,” Maelog remarked with a smirk.

Darron laughed and elbowed Maelog. “Hey, those barbaric Wood Elves are my friends. Besides, I’m just as wild as the Wood Elves.”

“Not quite,” Maelog said.

“I am.” Darron turned on their bed to face Maelog. “I dance naked at the Solstice. I partake in the Hunt every year. I rut in the forest.”

Maelog shook his head and gave a little laugh. “That’s wild? Come now, Darron. You don’t do a fraction of what those barbaric Wood Elves do.”

“I may not change my shape or eat raw meat, but I can be just as unpredictable and wild as they are!”

“Can you?” Maelog asked with a raised eyebrow.

It was a challenge. Maelog was actually challenging him on this! He didn’t hesitate, turning on Maelog and pinning him down to the bed. Before Maelog could taunt him again, he straddled him and sealed their lips together in a passionate kiss. He was making a point, dammit, and that meant using every skill he had. He licked, flicked his tongue against the sensitive places in Maelog’s mouth, laying claim but teasing Maelog’s tongue forward until he could suckle at it with all that pent up passion they hadn’t been enjoying with one another the last fortnight.

Maelog’s skin was so warm against his. Then again, Maelog always ran hot. The fiery spirits inside the Fire Elves just made everything about them hot and volatile. Darron kissed Maelog until they were both breathless and hard, and he rubbed himself against Maelog. The moan Maelog let loose was as potent as any aphrodisiac, and Darron couldn’t help but see how Maelog’s aura changed. The anger and misery were replaced by the warm hues of arousal, love, and pleasure, and Darron had never been happier to see those streaks of color as he was now.

“What… do you plan on doing?” Maelog didn’t even struggle against Darron’s grip. “Humping me until you come?”

“The thought crossed my mind,” Darron laughed, “but I have bigger plans for you.” Maelog raised an eyebrow at that, but Darron just smirked and shimmied his way down Maelog’s body, shoving his thighs apart and sinking down on Maelog’s cock, taking him deep into his throat. The startled shout that echoed in their small cabin just made him all the more eager, and he worked the burning-hot flesh with lips, tongue, and throat, bobbing up and down at the pace he knew made Maelog’s toes curl.

“Oh, fuck, Darron!” Maelog groaned above him.

Strong hands dove into his hair, and Darron moaned, letting the vibration add to his technique before he sank deep again. It wouldn’t take long; he made certain of that with the lightest of touches down Maelog’s thighs and around to the dips behind Maelog’s knees. Maelog bucked beneath him, coming with a shout, and Darron drank down all his lover had to offer, drawing on his cock over and over until Maelog’s hands tightened in his hair and pried him back.

Maelog’s eyes blazed like the embers in the hearth, flickering with that internal fire. He was flushed and beautiful, breathing hard. Darron licked his lips obscenely, and Maelog snarled, yanking him up for a deep, possessive kiss. In an instant, Maelog had turned the tables, and Darron was soon pressed into the thickness of their mattress, legs spread wide. Maelog gave him a wicked look, one of his broad hands holding Darron’s wrists down above his hand while the other dipped low. Nails raked over the sensitive flesh between groin and navel, and Darron screamed, bucking as white-hot pleasure raced through his senses.

“A Fire Elf can be just as wild as a Wood Elf… or even a wayward Cloud Elf,” Maelog purred, dragging his nails over that patch of skin a second time.

Darron threw his head back with another cry. The stinging pleasure of that spot went straight to his cock, and he smirked at Maelog as he teased, “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve seen many Wood Elves in action. You’ll have to prove a Fire Elf can compete.”

Maelog growled, eyes blazing. “Don’t push me,” he warned.

“I like pushing you,” Darron purred, and his reward was a series of stinging slaps to the insides of his pale thighs. Each one sent a jolt of pleasure through him, and he gasped as he felt his cock twitch, fluid seeping onto the burning scratch marks below his navel. “The last few weeks… so cold. Are you going to warm me up now? Make me burn all night long?”

“Longer,” Maelog promised darkly, sending a shiver down Darron’s spine. “All through this damn blizzard, and then some.”

Darron was given a volley of blows to his thighs, and then to that area of flesh, and then Maelog returned to Darron’s thighs. His cock was completely ignored, and Maelog’s physical strength kept his arms pressed to the bed. Regardless of his inability to move much of his upper body, Darron squirmed, hips pushing up, his thighs spread wide. He cried out, whimpered, and as the gentle burn gave way to throbbing heat, he knew he’d come if Maelog didn’t back off.

Still, Maelog continued. His eyes never left Darron’s face, and the look in that gaze… it stole the breath of Darron’s lungs as he hovered there on the edge of release. The pain, the pleasure, and that look… and then he was tumbling over, screaming as he arched into one of the strikes and came thickly onto the stinging area of flesh below his navel.

His vision blurred, and he trembled in the aftermath, realizing quite belatedly that his eyes were tearing up, sending streaks down his temples. He blinked several times, looking up at Maelog, and to see that passionate heat still smoldering in those fiery eyes just made him squirm and whimper. “Maelog…”

“Yes, Darron?” Maelog’s voice was like a lewd caress, and it made Darron’s skin prickle with gooseflesh. “What do you want?”

“To… t-to…” Darron felt his face flush and forced himself to take a deep breath, even though it came out in a shuddering exhale. “I want to make these horrible winters up to you. Please… just tell me how. Anything you want.” He could manipulate, could ensure they’d both be satisfied after a wild, night-long romp, but sometimes Maelog’s needs weren’t easy to read. More than anything, he just wanted to erase some of the anger, paint over the bad memories with a new one that would outshine them.

Maelog braced himself above Darron and drew him into a long, tender kiss. It nearly broke Darron’s heart. Even when angry, even disappointed, Maelog’s kisses could be as sweet and soft as a feather. Darron couldn’t help the way his chin trembled, and the moment Maelog released his wrists, he wrapped his arms around his lover. His mind brushed against Maelog’s. Please, just tell me. Tell me how I can make things right between us.

Gently, Maelog’s lips traveled down his throat, teeth nipping at his flesh, making him gasp. And then, Maelog’s fire-laden voice burst into the cool fog of his own. Things were never not right between us. You must stop thinking that I’m going to walk away from you every time we argue. I love you. That will never change.

He was about to open his mouth to argue that he knew Maelog wouldn’t walk away, but then he stopped himself, because once again, Maelog was right. He was always afraid that would happen, that one misstep, one argument, one misunderstanding would make Maelog reconsider being with him and just leave rather than deal with the tangled web of his past. I never want it to change. I never want to make you so angry that you leave. My life would be as frigid as the weather outside if you weren’t here to warm me up.

Maelog chuckled. “You saying your life would be meaningless without me, kitten?”

Darron couldn’t help but smile at the use of the silly nickname. “More or less,” he purred, tangling his fingers in Maelog’s maroon hair and tugging until their eyes met. “I’m serious, though. Anything you want. I always demand so much, work you up into giving me what I want without ever asking. Now, I’m asking.”

“I just want you.”

It had been Maelog’s response every time Darron had worked up the courage to ask. What did Maelog want? Him. How could he be worth so much? How could he alone be all that Maelog wanted? Darron swallowed thickly, brushing his calloused fingers down Maelog’s cheek. “Just me?”

Maelog peppered soft kisses over his brow, eyes, cheeks, chin, and lips. “Is it so hard to believe? Just you. You’re about all I can handle, you know.”

“I know,” Darron chuckled. “I’m quite the handful. That’s exactly what makes it hard to believe.” He licked his lips and craned his neck for another kiss. Maelog gave it without hesitation, and he felt affection well up in his chest, warm and so comforting. When he pulled back, he looked into Maelog’s eyes and murmured, “If you don’t have any specific needs… would you like to make love with me?”

Maelog stilled completely, and the smallest of frowns pulled at his lips. Silence stretched out between them as they stared at one another, and Darron actually feared he’d picked the worst timing to offer that closeness. Maybe Maelog was still angry, still in the mood to sensually punish him, even if that still meant unbelievable pleasure for them both. “Do I… what?”

Darron’s heart jumped up into his throat. “Want to make love with me?” he repeated, his voice a bit tighter than before.

A slow, but brilliant, smile blossomed on Maelog’s face. “Yes,” Maelog whispered. “Of course.”

That. That smile. That look filling Maelog’s face. That was what Darron realized he lived for now. Such a simple thing, but it meant the world to Maelog. Making love—something Darron had so rarely given to those who fucked him in the past—was the one gift he gave to Maelog, and he was never sorry to have given it. “Do you want to take me, or…?”

Maelog gave him a half-smile. “Are you interested in being hugged by my body, kitten?”

Darron shivered and deliberately purred. “You know I am. I always am, whenever you like.” Sure, it wasn’t his normal role, but with Maelog, it meant so much more than it had with others from his past. He didn’t have to pretend that he enjoyed it with Maelog; it all felt as natural as breathing. “If I’m good, will I get to enjoy a bit of cream?”

Maelog laughed. “You’ve already had some!”

“Mmm, but I always want more,” Darron mewled, craning his neck to nuzzle Maelog’s throat and nip just over his vocal chords.

Maelog moaned. “You know you can. I can wait to come until you’re done, and then you can suck me.”

It was a generous offer, especially since Darron knew how hard it was for Maelog to not let go when on the receiving end. He smiled against Maelog’s throat. “No. We can make love, come together, and after we eat, I’ll suck you until you sing for me.”

A shudder moved through Maelog’s body. “So, does that mean you want to take me?”

“Yes,” Darron breathed, his cock hard at just the thought. “It’s been a while.”

“Mmm.” Maelog moved off Darron, laid beside him. He pulled Darron toward him, over his body, and spread his legs so Darron could settle there comfortably. “It has. Fall harvest celebration, wasn’t it? I was so desperate for you by the time we made it to the alcove, I didn’t care that it was me being bent over and fucked thoroughly.”

Darron grinned and rocked his hips into Maelog. “I was in a mood that night, wasn’t I? You didn’t complain, though, and I’d inwardly vowed to do it again soon.”

“But you didn’t,” Maelog finished with a moan.

“I had a little help getting distracted,” Darron insisted, dipping down to lick and suckle Maelog’s throat. “Should I be more assertive? More dominant for you? Did you like it that much?”

Maelog combed his fingers through Darron’s long hair, groaning as he arched into Darron’s touches. “Sometimes. Sometimes it helps.”

“What do you mean?” Darron asked, nibbling up to Maelog’s ear. He teased the pointed tip, loving how Maelog trembled for him.

“I like knowing—ah!—I’m wanted so badly that you can’t help but take me,” Maelog panted. “Not often, not always, but sometimes. When those moods strike us, it’s easier for you to take than to ask.”

“I live to serve,” Darron chuckled, swiveling his hips until Maelog groaned and arched up against him again. He reached up to the wooden ledge above their bed, snatching the vial of oil they hadn’t touched in weeks. In a matter of seconds, he had his fingers slicked and pressed them to Maelog’s opening, massaging there as he breathed between licks and kisses, “I’ll make sure I show you… how hard it is to keep my hands off you.”

He didn’t tease for too long, sliding his two fingers gently inside Maelog. “You could have fooled me the last two weeks,” Maelog groaned.

Darron felt the slightest blush heat up his cheeks. “I know. I don’t have a good excuse, but I plan to make it up to you. First with this,” he said, curving his fingers up inside Maelog, basking in the gasp and moan the well-aimed touch earned him, “and then by confronting Terfel.”

Maelog pulled at Darron. “Enough fucking talk,” he growled.

“I just want you to know—”

“I know,” Maelog said, staring up at Darron. “I know.”

Darron couldn’t help but stare down at Maelog, and then whispered, “What do you know?”

Maelog smiled, squeezed around Darron’s fingers wickedly. “That you love me.”

It was Darron’s turn to gasp and shudder, and he smiled brilliantly. How did Maelog do that? Know what he was thinking and say the words that were so difficult to force past his own lips? Somehow, it made it infinitely easier for him. “I love you.”

A look of such love passed over Maelog’s face, and then need added heat to his eyes. “I know. Now kiss me.”

Who was he to disobey such an order? Darron dove forward, kissing Maelog breathless and thrusting his fingers in and out of his lover. Maelog was impatient, though, and Darron found himself chuckling and teasing with more strokes against Maelog’s prostate until Maelog actually whined up at him, nipping sharply at Darron’s lower lip.

Maelog’s hand suddenly closed around his cock, and the grip was so firm and demanding that it pulled a gasp from him as he broke away from the kiss. “Oh, gods… All right. All right!” He panted as he reached for the vial again and oiled up his cock. When he positioned himself at Maelog’s hole, he locked eyes with Maelog. Even without using his aura vision, he knew what the light in Maelog’s eyes meant, and it made his heart ache in his chest.

“I love you.” Maelog said it with such sincerity that it made Darron pause.

Darron dipped down, brushed his lips over Maelog’s. “You have for so long,” he whispered, thrusting forward, gently filling Maelog with his cock.

Maelog’s eyes fluttered closed, his hands gripping at Darron’s hips. The pure enjoyment Maelog took in that first connection, that initial moment, stole Darron’s breath away. Maelog loved him to a fault, but Darron could help but revel in it. He wasn’t sure there existed a single thing Maelog wouldn’t do for him, and the responsibility was both frightening and awe-inspiring.

Darron stayed deep inside for a long time, sharing soft kisses with Maelog. When he finally moved, it pulled the most beautiful moan from Maelog, as if the withdrawal of his body from Maelog’s was a fate worse than death. He thrust back inside, setting a slow, intimate pace. It wasn’t anything like the last time, when they had been so desperate, so rushed. This time, he savored every movement, every thrust that brought them closer together.

His hands moved over Maelog’s face, tracing the beautiful lines, and then down his neck, his collarbones and chest. His fingers played over every scar, every imperfection.

“Don’t,” Maelog breathed, reaching up to stop his hand, but he batted Maelog away.

“They’re gorgeous,” Darron insisted. “They make you so fucking gorgeous.”

Maelog closed his eyes, and his hands returned to Darron’s back and hip. “The battered body of a warrior.”

Darron let his lips tease Maelog’s ear again, loving how his lover’s body shivered, how Maelog’s hands tightened on him. “To be a Dragonlord is one of the greatest honors,” he whispered. His tongue traced the ridges of Maelog’s ear. “Protecting others, that is so sexy… so damn sexy.”

“Even if you hate… hate my dragon?”

Darron laughed breathlessly into Maelog’s hair. “Hayden’s part of you. I couldn’t… ever hate part of you.” He didn’t get on well with dragons, especially Hayden, but he’d promised. He’d promised to try to get along with idiotic lizard. “I gave him an apple before we left, remember?”

Maelog barked out a laugh that was closer to a moan and pulled him close, bucking up into him. “Dragons… don’t eat… apples.”

“It was the thought that counted!” Darron gasped. He couldn’t help himself and picked up the pace, moving faster and a little harder into Maelog.

Maelog shook his head. “You talk too much… during sex.”

“You complaining?”

“Yes!”

Maelog fisted his hair and pulled Darron down for a series of hungry, deep kisses. Even when being taken, Maelog was as in control as ever, and Darron distantly wondered what it would take to make Maelog lose that control. Maybe when they returned to Beithe, Darron could find out. Endless hours of finding out all Maelog’s secrets, everything his body loved, craved. For now… for now, he was content with the impossibly hot, tight grip of Maelog’s golden body and the sweet taste of Maelog on his tongue.

They moved as one, arching into and pulling at one another. Maelog’s heels dug into his ass, urging him faster, and he cried out between Maelog’s lips as he complied. The colors swirled in front of his eyes, his power going a bit haywire and altering his vision as he stared down into Maelog. Passion and pleasure and the most beautiful whirling mist of love he had ever seen. Bright. Maelog was so bright to him, layer after layer of light and energy. It made his own pleasure spike even higher, and he nosed Maelog’s head back, exposing his throat so Darron could torment the sensitive spot just over Maelog’s vocal chords.

Maelog moaned loudly, and he tightened his grip, taking him harder, faster, and sucking fiercely at that spot until it throbbed under his lips. The mark would be deep, and Maelog would feel it every time he spoke, swallowed, ate. The next time Maelog sucked him off, he’d feel it. It only made Darron that much harder. He released Maelog’s throat, kissed up to his lips.

“Gods, please… I’m too close,” Darron warned.

“Touch me.” Maelog’s breath was short, words faint. “Want to come… with you.”

Darron couldn’t deny him. He took Maelog in hand, a desperate sound leaving his throat when he felt how damn hard and hot Maelog was. The weight of Maelog in his hand only seemed to compound his own need, and he thrust hard, fast, rocking Maelog firmly into the mattress. Every cry, every groan from Maelog only encouraged him until he was teetering on the very edge of sanity, and then Maelog bucked, back bowing. Maelog’s body squeezed him mercilessly as the Fire Elf came, and Darron’s breath caught, pleasure slamming into him a moment later.

The heat of it all stole his senses away, and he cried out, the pleasure whisking him away, sending him flying with Maelog. Even in the throes of their passion, he could feel that connection to Maelog, that string of energy that bound them together. He’d always been so afraid of that connection, but in moments of bliss, he found himself clinging to it with all his inner strength.

The world around them started to settle back into place, but he panted, holding Maelog close, burying his face in Maelog’s hair. His mind spun, but there was that one fixed point, that one place that kept his mind and spirit tied to Maelog’s. He trembled against Maelog, pressing their bodies together as they panted and recovered. “Maelog…” he choked out.

Maelog’s arms wrapped around him, and gods help him, he’d never felt so cherished, so at home. “Shh… it’s all right.”

Darron shook his head and peppered kisses over every bit of hair and jawline within reach of his lips. “I love you.”

“I know,” Maelog murmured, and Darron could feel when Maelog smiled. “I love you, too.”

“No more winters in Spinners Forest,” Darron promised.

Maelog chuckled. “I don’t know. If this is what we wind up doing the majority of the time, I think I could compromise.”

Darron laughed and shifted, gently pulling out so he could entangle their limbs and keep their bodies as close as possible on the bed. “If this blizzard is as bad as the one the second year we were here…”

“Mmm… stuck in here for days, snowed in.”

Darron kissed Maelog, slowly, deeply. When they were settled comfortably among the furs of the bed, and the wind blew hard outside the cabin, he purred, “We can only hope.”

Title: Silent Night
Characters: Malachi, Phinn
Origin: Breaking Point
Advent Day: Day 3 (November 29th)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,788
Warning: Breathplay

—

Phinn bit the inside of his cheek for what must have been the thousandth time that night. He’d almost chewed himself raw already, but orders were orders, and he never took Malachi’s orders lightly. He’d only had minimum notice the night before, and he’d done all he could at least calling his relatives to wish them a Merry Christmas and warn them he’d be hard to get a hold of the next day. That didn’t mean that Christmas Eve had been a walk in the park for him, though.

First had been breakfast, which he’d baked for Malachi. Keeping his mouth shut as Malachi licked cream cheese icing from his cock had been difficult to say the least. Next had been the torture of listening to holiday tunes and being unable to hum along as he wrapped the last of Malachi’s gifts. Sure, Malachi hadn’t been there to police him, and even if he had disobeyed, it would have been severely out of tune, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that for the entire day, he hadn’t been allowed to speak a word, to make a sound. Dancing with Malachi at Confession’s holiday bash had been a trial, the walk home afterward with his cock achingly hard in his leather pants had been a challenge, and now that Malachi was starting to peel away his clothing back at their apartment, he was inwardly cursing himself for ever agreeing to the extreme task.

All he wanted to do was moan, to beg Malachi to take the order back so he could make up for the day’s silence by screaming as they fucked, and then settle down with cups of hot chocolate to enjoy the old, classic Christmas movies on television. But, that didn’t seem to be Malachi’s plan. No, Malachi had him naked, pressed to the wall that separated their small kitchen from their cozy living room. Malachi’s mouth was hot and wet against his throat, and Phinn leaned in to bite hard at Malachi’s dark brown skin, trying to hold back the whimper that built in his throat.

Malachi only laughed, low and rumbling near his ear. “Did you want to say something?”

Phinn glared up at Malachi. Yes! Yes, he wanted to say something. He wanted to scream and beg and whimper as they fucked on the floor. All he could do was give Malachi a nasty look while inwardly trembling with want as he took in the sight of Malachi’s strong features, his teeth so white in his darkly colored face.

“Tsk,” Malachi said, combing his fingers through Phinn’s messy blond hair. “Here I thought you would be eager for a new game. Something difficult.”

But he was! Phinn loved the game as much as he hated it, and that’s what finally made him look away from Malachi’s face. It was a silent passing of control, offering his submission in that small gesture.

Malachi hummed and kissed along the line of his neck. God, it felt so good, but he couldn’t whimper, couldn’t do anything but let out a shaky breath and lean into the touch of those lush lips. “You want to be pushed, don’t you?” Phinn licked his lips and nodded. “You want to please me tonight, right?” More than anything! Another nod didn’t seem to be enough to communicate how badly he wanted to please Malachi, so he trailed his hand down Malachi’s abs and cupped his cock, choking back a moan when he felt how damn hard Malachi already was.

He was whipped around so fast it was dizzying, and by the time he regained his bearings, he was on the floor in front of their Christmas tree, Malachi straddling him and pinning his arms down to the rug. He wanted to ask what the fuck was going on, but the thrill of being dominated kept him silent and eager. The smirk that unfurled on Malachi’s face made his cock twitch.

“It’s an hour until midnight, Phinn. One hour until Christmas. If you can keep your silence for the next hour, you have my permission to scream as you come, but only after midnight. Is that clear?”

Phinn swallowed thickly, and then nodded. He could keep quiet. He could. Somehow.

“One hour.” Malachi grinned. “One hour for me to push you.”

Oh, Malachi was going to take a particularly twisted enjoyment in his torment, Phinn just knew it. That gleam in Malachi’s eyes made Phinn squirm just a little, and he wanted to arch his hips and moan. Instead, he just ran his hands down Malachi’s chest and stomach, grasping Malachi’s cock and giving it a firm squeeze. He grinned up at his lover, certain he could outlast Malachi’s wicked streak and come out on top, screaming his pleasure at midnight.

Malachi moaned and chuckled, his smile so bright lit up by the blinking lights of the tree. “Then, let’s begin.”

Malachi’s tone made those words so foreboding, but Phinn refused to be discouraged. Even when Malachi bent over and kissed him hard and deep, he knew he could do this. It was going to be intense and arousing and—Malachi suddenly pinched his nose shut. With how Malachi sealed their lips together, he couldn’t breathe. He knew it had to be intentional, but Malachi caught him off guard. He wasn’t allowed to do that! He stared up in shock, his hand tightening around Malachi until Malachi moaned and pulled back from his mouth so he could gasp in fresh, pine-and-cinnamon scented air. He started to form words, but his panting made the ‘wh’ inaudible. Even so, Malachi pushed two fingers against his lips.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Malachi laughed. “Not until midnight.”

An hour. All he had to do was last an hour. Just one hour.

Malachi’s hand stroked down his throat, over his shoulders, and Phinn couldn’t look away from the strong, long fingers. He loved the difference in their skin tones. Malachi was so beautifully dark, and he was as white as white could be. That broad hand moved lower, and when Malachi wrapped those elegant fingers around his straining cock, it took every ounce of restraint Phinn had to keep the moan trapped behind his lips.

“So hard. You’ve been hard since the third dance at the club.” Malachi stroked him from root to tip with the perfect amount of pressure. “Rubbing against me, giving me all those hungry looks, and yet not saying a single word.”

Phinn squirmed, hips arching. He wanted to say how hard it had been, how hard it still was. He bit into his lip yet again. It was so good, even if it was hard, and the way Malachi pulled at his cock… God, help him, midnight was never going to come!

Malachi sat back on his legs, immobilizing them with the firm weight, and the grin on that gorgeous face was positively evil as he began using both hands on his cock, pumping and squeezing and pulling at him in all sorts of delicious ways. He gasped and bowed and gripped at the rug with both hands, but Malachi knew just how to touch him, how to work him up. He was at the very edge, ready to plummet into that abyss of pleasure, when Malachi’s touch disappeared completely. He stared, gulping in breathes and all but biting a hole into his lip in an effort to keep every sound back.

“So fucking sexy, the way you squirm for me.” Malachi rubbed his thumb against the slit of his cock, keeping him on that edge so effortlessly that he was glad for a moment to be utterly breathless. It was only when he tried to buck again that the touch was denied him, and he wanted to protest, wanted to demand that Malachi let him come, but the words just wouldn’t come. He couldn’t let them.

What he could do was glare up at Malachi, but that just made his lover laugh and climb off him. He didn’t dare move without direction, but Malachi didn’t give him any until he was kneeling just above Phinn’s head. “Open wide.”

Had Malachi’s cock ever been so large? So hard? Phinn licked his lips and shuddered, obediently opening his mouth and extending his tongue until Malachi pushed that dark cock between his lips.

It was easy to just give himself up to sucking Malachi. Well, he didn’t do all that much sucking. That wasn’t what Malachi seemed to be after. Over and over, Malachi slid his cock completely into Phinn’s mouth and throat, ensuring Phinn’s nose brush his pelvis repeatedly. It was a slow, deep fuck of his mouth, and Phinn reveled in it. There was nothing like giving Malachi head, and Phinn had spent the first year of their relationship ensuring he could do every little trick, every single technique that Malachi could demand of him.

What had Phinn gripping at Malachi’s thighs, though, was how each inward thrust remained buried in his throat longer and longer. It frightened him, being unable to breathe, but at the same time, damn, it made his cock far too hard. They hadn’t done much breathplay, but Phinn had been dropping hints lately that he wanted to really give it a go. It seemed Malachi had been listening, and when Malachi’s cock filled his throat once more, it stayed there. Malachi stroked his hair, groaned loudly, but he didn’t pull back.

Fear was a cold companion to the heat of his arousal, and even though he knew he didn’t really have anything to be afraid of, he couldn’t help that visceral reaction to being unable to breathe. His hands tightened on Malachi’s thighs, and he tried to calm the pounding of his heart, the way it sent messages through his body, adrenaline flowing freely in something much more delicious than panic. His lungs began to ache, and his arms and legs began to tremble. It was just when he began to see stars on the edges of his vision that Malachi pulled back, and he gasped and sputtered around his lover’s cock, squirming and almost biting down in an effort to choke back his moans while sucking in breath after breath of precious air.

Malachi didn’t relent for long, and he found his throat filled once again. A pattern developed, and he had no clue how Malachi knew when his vision began to blur each time, but only then was he allowed a few breaths before being taken by Malachi’s thick cock again. He lost track of time, his world contracting down to the simple rhythm of breathlessness that Malachi pushed him into. The only mark of time he understood was the cadence of Malachi’s moans, the occasional pinch of Malachi’s fingers to his nipples, the evil caresses to his ticklish ribs. When Malachi shifted, turned, and took his cock between lush lips and suckled, he nearly choked around Malachi’s cock, bucking and clawing at Malachi’s thighs. It was a damn good thing his throat was full, else he would never have been able to keep from screaming.

Phinn thought Malachi was going to just keep fucking his mouth, but after another bout of teasing him, bringing him right to the fucking edge—so close his damn balls hurt—Malachi pulled back again. Malachi was panting, his cock wet and a deep shade of brown, and Phinn’s chest just heaved as he drew in deep, rasping breaths. Phinn wanted the cock back in him, and he didn’t care how. He reached up and began to stroke Malachi, loving the deep, rumbling groan it pulled from his lover, and craned his neck so he could lick and suck at Malachi’s balls.

“Oh, fuck, Phinn,” Malachi moaned. “You still want my cock, don’t you, boy?”

God, he loved when Malachi called him ‘boy’. He’d have tolerated it from no one else, but when Malachi said it, it was a loving, sweet endearment, not something lowly and degrading. He nodded, but wouldn’t let go of Malachi’s balls.

“Gotta let go if you want it,” Malachi said with a breathless chuckle. “Can’t fuck your lily ass if you’re sucking my balls.”

Phinn shuddered and gave one last, strong suck, pulling back with an audible pop. He panted as Malachi shifted above him again, and when Malachi shoved his legs open wide and up to an angle that left him exposed, he nearly lost control and moaned. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Malachi’s long fingers pushed inside him, spreading lube and pushing against his prostate hard enough to make his back bow from the pleasure. God, he wanted relief! He wanted to curse Malachi and hate him for demanding his silence, but his cock was so hard, and the head of Malachi’s cock was nudging him, and he just couldn’t bring himself to break the rules!

Malachi wasn’t gentle, but Phinn loved the way he slammed forward, taking his ass in a single, rough thrust that made him bite his own wrist to keep silent. Malachi’s groan was loud enough for the both of them, and when he finally managed to pull his wrist away and look down, he was greeted with the sight of Malachi’s thick, black cock withdrawing slowly from his flushed, pale body. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut. God help him, he shouldn’t have looked! It was too fucking sexy, too much for his mind to handle as he panted roughly and tried to thrust and take Malachi deep again.

“Only eleven forty-five,” Malachi growled. “Fifteen more minutes. Gonna fuck you so hard, make those fifteen minutes count.”

Phinn closed his eyes and prayed he could outlast Malachi. He wanted to come. He wanted it so damn badly. Malachi began to really fuck him, hard and fast and deep. It took all Phinn had not to writhe and scream. And Malachi’s hand… goddamn, that hand, squeezing and pulling at him just how he liked. It wasn’t long before he was gasping, trembling, right on that razor’s edge of release, and then that hand pulled away. Phinn opened his mouth to cry out, protest, but the gleaming darkness of Malachi’s eyes silenced him.

He closed his eyes and let his head thump back on the carpet. Malachi’s hips snapped forward over and over, and Phinn balanced right there, yanked back from the sweet oblivion of climax more times than he could count. When he thought he was going to whimper, tears of want trickling down his temples, Malachi’s long fingers wrapped around his throat, squeezed a little, the pressure growing slowly as Malachi’s cock slammed into him. In moments, his breath was stolen from him again, his pulse pounding in his ears as he stared up at Malachi, utterly submissive, taking everything his lover gave.

His pulse thundered in his ears, and he tried to stay calm, but it was an impossible task. The higher his pleasure spiked, the tighter Malachi’s hand became on his throat, and the motes of light that danced on the edges of his vision invaded the center, slowly stealing his sight away. All he could see was Malachi’s face, those dark eyes boring into him, and when the hand suddenly left his throat, he exhaled in a rush and heaved in a deep breath. White noise filled his ears, but Malachi’s voice cut through the haze like a hot knife through butter.

“Scream for me, Phinn. Midnight’s here. Come on my fucking cock!”

The words rang in his ears, and he followed Malachi’s orders without a second thought. With Malachi’s cock still pounding into him, and his head dizzy from so little oxygen, all he could do was buck and scream as he came, his fluids spattering from his abdomen all the way up to his throat.

Malachi’s ragged grunt above him was followed by that wonderful sense of wetness inside him. Malachi was the only second man he’d ever let come in him, and Phinn was sure Malachi would be the last. This was all he wanted, needed. As his head slowly cleared, his whole body shivered with relief. He blinked slowly several times, and then Malachi was leaning over him. Phinn couldn’t keep the drunken, happy smile off his face. “Merry Christmas,” he croaked out.

“Merry Christmas,” Malachi rumbled, and then they were kissing.

Malachi laid soft, gentle claim to Phinn’s mouth, making Phinn’s toes curl. Phinn moaned, glad that he could make sounds again. Malachi rolled his hips, and pleasure tingled through Phinn. So good. It was all so damn good, so far from where he’d started five years earlier. This was heaven. Malachi’s arms. Malachi’s dominance. Malachi’s heart.

If they kissed all damn night, right into morning, Phinn would be fine with that.

Title: Winner Take All
Characters: Alec, Tavish
Origin: World of Egaea (WIP)
Advent Day: Day 2 (November 28th)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,159

—

Tavish moved carefully through the forest, his fur-covered feet almost silent in the snow. Almost. He wasn’t nearly as stealthy as the feral-Maith with their paws and claws. He just had feet, covered in thick fur and hide, and that didn’t lend itself to silence. But he tried. Every winter, he tried. Tavish thought he was doing a hell of a lot better than the previous two years, but he still worried. Alec expected him to hunt him down, to capture him.

But, Tavish had never been an ideal hunter. It was a hopeless cause, if anyone had asked him… though no one had. Alec and Nahele were certain that since he was now bound to the lynx, he should be as good a hunter. Or that he could become as good a hunter.

He wasn’t a hunter, though.

He was just Tavish. A scribe. Even if he never saw Forrin again, he was a scribe. It was all he knew. Books and parchment and ink and quills. Not stealth and scenting and pouncing and killing. Especially the killing. Killing wasn’t high on Tavish’s list of things to accomplish. They’d had too much death in their lives, and if he didn’t have to take a life—even the life of an animal that would sustain him—he was all the happier for it.

Then, he heard a soft laugh.

Alec was teasing him! Tavish growled. Damn his mate. Damn Alec for making him want to hunt him down successfully.

He crouched down and inhaled, trying to call on the feral spirit that was bound with his. It wasn’t easy, not with his lynx back at their den, but when he dug down deep inside and followed that thread of connection, it helped just a little. He felt his senses expand, and the scent of the snowy landscape deepened. Alec had left no tracks. Alec was far too smart to leave an easy trail, but then the slightest hint of scent reached his nose. Tavish perked. The scent went up.

Tavish frowned a little, and then inwardly cursed himself. He knew where to look now, but he kept his eyes trained on the snow. He crept along, each step careful and slow, but now his attention was directed upwards. He would get Alec. By all the gods, he would succeed.

It took him another freezing twenty minutes to follow the trail. And then he scurried up a tree, moving carefully from branch to branch, making his way higher. Then he perched, waited. It was times like these he wished he had a tail. A tail would make this so much easier. He huffed softly in the cold air and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Alec effortlessly hopped from one tree to the next, coming closer and closer. Tavish had selected right, and he couldn’t help the triumphant smile that curled his lips. One more leap… and Tavish lunged. Mid-air, he brought Alec down into the soft snowdrift below. He growled, straddled Alec to hold him down, and then sank his teeth into his mate’s furry throat.

I caught you! Tavish cried out delightedly between their minds, his words carrying easily down their soulbond.

Alec gasped beneath him, but the purr he emitted rumbled loudly up against Tavish’s lips. You did it all on your own! I knew you could do it. Alec’s strong hands hugged him close, moved from his back down to his hips, kneading at him through the furs keeping his pale skin safe from the frigid cold. The kneading shifted over his hips, teasing up under the fur on his back, and then down to his ass.

Tavish whined and wriggled, bearing down on Alec to keep him in the snow. It was then that he felt Alec more fully beneath him, and it sent a shiver through him. Alec was hard as a rock beneath him. He froze atop his mate and pulled back from Alec’s throat, wide-eyed. “Y-Y-You’re…”

“So happy you caught me, love,” Alec purred with a smirk.

A flush moved over Tavish’s cheeks. It didn’t matter how long he’d been mated to Alec, he easily became flustered about intimacy. He licked his lips. “It took m-me over an h-hour to c-c-catch you.”

“But you caught me.” Alec rolled his hips up, and Tavish couldn’t help the soft mewl that came from his throat. “Don’t you think that deserves celebrating?”

“Celebrating?” Tavish opened his eyes. “You m-mean… rut? Out here?”

Alec moaned, squeezed Tavish’s ass again. “I mean, the winner should take his prize.”

Tavish shook his head a little. “One of the others might come by. They m-might see.”

“And what would you like them to think if they see, hmm?” Alec asked, his nails digging into Tavish’s hips a little. “Do you want them to think I just humored you? That you gave up the hunt?”

A muscle in Tavish’s face twitched, and he frowned, pushing Alec down into the snow. “No. Everyone sh-should know I caught you. I s-succeeded.”

“That’s right,” Alec encouraged with a grin. “But if I struggle, push you into the snow, and take you…”

Alec began to shift beneath him, and Tavish growled. “No! They have to know I won!” He ground down to try to stop Alec’s squirming, and when that didn’t keep his mate still, he grabbed Alec’s arms and pinned them into the snow. “I hunted you.” There was no hint of his stutter now. That feral spirit inside him rose up. “I caught you.” He’d never caught Alec before without Alec giving in and letting himself be caught. “The whole clan should know I caught you, and that you were mine to claim.”

“Can you claim me?” Alec whispered, struggling against Tavish’s strength.

Tavish snarled, a wildness surging up through him at the challenge. “Yes!” In a flurry of motion, Tavish turned Alec over, forced him face first into the snow as his clawed hands pulled at Alec’s loincloth. When he leaned down to nose and lick at Alec’s exposed hole, he smelled oil. If he hadn’t been hard already, that would have done it for him. “Did you let me win?” he snarled, wondering if Alec had prepared himself knowing he’d give up and let Tavish catch him. The idea he hadn’t won fair and square this time set Tavish on edge, made him angry in a way he wasn’t accustomed to.

A muffled sound escaped Alec, and Alec’s long tail twitched. Tavish let up his grip on Alec ever so slightly, and Alec turned his head, panting, “No! No, Tavish. I just… I hoped. Gods, I’ve prepared myself and hoped every year.”

Tavish frowned a little. “Every year?”

Alec whined. “Every year. I swear.”

“So… I did catch you fairly?”

“Yes, love, you did,” Alec panted. “Do you plan to stake your claim on what you’ve captured?”

Tavish growled again, nipping at the base of Alec’s twitching tail. “Yes. Push myself in, leave the musk of me behind,” he panted, cheeks burning as he speaks so plainly.

Alec moaned and whimpered, pushing back into his bite. Alec’s tail twitched one more time before curling upward, arcing over Alec’s dark, furry body, and the way it exposed Alec’s hole called to that feral spirit inside Tavish. He fumbled with the ties of his trousers, loosening the folds of the furs until he freed his sex.

The cold air against his hard flesh made him hiss in a breath, and he gripped Alec’s hips and positioned himself quickly. He pushed forward in a single, rough thrust, and his possessive cry echoed up into the trees. Oh, gods, Alec’s body was so hot around him. So slick. And the desperate whine his mate gave, shifting eagerly back against him pushed his shyness and misgivings to the far reaches of his mind.

Only one thought filled Tavish’s mind: claim. He didn’t wait long between the first thrust and the next. He felt overheated in his furs, his face icy from the cold wind that whipped around them. It didn’t matter. What mattered was how hot and tight Alec was around him, how his mate met him thrust for thrust. Usually, he laid beneath Alec, but there were times… times like now… when the dominant beast inside Tavish took over and fulfilled its Alpha’s submissive needs. Tavish took Alec as hard and fast as his slighter, leaner body could. His body tingled with heat and cold and pleasure, small barks and loud yips leaving his throat as he announced to any within hearing distance that he’d won, he’d caught his mate, and he was taking what was his.

His thighs began to burn from the strain, and he saw Alec shift and reach between his own legs. A low growl escaped him, and he leaned forward, taking the nape of Alec’s neck between his teeth. He bit down as he surged forward again and again, pushing them both toward the edge. Alec’s tail suddenly went rigid, and Tavish gasped when Alec’s inner muscles clamped down around him. Alec came with the sweetest of cries, and Tavish tightened his jaw, biting harder as he followed his mate into that white-hot moment of pleasure and dominance.

After a few tense moments as his body shuddered, Tavish released Alec’s neck. He sat back on his heels, panting, his breath icing in large clouds in front of him. Tavish stared at Alec’s wet hole, smeared with his seed, and a wave of possessive triumph washed through him. He grinned as he reached out, rubbing his seed into Alec’s furry flesh. “Mine,” he breathed.

Alec mewled, his tail flicking and caressing up and down his arm. Tavish knew it was an unconscious touch, but it made him grin and take hold of Alec’s tail with his free hand, scritching and petting the cool length of thick fur. Alec’s purr was deep and loud as the cold wind died down. “Yours,” he moaned. “All yours, Tavish. So proud of you.”

Another flush crept over Tavish’s face. “You are?”

“Yes,” Alec whispered, turning around to face Tavish. “So proud.” Alec leaned in to kiss him softly, and Tavish whimpered in the back of his throat as Alec’s tongue moved through his mouth.

It’s taken me four years to catch you. Though, if Tavish were honest, after the war three years ago, he had been off his game entirely, as had everyone else. Losing loved ones could really gum up the works. He loved the way Alec’s tongue slid along his, Alec’s a little rough, sandpapery, but so good. And you would have found me within five minutes if you’d been hunting me.

Alec’s purr intensified, wrapping around his senses just as surely as Alec’s body curled around him in the snow, holding him close. All the more reason to celebrate your successful hunt, Alec’s mindvoice insisted in his head. Besides, it’s taking me a lot longer to track you down without cheating these days.

Tavish pulled back from their kiss, his eyes wide. “You’ve cheated?”

“Maybe just once or twice, following our connection to feel which way you’ve gone,” Alec admitted with a light blush, his ears twitching to an incredibly guilty angle.

“Alec!” Tavish laughed, fwapping his mate. “Cheating’s not allowed!”

Alec pounced him, pressing him down into the snow. “Are you saying you dislike it when I catch you?”

“N-No,” Tavish whispered, his hands pressed to Alec’s broad chest. “It’s just not fair.”

“How about we go back to our den,” Alec purred, nuzzling and nipping at Tavish’s throat, “and you punish me for my cheating.”

Tavish moaned, arousal beginning to swirl through his senses. “P-Punish you?”

“All night long, if necessary,” Alec offered. “Your scent all over me so everyone will know about your triumphant hunt and the claiming of your mate.”

How could he resist such a thing? He wanted everyone to know, to respect his accomplishment, and if that meant covering Alec with marks and scenting him all night, he wouldn’t back down from the challenge. “B-Back to the den,” he ordered.

Alec rose to his feet, picking up his loincloth, but not bothering to put it back on. “Race you?”

“You can’t use the trees,” Tavish said with a grin, fixing his own trousers.

“If I win, I take you,” Alec purred, licking broadly over Tavish’s lips.

Tavish moaned. “And if I win?”

“Aside from you rutting with me all night long?” Alec laughed. “If you win, we will finally venture to Tira for those rings you admire on the triplets and Kyran.”

Wedding bands? Alec would actually wear a wedding band from him? Tavish gave an excited yip and took off toward the settlement and their den. He’d win. He had to win. He didn’t want to wait a whole other year to try again! As he ran, he could hear Alec’s laughter behind him, and Tavish smiled into the cold bite of the wind.

He’d win.

Title: Icy Desperation
Characters: Cade, North
Origin: Lessons In Cowboy (WIP)
Advent Day: Day 1 (November 27th)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 2,127

—

North shivered as he finished emptying the wheelbarrow for what had to be the hundredth time. Who knew horses could make so much of a mess? And in the dead of winter, no less! “No animal should ever shit that much,” he mumbled, trying to wipe the sweat from his forehead without smearing grime all over himself.

“A little harsh, don’t you think? They can’t help themselves.”

North spun around, his heart jumping up into his throat. His eyes met Cade’s, and he huffed out a breath of relief, watching it fog the air between them. “Shit, Cade.”

Cade’s gaze dropped to the wheelbarrow for a moment. “I see that.”

North laughed and shivered again. “I meant shit, you crept up on me. I was just finishing up.”

“Emma Rae and the others are already inside, eating.” When North took the wheelbarrow back into the barn, Cade followed and leaned against one of the stalls. “Why did you volunteer to stay out in the cold, shoveling shit?”

It took North a couple of swallows before he could manage an answer. Cade looked to damn sexy in his jeans, flannel, and jacket, his Stetson low on his brow. “Why not? No one’d miss me.”

Something flashed in Cade’s eyes. “That’s a pitiful lie, and you know it.”

“Bullshit.” North yanked off his work gloves and tossed the down. “You sneak me into your room after everyone’s asleep, and you kick my ass out before the sun comes up. I’m just a hole for you to warm your dick in, but only as long as you don’t get caught. Why would you miss me at the damn dinner table?”

Cade shoved off the stall and stalked toward him, his boots crunching in the frozen hay that lined the barn hall. Cade’s face was red, and North knew Cade was pissed. Well, so was he, and he refused to back down. He stared defiantly up at Cade when the rancher stopped a foot in front of him. North’s heart was beating so fast, he wondered if Cade could hear it. He didn’t want to lose those few precious hours of pleasure and intimacy with Cade, but he didn’t like the dirty feeling before and after.

“You saying I’m ashamed?”

North clenched his teeth. “I’m sayin’ you’re chickenshit.”

Steam practically rose off Cade’s Stetson. “I’ve never backed down from a challenge in my life. I’m a grown man!”

“So are your damn kids!” North fired back. “Your sons are grown. Emma Rae’s more of a woman than most men can handle. For Christ’s sake, they know what we’re doing! There’s no one to fool, and if they have a problem with us being together, they can say it to our faces. I don’t know what the hell you’re so afraid of. If you’re a grown man, then man up!”

It was a direct challenge, and North was half afraid Cade wouldn’t do anything but turn on his heel and walk back into the warm house to his dinner. Cade might have faced down the challenges of having kids, upkeeping his ranch, and even caring for his wife when she was sick, but would staring down the fact he was sleeping with North finally break the camel’s back? The silence was stretching longer than he liked, and he swallowed thickly, refusing to take back a single word.

“What I do in my bed,” Cade snarled, “is of no concern to anyone else on this ranch!”

“It’s my concern!” North shouted. “It’s my concern, Cade, because I’m in your bed!”

Cade pushed him back into an empty, clean stall, a hand in North’s hair while the other bunched in North’s jacket. In seconds, Cade’s mouth was on his, tongue thrust between his lips. North hadn’t yet experienced Cade while the rancher was angry, and it both frightened and excited him. By the time his back hit the exterior wall, his was hard as a rock in his jeans. He gave as good as he took, the kiss savage, angry, and hurt. All North wanted—all he’d ever wanted—was to be acknowledged and loved openly by the men he called lover. Cade was what he wanted now, and he didn’t want to hide anymore. Not from Cade’s family or his own fans. Music career be damned, he was tired of being a coward!

The kiss seemed to go on forever, both of them refusing to stop or pull back for more than a breath before diving forward again. He wasn’t sure what kind of point Cade was trying to make. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what point he was making by kissing back so hard, but he couldn’t stop. His hands yanked at Cade’s jeans, pulled at flannel and the layers beneath.

Cade’s thought process must have been a little more organized. Cade went for his jacket first, shoving it over his shoulders and down off his arms. Rough hands rubbed against his nipples through his shirts, and North moaned, his own hands stalling for a moment. Cade growled into their kiss at the pause, and North felt his knees go a little weak. Cade’s hands went for his jeans, and before he knew it, his cock was exposed, and he hissed at the chill of the cool air against his overheated skin.

“Left the… stable door… open,” he panted, finally getting the button and zipper of Cade’s jeans open.

“Doesn’t matter,” Cade growled out, and with a rough grip, North was spun around and pushed down into the hay. Cade yanked off one of North’s boots, and his jeans were pulled down his waist just far enough for him to get the one leg out. He reached for his other boot, but Cade slapped his hands. “Down!”

“But it’s not—”

“It’s plenty.” And then Cade’s mouth was on his again, and all he could think to do was part his legs to welcome the warmth of Cade’s body closer as the hay scratched against his ass and leg.

It was more passion than North had seen from Cade since the first night they’d started fucking. Not that North minded slow and deep lovemaking, but this… this was something else. This was something he was sure Cade didn’t let out often, and all it did was make North’s cock that much harder. He moaned when Cade pulled back enough to wet his fingers, and then their tongues were battling one another again while Cade pushed two inside him. It wasn’t as smooth as lube, but having Cade finger him felt too good to stop.

Cade’s mouth moved to North’s throat. When had Cade ripped open the upper buttons? North’s eyes rolled back in his head as Cade’s teeth and suction set a deep, throbbing mark in his throat. Cade hadn’t dared mark him where anyone might see, and to have it done now… “Fuck!” He worried he’d come right then between the combination of that mark and Cade’s fingers pushing in and out, rubbing against his prostate every now and again.

North tried to move his hips, to push into those fingers, but the moment he started shifting eagerly, they were gone. He was about to protest when Cade sat back a little and spat into his palm. North knew what that meant, knew the pain that was about to come, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop Cade. He braced himself, but when Cade thrust inside him with almost no glide, everything went white. His nails dug into Cade’s flannel shirt, as he shouted, pain flashing through him. It made his skin flush, his sinuses sting, his eyes tear up, but—God help him—he was still so hard!

Cade winced above him, and he saw sweat pop up on the creases of Cade’s brow. The fire in Cade’s eyes was even hotter, though, and they stared at each other for several seconds. It made North’s heart pound, and his hands tightened in Cade’s clothing, his knuckles turning white. They pulled each other close the same instant, their mouths colliding in another rough, possessive kiss. He battled Cade for dominance, but then Cade made that first nearly-dry thrust, and he gasped. Cade took advantage, groaning as he staked his claim.

After years of careful coordination with his manager Danny over every single fuck North had, this was heaven. It didn’t matter that his ass was on fire. It didn’t matter that Cade hid everything from everyone. It didn’t matter that, in nine weeks, he’d leave the Stallings Ranch and Cade behind forever. The only damn thing that mattered was the taste of Cade in his mouth, Cade’s worn hands on his hip and thigh, and Cade’s cock pushing into him brutally over and over. North tried to shout, but Cade’s tongue muffled every cry, every groan.

North’s hands clung to Cade’s neck and shoulder. Tears wet his lashes as pain and need and lust warred inside North. And still, his cock strained between their bodies, dark and wet. Cade growled, moved faster, and North ripped his mouth away to let loose a sharp, pained shout.

“Shut up!” Cade snapped breathlessly. “I don’t want everyone knowing what the fuck we’re doing.”

Pain stabbed at North’s heart, sharper than the pain of Cade’s unlubed cock inside him. “And what… are we doing… Cade?”

“Fucking.” Cade stared down at him, and North thought he was looking up at a stranger. “Jack yourself off,” Cade ordered.

North felt a flush steal over his cheeks, but he was so desperate, so aroused despite Cade’s harsh, bitter words. Fucking. They were fucking, a word Cade had never used to refer to what they did. It chipped away a little at North’s heart, and the tiniest kernel of regret began to settle cold and heavy inside him. Still, he reached between their bodies and took himself in hand, pumping his prick hard and rough, as hard and rough as Cade took his body.

It didn’t take long. The combination of pain and pleasure was potent enough to override his emotions. He craned his neck, seeking the comfort of another kiss. Whether Cade indulged him because he loved kissing him or because he just wanted to keep him quiet, North wasn’t certain. He came with a muffled shout, his release shooting up over his hand to his abdomen and disheveled shirts.

The moment of blissful pleasure was short-lived, and Cade’s thrusts became erratic and even more forceful, ripping away the afterglow North usually enjoyed with him. Cade grunted against his lips, and then he felt the heat and sting of Cade’s come inside him. Cade shuddered and twitched above him, and he watched as the pleasure gave way to stillness and silence.

They panted for a minute, and with the way Cade stared at him, North thought the man would speak up. Say something. Anything. Instead, Cade just stared at him in shock, and North finally swallowed thickly, saying the only thing he could think of. “You didn’t use a condom, either.”

Through a haze of tears North hadn’t realized had settled over his vision, he watched Cade’s face close off. All emotion drained away, and Cade’s eyes became shuttered. And still, Cade said nothing. He pulled out, and North closed his eyes as his ass throbbed and the warmth of Cade was lost. The air was too cold now. The horses were whinnying, restlessly moving in their stalls. North was thankful no tears fell, and he only opened his eyes when he heard the rustle of clothing.

Cade was pulling his jeans up, adjusting his shirts and jacket, grabbing his Stetson. “Get yourself cleaned up. Close up the fucking barn and come inside for dinner.”

“Cade, I—”

Cade glared down at him. “Did I ask for your opinion? Finish up your work in the barn, and then come eat. If you don’t get to the table by seven, you don’t eat tonight.”

And then Cade was striding away, out into the snow and gray sky. North just stared at the open barn door, hoping Cade would come back, would apologize. But nothing. Just the slam of the screen door, and then the interior door, of the main house. Blushing deeply, and feeling so fucking dirty, North slowly pulled himself together. How he managed to dress, stow the wheelbarrow, check all the horses’ feed, and lock up the barn, he’d never know, but when he stepped into the main house, it wasn’t the kitchen he headed to.

North wasn’t hungry.

He felt humiliated, used, and pissed. All he wanted was a shower and his bed. North was as cold inside as the world was outside the house, and he worried that no amount of hot water would thaw the ice forming around his heart.

—

Radueriel smiled brightly. “It is just missing one thing.” He reluctantly slipped from Morningstar’s arms and fetched the topper. Unsteadily, he climbed the little step ladder and set the white-clad angel atop the tree, plugging it into the upper strand of lights. Immediately, the fiber optic wings lit up, and the candle the angel held glowed. He stepped down and stared up at it. “Now it is stunning.”

“You bought an angel?” Morningstar chuckled. “That is… so perfectly you, love.”

Radueriel turned to face Morningstar. “And is being perfectly me good enough?” he asked, a moment of uncertainty filling him. “Do I not bore you with my silliness?”

“Oh, Radueriel,” Morningstar murmured, tenderly running his fingers through Radueriel’s long, dark hair. “You never bore me. Through you, I’m able to experience all the things that are worth celebrating. You bring light back to the things that had lost their sparkle to me.”

Radueriel blushed and smiled, playing with a golden lock of Morningstar’s hair. “I know you are world weary, that life with Him has left you just as jaded as being parted from Him. I just think there are so many beautiful things in this world. Do you not think they deserve to be celebrated?”

“I’d celebrate anything with you,” Morningstar purred, kissing him sweetly.

“Even tinsel?”

Morningstar laughed. “Even tinsel.”

Radueriel ran his hands up Morningstar’s chest. “Could we celebrate the tinsel and the lights and our joys? Here? Under the tree?”

“Are you asking me to make love with you?”

Radueriel blushed. “Yes.”

Morningstar cupped his face and drew him into a deep, sweet kiss. Radueriel’s heart began to pound, and blood pooled low in his body. Arousal—even after all this time—was something that still fascinated Radueriel. No longer being an angelic body, the arousal was hotter, heavier, so much more potent than what he’d felt in Heaven all those long years ago with Morningstar. By the time Morningstar broke the kiss, Radueriel was swaying on his feet, flesh warm and hard, his breath short.

“Let me fetch the lube,” Morningstar moaned as Radueriel leaned in and kissed, nipped at his throat. “Radueriel, I can’t get the lube if you’re doing that.”

“Mmm,” Radueriel whimpered, the sound soft and high. “All right.” Morningstar never wanted to hurt him, and he insisted the lubrication was always—always—necessary. “I will wait for you here.”

Morningstar pulled away, and Radueriel watched until he disappeared into their bedroom. He worked quickly, removing his layers of clothing and tossing them over the back of their sofa. He moaned softly as his hard flesh was exposed, and he stretched himself out on the floor beneath the tree, smiling up at the lights and ornaments. Manny darted past, playing with a stray piece of tinsel stolen from one of the lowest boughs of the tree. He laughed. It seemed Morningstar was right about Manny playing despite his age, but it just made him smile, and that’s exactly how Morningstar found him when he returned from the bedroom.

Morningstar stopped short and stared at him so long that Radueriel felt a flush creep over his cheeks and down his neck to his chest. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Morningstar’s voice was rough, a little gravelly, and Radueriel was about to frown with concern when Morningstar rounded the sofa. The large bulge in Morningstar’s jeans gave away his arousal. “You’re just… stunning.”

“Like the tree?” Radueriel asked happily, reaching out in invitation.

Morningstar took his hand and sank down to the carpet. “Even more so than the tree.”

Radueriel held out his hand. “Will you make love with me now?”

“All night,” Morningstar breathed as he knelt between Radueriel’s spread thighs. “Forever.”

Once again, I’m forced to apologize for the lack of an update to “A Knight’s Sacrifice”. The last week was devoted to selecting submissions for the Weight of a Gun anthology and getting pre-orders up and available for Other Side of Night: Bastian & Riley, Crescendo, and Daughters of Artemis. In addition to that, I’m still finishing up my own short story for DoA, and that’s what I’d like to share a bit of today in lieu of an official chapter or short story. “The Fire of Her Eyes” is inspired by the balance of power between humans, tigers, and wolves in the Russian Far East. To spice it up, I’ve made it into poachers, weretigers, and werewolves. I hope you enjoy this snippet!

The Fire of Her Eyes

“What do you mean, ‘the humans have picked up our trail’?” Katya demanded, turning abruptly from her maps to glare up at Mikhail, who quickly put up both his hands and averted his gaze in the face of her anger.

“I don’t know how it happened this time, honest. We did everything you said after the hunt. We made sure the remains were scattered, didn’t take a straight path back…” Mikhail trailed off and looked at her cautiously between dirty locks of his blond hair. “I don’t know how, but they’ve caught on.”

The anger bled out of Katya’s eyes, and she sighed, running a hand through her pale hair. “It’s not your fault, Mischa. Get everyone assembled. We’ll break camp and leave now. I’ll be damned before those poachers catch us.”

She dismissed Mikhail with a wave and rolled up her maps before stuffing them into her pack. Standing, she pulled the ties keeping the furs on the framework of her tent. A practiced yank and the sewn furs fell off the wood posts completely. The cold rushed in around her, and she cursed, securing the hood of her coat up around her face to keep the worst of the chill at bay.

It was bad enough that the poachers had attacked two months ago and killed off half the pack. There had been no alpha male left after that massacre, no one more capable than her to lead the survivors deeper into tiger territory to escape the humans. Well, normal humans, anyway. Her pack was still human as well, but with how violently everyone else took to werewolves, it was hard to imagine they were in any way related to the scum that hunted them. At best, the normal humans saw them as extensions of the gray wolves that occasionally picked off their livestock for food. If they were just pests, then it was easy to justify hunting them down like animals.

She made quick work of her tent, watching as the others in the pack gathered their things, tore down their makeshift tents, and put out the fires. Their numbers were so few, now. It made hunting difficult, even when they shifted, but it also made her heart sore, even as they knit together the remainder of the pack, trying to mend the holes that still remained from their losses.

Her eyes narrowed as she picked up the pace of her own packing. She would see them to safety. It would mean crossing tiger territory to one of their old hiding places near the mountains, but the poachers wouldn’t follow. At the very least, they’d be distracted by bigger game. She smirked to herself as she pulled one of the straps of her pack taut. Finally, a use for the weretigers that didn’t involve eating her pack out of hearth and home.

With an upward glance, she breathed in the cold air. Snow. It would hide their tracks if they got moving. The day was looking up.

Daughters of Artemis comes out on August 26th! Storm Moon Press is holding a contest for those who pre-order a copy at the discounted, pre-sale price, so head on over for a chance to win a great prize pack of goodies! See you next week with more free fiction!

Something is growing out there in the empty desert. It’s growing large. And growing hungry for sustenance the barren desert can no longer provide…

The plan here is to put up a story and some commentary about it. Then rotate a new story in every so often. So check it out while it lasts.

The smell of the ice. That’s what I always tell people brings me here. It’s the excuse I always give so I can wake up before dawn and head to the rink without catching flack from my room-mates. Ice fresh from the Zamboni is unlike any other ice in the world: glassy, smooth, newly melted and hardened to perfection. It smells clean, makes everything crisp and clear in the chilly air. I tell people it’s the smell of the ice that I come for, but that isn’t really true.

I come for them.

The metallic clang of the doors at the far end of the ice draws my attention, and there they are. The click of their blades as they first step onto the ice is a soft echo in the silence following the crash of the door, and it’s like that sound is carried right into my chest, forcing me to straighten in my seat. Their skating guards are placed strategically on the rim of the boards, his on the left, hers on the right. Always the same, as if even the smallest deviation would break the magic of the ritual.

Even from this distance, I can see their chests rise and fall as they take in deep breaths, and I find myself doing the same, breathing in the crisp air like it’s the sweetest fragrance. I know they’ve already warmed up in the back room where they change, but they always stretch again at the boards. I can’t help but stare at them both. Her leg extension even on the boards is beautiful, and the way she holds herself, the way she moves her hands, just screams of countless hours of ballet training outside the rink.

And then there’s her partner. The way he rotates his hips out into a spread eagle and holds onto the boards to stretch backward is the very definition of alluring, even though I’m sure he doesn’t know it. Such a simple movement, something I’m not sure even helps him during each practice, but he does it every time he steps on the ice, and the little smile on his lips as he looks across the ice from upside down makes my own lips twitch up into a grin.

Their stretching leads into a few laps around the rink, and the glide and scrape of their blades along the ice is like a song to my ears, a rhythm carved into each step they take. At first, they move at their own paces, but gradually, the dissonance of their rhythms closes, and they synchronize in a way that brings a smile to my face and a sigh from my lips.

They link hands, their free arms up as they begin another warm-up, drawing a pattern across the ice, testing their holds and forms, their inside and outside edges on each foot. They don’t have to speak to one another, don’t have to verbally point anything out when something is off. The corrections happen effortlessly.

Simple patterns become more complex, and the rhythm of their steps beats out a new song, scrapes and taps and swizzles timed with graceful movements of their arms. Sometimes in unison, other times mirroring each other, but always their bodies are the perfect complements, as if they are two brushes wielded by the same artist’s hand to paint a picture on the ice.

I’ve seen them go through the paces so many times that I feel like I could be that artist, that I could raise my gloved hands up in front of me and guide them both with a gentle wave or a flick of my fingers and wrist. I’m not a choreographer, not a coach, but I know what I see, I’ve memorized how their bodies move, and I know what beautiful paintings the two of them can make on the ice when the fluorescents are replaced by performance spotlights.

Their routine finally breaks, and it’s now that their voices lilt to my ears, a sharing of ideas as they work out a new section. They hum a few bars of the music to one another, take a few tentative steps, debate which direction to go, what edges to use, how to make it flow into another trick or element they have planned. They try a handful of ways, working out every beat to the song that plays in both their minds. It’s always a matter of trial and error, and sometimes, when they look stumped, I wish they would look up at me, ask me what I think. Even though I’m little more than a spectator, I could tell them what I like best, which movements flow and tell a story that pulls me in.

If they asked, I’d tell them everything. I’d probably tell them far too much, more of what’s in my head than they’d likely want to know. I might tell them that the moment when he runs his hand over her thigh and down her leg in one of their straight-line lifts makes me wish I were in her place, the warmth of his palm moving up over my skin. I might tell them that when he lifts her at the end of their spin and she runs her hands down his face and neck that I’d take his place in an instant just to feel her fingertips graze over my jawline and cling to my shoulders.

It’s just a performance, a choreographed moment that is an echo of the relationship they share on and off the ice. I know that. I’ve always known it, but I can’t help but imagine. I’d love to feel my arm around her waist, guiding her in a series of steps across the ice, or feel his strength as he lifts me, holds me in position so I can fly above the ice. Instead, I watch, I live vicariously through their movements in order to forget my own shortcomings in grace and agility.

If they’d ask me, I’d probably say too much, so it’s probably just as well they never ask during practice, that when they’re on the ice, I don’t distract them. It’s their moment, their morning routine, and I watch them through the light fog of my breath in the cold air. I breathe in the cold air and know that, in my own way, I’m flying and lifting and feeling every phrase of the music right along with them.

When they leave the ice, the spell remains unbroken. Another piece of their new program’s story has been woven into my mind, and it leaves me in a haze as I try to imagine what the next morning practice will bring. It’s only when chilly fingers press against my neck that I jolt out of my daze, and I smile as she pulls me to my feet from the icy bleachers just to tug me back down into a kiss.

Frigid hands slide up beneath my shirt and sweater, ice cold against my warm skin, and I’m forced away from her kiss to yelp and swipe at swiftly retreating hands. I turn, fully intending to shove away the cause of my now chilly, goosebumped skin, but he catches me in a kiss of his own. He’s irresitible, and he knows I only ever put up token fights. His kisses soothe away the chill with a rush of heat that makes me all but melt in his arms.

Once I’m released from the kiss, I feel both their arms around me, and I have to lick my lips a couple times before whispering, “Good practice.”

They never ask my opinion, but they already know what I would say. I’d say that they’re both the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen and that they’re damn fools for even bothering with my clumsy ass. And I know they would both insist I’m worth the trouble. He’d probably even remind me how much frequently enjoys my ass, which would just make me harder in my stiff, cold jeans than I already am.

It’s better that they just hug me and shut me up with more kisses that taste like ice and coffee and them. It’s better that they sling their skating bags over their shoulders and lure me from the bleachers back into the warmth of the lobby with promises of breakfast and an amazing three-way tumble before my morning classes.

I love the smell of the ice, but it isn’t the reason I wake up every morning before dawn and make my way to the skating rink. I come for the artistry of their skating, the warmth of their smiles, and the wonderful chill of their cold hands against my skin. I come for the two of them, and I know I always will.

The End

You can download the PDF, Mobi, Epub, and LIT formats directly from my website. S.L. has also set them up over on All Romance E-books, HERE, for those of you who prefer getting your fiction there. Ultimately, the e-book will also be distributed through Smashwords. It’s free, and it will always be free. Yay!

I hope you guys all enjoy the free pieces of fiction S.L. and I put out. We love giving you guys something nice and sexy to read, and it’s fun to put together short pieces of fiction for everyone. Enjoy and stay tuned this next Friday for the next chapter of A Knight’s Sacrifice!

************************

Malachi knelt on a thick, folded towel on the floor in front of the toilet. The bathroom was large, but it didn’t need to be. He smiled as he dipped the razor into the bowl of warm water, bracing his hand on the meat of Phinn’s pale thigh. Phinn’s flesh always looked so much whiter against the darkness of his own flesh, and it was an insane turn on for Malachi. His dark eyes glanced up at Phinn’s flushed face, and then trailed down the crunched up torso as Phinn tried to keep his legs spread and back. It exposed Phinn’s cock, sac, and ass, which was exactly what Malachi wanted.

The fact that Phinn’s cock was already hard as a fucking lead pipe only went to show Malachi that his lover was thoroughly enjoying himself. Malachi drew the razor over the tight sac, slowly, sensually removing all traces of the fine, brown hair that graced Phinn’s groin. “Had I known you liked me shaving you,” he said, rinsing off the hair and shaving cream in the water before returning to Phinn’s balls, “I’d have done this more often.”

Phinn moaned, the thigh muscles under Malachi’s hand quivering with each drag of the razor. “I swear, it wasn’t this arousing last year.” Another soft sound filled the small tiled space. “Hell, you weren’t this arousing last year.”

Malachi lifted an eyebrow, an amused smile on his lips. Their relationship had deepened and become more… interesting… in the last year, but certainly he hadn’t been that boring. “Should I be insulted by that?” he asked while smearing more shave cream along the crack of Phinn’s ass.

“Maybe,” Phinn groaned.

And now Malachi had the perfect lead-in to the scene he wanted to do tonight. Phinn never disappointed him, and as he drew the razor carefully along the inside of Phinn’s cheeks, he mused. “Hmm. What sort of penance should I demand for such an insult?” His eyes darted up to meet Phinn’s. “After all, it should be creative, as I certainly wouldn’t want to bore you again,” he said, pressing his fingers into Phinn’s hole, spreading him open.

Phinn’s breath hitched, and then he whispered, “I wouldn’t think to choose my own penance.”

Malachi set the razor aside and wiped Phinn’s clean-shaven cock, balls, and ass. A smirk curved his lips as he rose to his feet. “I have just the thing.” He drew his finger along the curve of Phinn’s cock, and then stepped away, leaving his lover whimpering and arching for more. “I want you to go lay down face-up on the rug in front of the fire, your legs spread wide.” Malachi didn’t wait to see if Phinn would follow the order. He knew Phinn would. It wouldn’t cross Phinn’s mind not to.

He walked into the large closet in their bedroom area, his eyes darting to the rug in the central living area of the loft. Phinn was gorgeous spread out on the rug, and Malachi couldn’t help but fondle himself a little before turning his attention to the drawers of toys in the closet. After a moment, though, he called out, “No touching!” Phinn also wouldn’t think to touch himself without Malachi’s permission, but Malachi always uttered the command. It turned Phinn on, and it only made Malachi feel that much more in control. It was a win-win situation in his mind.

Malachi grabbed a couple of items and returned to the main room. Their loft didn’t have a separate room they could use for their scenes like their old apartment had, and so they’d begun using a small, flexible collar to define the scenes. He kept the other toys behind his back as he approached and settled between Phinn’s legs, a smirk playing on his lips. Setting everything down neatly, he took the collar and fastened it around Phinn’s neck. “Mmm, that collar makes your neck look beautiful,” he purred, eyes following his ebony fingers as they trailed along where leather met pale flesh.

Phinn trembled a little, his eyes hooded as he stared up at Malachi. “Fuck me,” he breathed, arching both his hips and his neck enticingly.

“Ah, but that would be far too easy.” Malachi leaned over Phinn and drew his lips across Phinn’s nipple as he spread his lover’s legs wider. There was a metallic sound as he reached for one of the toys he’d taken from their closet: an elastrator fit with a band for Phinn’s sac. Phinn was such a whore for cock and ball torture, and Malachi loved to push Phinn’s boundaries. He held it up high enough for Phinn to see it, make the connection, and know just what was coming.

Phinn’s eyes grew as large as saucers as he stared at the implement, and his hands tightened in the nap of the rug. “Malachi…”

Malachi couldn’t help but smirk, so pleased by the breathy, hungry note in Phinn’s voice. “If you have an objection, you know the word you must speak. Otherwise, this band is going around you.” He had chosen the band carefully: tight enough to restrict blood flow, but not enough to completely cut it off. He gripped the elastrator and stretched the band open. “Legs wide, Phinn,” he said, order sharp as he smacked the insides of Phinn’s thighs as they began to close just a bit. Phinn would love it, come so fucking hard, and Malachi wouldn’t let fear ruin the moment. He reached down and massaged Phinn’s shaved sac, pinching at the top of the soft, vulnerable flesh to warm it up a little.

Another moan left Phinn’s throat, and that sound went right to Malachi’s cock. Phinn spread his legs wider and closed his eyes. The trust inherent in those two actions warmed Malachi’s heart. It was in these moments of absolute surrender that Malachi knew—without a single doubt—that he and Phinn were meant to be together. They complemented one another perfectly, the sadist and the masochist, and he knew tonight would push both their buttons in all the right ways.

“Good,” Malachi breathed, praising Phinn for opening up to him. “You’re so eager, so ready, even when you’re terrified.” He knew Phinn was afraid; Phinn’s chest rose and fell quickly, unevenly, and his hands kept twisting and clenching in the fibers of the rug. But, it would be good. It would be fucking amazing for them both, and Malachi set to proving that.

He maneuvered the stretched elastic band over Phinn’s sac, situating it at the top of his balls, and slowly, carefully released the pressure on the device. The band tightened gradually, teasing Phinn bit-by-bit with the increasing pressure. “Do you feel it, Phinn? Do you feel the band around your balls? Feel it getting tighter and tighter?”

A shudder rocked Phinn’s body, and a needy, rasping groan filled the air. “Yes, so… tight… oh, God…”

“Such a slut. You love your balls being played with, touched, spanked, tortured.” The band closed tighter and tighter until Malachi had released it as much as the elasticity would allow. Gripping Phinn’s balls, he pulled the band free of the elastrator and set the device aside for later. The skin of Phinn’s balls was pulled tight, and he touched it, scratched his nails along it, eyes taking in every nuance of Phinn’s body language as he tried to gauge Phinn’s reaction. “Tell me how it feels,” he growled, giving the taut sac a slight slap.

Phinn cried out, his face and chest flushing beautifully. “Like my heart is pounding in my cock and balls!”

Malachi smiled at Phinn, dark and hungry. “Good.” The pain must have been exquisite, and he planned for it to become even more so. He dipped down and pulled the tight ball of flesh into his mouth. He sucked nice and hard, drawing more blood into the constricted flesh. It would be absolute torture, which was just what Malachi knew Phinn needed tonight.

Phinn’s back arched, and he screamed as his hands tugged again at the rug. It was stunning to watch. “Fuck, Malachi! Oh, God… oh, fuck me!”

Malachi moaned around Phinn’s balls and drew on them just a little longer. Phinn’s scream reverberated in his ears, made his own need compound. But, Malachi was patient. He’d spent two years dating Phinn, drawing him in, learning all his body’s and heart’s secrets, so he certainly wasn’t going to rush this experience. When he finally pulled back, Phinn’s balls pounding against his tongue, he met Phinn’s hazy eyes and gave him a dangerous look. “This is just the beginning.”

Without another word, he picked up a small flogger. It was intended for such sensitive areas, and he gave Phinn’s sac a soft smack with the thin, leather straps. Phinn tried to slam his legs shut, to protect the bound, taut skin, a pathetic whine leaving his throat, but Malachi used one of his broad, strong hands, slapping the inside of each thigh once more. “Open!” he snapped. “Brace your feet on the floor, but keep your legs wide.” Phinn reluctantly complied, a strangled sound rumbling in the back of his throat. Malachi chuckled, shaking his head. “You can pretend you don’t want this all you want, but I know better. I know how hard you come when I slap or weight your balls. You love it, Phinn, and you can’t hide that need from me. Not anymore.”

After a few seconds, Malachi landed his second blow to the bound sac, just a little more strength behind it. Phinn’s legs remained wide open this time, a desperate cry leaving his full, lovely lips. Malachi loved those sounds, loved pulling them from his lover, and he soon built an easy rhythm, warming up the flesh gradually before adding stronger, bolder strikes. “So fucking hot,” he murmured, his eyes hungrily drinking in the writhing, panting body in front of him. “You make my cock ache just by watching you, by seeing your sac so red and tortured. You like it, too, don’t you? Tell me how much you fucking love this.”

No words left Phinn’s parted lips. Instead, all Malachi was given were gasps and shouts, squirming hips and flexing muscle. It seemed Phinn’s body couldn’t decide if it wanted to arch up into every lash or pull away, and Malachi reveled in it. He struck harder, faster, and Phinn’s bare, white balls grew an even darker, deeper red. But, no matter how much harder he brought the flogger down on that sensitive, bound sac, all he could force from Phinn were screams and ragged sobs. Phinn was being obstinate, denying Malachi what he wanted, and so Malachi decided to deny Phinn.

He stopped striking. He removed all sensation, all touch, leaving Phinn writhing on the floor, balls blistering hot and shockingly red. Phinn would answer him, even if it meant leaving them both wanting in order to drive home his point through denial as punishment. “Phinn,” he warned, giving his lover a final opportunity to answer him.

Phinn cried out, opening his feverish eyes and staring desperately at Malachi. He lifted his hips, begging with his body. It was tempting, but Malachi had a point to make. Either Phinn answered him or neither of them would find fulfillment tonight.

“Malachi,” Phinn begged, his hands clenched in the rug at his side. “Please, Malachi…”

“Tell me how much you love it, or I’ll stop. After all,” Malachi smirked, “if you don’t like it, what’s the point? Tell me, Phinn.”

Phinn whimpered. “I love it,” he panted, hips unable to remain still. “You know I do.”

Malachi trailed his nails across the abused, tight flesh ever so lightly. “But I want to hear it from you, and my desire rules here and now. Tell me,” he ordered once more, giving Phinn a single, hard strike from the flogger as incentive.

As Phinn screamed and shuddered, Malachi could feel them getting closer to that moment. That emotional moment he was trying to push Phinn to. Life had been hellish the last month with them both working like crazy, rent going up, the economy tanking, and sex as vanilla as it got with so little time for each other. Phinn needed this release just as much as Malachi needed to give it to him, and he wasn’t about to stop until the dam broke.

“I won’t ask again,” Malachi said, reaching for the elastrator. He didn’t make idle threats, and Phinn fucking well knew that.

Phinn’s head lolled to the side, his breathing ragged, loud, but words finally slipped from between the dry lips. “It makes my heart pound… my cock leak… God, my stomach is so wet. I love it.” He moaned, rolling his hips up, drawing Malachi’s attention back to the abused sac. “I love the pain! It makes my balls feel twice the size.” Phinn groaned as his ass settled on the rug once more. “Fuck… when I come…”

Pride filled Malachi as Phinn gave in. “Yes, but you only come when I say.” He rewarded Phinn’s more substantial answer with a steady series of blows, turning the sac a blazing shade of crimson while his free hand finally moved to Phinn’s cock. He cradled it in his hand and began including it with the strikes of the small flogger. Phinn’s body danced for him, riding the pleasure and pain like an expert. “Beautiful… so fucking beautiful,” Malachi whispered, unable to keep the praise behind his own lips.

Phinn’s hips bounced, shifted, pulled away and pushed into every lash of the flogger. Malachi could feel just how damn hard, how ready to pop Phinn was, but he didn’t stop. He pushed. He was determined to see Phinn crumble under it all, break apart into tiny pieces that would ease all the tension they’d felt. Phinn screamed and sobbed, shuddered and begged, until finally, his lover broke.

“I’m sorry!” Phinn cried out again and again, pleading with Malachi. “I’m sorry! It was always this good, always! Malachi!”

Malachi put aside the flogger for a moment, and then two fingers slick with lube were pushed unceremoniously into Phinn’s body. He took only the barest amount of time to stretch Phinn a little and slick the way before he took his black cock in hand and thrust hard and deep into Phinn’s white ass. It was hot and tight, and Malachi grunted, wanting nothing more than to fuck Phinn until his ass ached, but this was about more than blowing his own nut. It was all about Phinn tonight, all about bringing him such exquisite pain that his lover forgot every little stress in their lives for a little while.

He draped Phinn’s legs over his thighs and leaned back. Controlling Phinn with one hand, he rocked in and out while taking up the flogger again. Malachi punctuated his thrusts with blow after blow from the lash, the thongs stroking balls, cock, and thighs. He didn’t care much about his aim at this point, only at driving Phinn crazy with sensation “Do you want to come?” he demanded, his voice jerking with his movements, his eyes drawn to Phinn’s red, swollen, and bound balls and that small hole that sucked his dark cock in over and over.

“Malachi!”

Malachi snarled at Phinn, thrusting as deeply as he could without sacrificing his ability to use the flogger. “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself! Answer!”

The scream Phinn let loose then as Malachi pushed so far inside him, struck with the flogger over and over, almost took Malachi over the edge. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from coming as Phinn writhed on his cock. As he tormented Phinn’s groin, fucked his ass, Phinn defied him. Phinn’s hands came up from the rug and made a beeline for his cock, his balls. Malachi intercepted them with his free hand, using his grip on Phinn’s arms for more leverage for his thrusts now as his voice rang out with a harsh edge.

“Answer!” Malachi snapped his hips forward over and over, the tender skin of Phinn’s balls pushed to its very limits of resilience. “Do you… want to… come?”

Phinn’s eyes opened, wild and wide and lost, and stared at him from his sweaty, flushed face. “Yes!” he shouted, tears sliding down his temples. “I want to come! Please, please, Malachi!”

Given what he wanted, Malachi immediately released Phinn’s hands and stroked hard and fast at his lover’s cock. But, he didn’t stop flogging Phinn’s balls or fucking his ass, driving them both to their very limits. “Then come!”

Instantly, Phinn complied, though Malachi knew his lover had very little choice in the matter. His back bowed sharply as he screamed, the climax so intense that Malachi winced at the strength of the clenching muscles surrounding his cock. Phinn tried to claw his way away from Malachi’s lash and cock, but Malachi’s hand was tight around his shaft, pumping, pulling every drop of gorgeous come from those constricted, tortured balls. Fuck, Phinn’s sac looked so good, all tight, crimson, streaked with faint bruising and welts that would burn and ache for days. Malachi relished that warm, powerful sense of satisfaction in a job well done, in pain that would linger and enhance Phinn’s pleasure each time they made love.

Malachi tossed the flogger aside and released Phinn’s cock the moment Phinn went lax under him. He braced his hands on the rug, forced Phinn’s legs back, and watched the contrast of his black cock pounding into Phinn’s lily-white ass. It was always such a fucking turn on to see his cock moving in and out of Phinn, spreading his lover wide, making him whimper and shudder weakly as his own body slapped into Phinn’s abused balls. It was too much. Too. Damn. Much. Just as it was everything he knew Phinn needed, it was also everything he needed. Malachi threw his head back, his long braids slapping painfully against his back, adding just a hint of spice to his own pleasure as he came hard and thick inside Phinn’s gripping ass.

As he came back down from the mindless heights of climax, his hands began to stroke soothingly at Phinn’s quivering body. “Oh… fuck…” he breathed. He slowly regained his senses and reached blindly for the elastrator. He needed to get the band off Phinn now if he didn’t want there to be any lasting damage. A little fun was one thing, disfiguring was another. Phinn’s quiet, broken sobs inspired that pleasant sense of smug achievement inside him all over again. He’d done what he’d set out to do, and damn if he didn’t feel better. Once he tended to Phinn, he was pretty sure his lover would feel the same way.

Malachi had to handle Phinn’s balls fully to get the elastrator’s metal spokes back underneath the tight band. It proved a bit more difficult than he’d originally thought it would be. He had to pull out of Phinn to get a better angle, which Phinn didn’t like, whining and sniffling softly. “I have to position it just right, and my dick can’t be in your ass for me to do that.”

Phinn nodded and closed his eyes. “This is going to hurt,” he said, a hint of fear returning to his voice.

Malachi grinned, all white teeth and dark skin. “Yeah, it will, but you’ll love it, just like you do when I pull the nipple clamps off. Now, brace yourself, love.” He leaned down and alleviated the pressure of the band with the device, pulling it over and off Phinn’s burning balls. Phinn didn’t make a sound, wasn’t even breathing, Malachi noticed, and so he ducked down, sucked as much of Phinn’s sac as he could into his mouth. He was gentle, though, careful with his teeth, and it was only then that sound left Phinn’s throat. It was a ragged, loud sob, Phinn’s hands twisting in the rug, and the sob bled into weeping the longer Malachi sucked and licked at the throbbing, hot flesh of Phinn’s balls.

It briefly occurred to Malachi that, this time, he might have gone a little too far, maybe not pushed Phinn’s boundaries, but left them utterly in the dust. His hands broadly brushed over Phinn’s legs and up his stomach, and he left behind Phinn’s sac to lap and tease along his softening cock. “Phinn?” he murmured, tongue snaking out to lick along the spatters of come on Phinn’s stomach. “You all right?” When Phinn didn’t answer immediately, Malachi kissed his way up Phinn’s body until his lips brushed Phinn’s and his fingers removed the collar. He kissed Phinn—slow and deep—and was relieved when Phinn weakly returned the caresses of his tongue. As the kiss drew to a close, he asked again, “Are you okay?”

Phinn swallowed several times, and Malachi thought he saw a nod. “Shower,” he croaked out. His eyes opened, bright blue and still wet. “Please?”

Malachi scooped Phinn up and took him into the bathroom once more, and every whimper, every uncomfortable shift of Phinn in his arms, only made his smile grow. “Satisfied?”

Phinn tangled his fingers in Malachi’s many tiny braids, bringing their lips back together in another kiss, the give and take in this one closer to equal than during the scene. “I can’t believe you just did that,” he said, his voice rough and rasping.

“Believe it,” Malachi said, and there was no small amount of smug pride in his voice. “Your balls are going to hurt for days.”

As Malachi turned on the shower, Phinn groaned again. “And you sure as hell aren’t going to leave them alone as they heal, are you?”

Malachi gave him a wink, reaching over to give Phinn’s balls a gentle slap, shivering as Phinn bucked, his shout echoing in the small, tiled room their night had begun in. “You know me so well, lover,” he purred, and then drew Phinn into another sweeping, claiming kiss.

The End

~*~ For his king, he’d give everything… Even his name. ~*~

Chapter Three

Audric had snuffed all but two of the candles, throwing his bedchamber into deep shadows. His shutters were wide open, letting in the soft, late-summer breeze, cooling the room slightly. It was still sticky and hot, and Audric shed his robe, standing naked near the bank of windows. The breeze felt much better, kissing the sweat on his body and making him moan softly. These nights, even with the unbearable heat, had been some of Malin’s favorites.

A small, sad smile curved Audric’s lips. Memory was a potent bedmate, and he closed his eyes, remembering vividly the last summer he’d spent with his lover. Oh, how he’d wanted to simply run off to the lake, swim and make love in the water until the heat was forgotten. Malin, though, hadn’t wanted such relief. He could hear him now, laughing as he stripped Audric, pushed him to the warmth of the bed.

“I like you sweaty, Audric,” Malin whispered, hands gliding down his king’s body with such knowledge that Audric was soon arching, begging with body and voice for relief.

“It’s too hot,” he’d argued as Malin had bent his mouth to him. He’d cried out, sank his fingers into the russet hair. “Too damn hot!”

Malin had chuckled, rich and low, sending a thrill through Audric. “It’s going to become much hotter, Sire, just you wait.”

It had. Every summer had been the same. Summer had been Malin’s season. Bright and hot and far too short.

Audric opened his eyes and swiped at a wayward tear that trickled down his cheek. A knock at his door pulled him from the bittersweet memories. He thought to send the intruder away, but he knew the one knocking was the knight he’d sent for. Again. And he would send for him the following night, too, he just knew it. He needed the knight, needed… Malin.

“Come!”

Jarrett entered his bedchamber, dressed simply in trousers and tunic, his feet still in his boots. The flickering candles hid a multitude of small differences between the dead lover and the living one, and Audric didn’t fight the fantasy.

Audric smiled and held out his hand, repeating, “Come.”

Without hesitation, Jarrett crossed the room, his hair loose, like rust around his pale face. Audric lifted his hands, ran them over the fabric of Mal—Jarrett’s—it was Jarrett with him, his mind whispered—tunic. “It’s much too hot to be even moderately clothed,” Audric murmured.

“Yes,” Jarrett replied, his voice pitched low, just the way Malin would when they were alone. “Much too hot.”

“Strip.”

Mal—Jarrett, dammit, it was Jarrett—pulled the tunic up over his head, dropping it into a heap on the floor. Before he could begin to remove his boots and trousers, Audric had stepped close again, his hands moving over hot, damp, flushed skin. So much smoother than Malin’s, younger. Yes, he was just as broad, but there was muscle yet to appear on Jarrett’s torso. In time, though, Audric thought, Jarrett would look almost as Malin did in that final year they’d spent together.

In time.

For now, Audric brushed his thumbs over Jarrett’s nipples, tilted his lover’s head so their lips brushed. “I want you naked.”

Malin smiled, and it was devastatingly beautiful. “I believe I was doing just that when you stopped me.”

The teasing brought a smile to Audric’s lips, too, and he stepped back, his hand wrapping around his half-hard cock and pumping slowly. “How can I keep my hands to myself? I never could with you.”

Something flickered in Malin’s eyes, something Audric couldn’t quite place, and then he was smiling again, a dark edge to the usually sweet lips. “Restraint was never your strong suit with me,” Malin purred as he toed off his boots and began to tug at the lacing of his trousers. Malin’s gaze was then drawn down to Audric’s shifting hand, and Audric recognized that expression immediately.

“I’ve been thinking about you non-stop all day,” Audric panted, tightening his hand. “Thought I would go crazy before the day ended and you’d come to me.”

Malin’s trousers pooled at his ankles, and he stepped out of them, hard and ready for Audric. Audric couldn’t help but lick his lips as his eyes trailed over the thickness jutting out from the fiery hair between Malin’s legs. Malin grinned, openly amused and aroused. “Enough talk, Audric. You always talked too much.”

There was no use in arguing. Audric stepped forward, drawing Malin into a deep, possessive kiss. An odd moment of hesitation from Malin nearly pulled him out of the kiss, but then Malin’s hands were on him, moving down his front, circling around his waist, and kneading firmly at his backside. Calloused fingers played along his sweaty skin, and the tingling heat of the touch coupled with the breeze from the window. Audric shuddered, marveling at the way a single dominant caress from Malin could still make his knees weak.

Their tongues curled, teasing one another, but still there was that hint of submission from Malin that Audric couldn’t understand. Perhaps something was weighing heavily on Malin’s mind. There were a thousand different things that could be wrong—not the least of which could be the Lady Primeveire’s arrival tomorrow—but rather than guessing at them, Audric took the lead, thrusting his tongue deeper and tugging lightly at a handful of Malin’s hair.

His name was a long moan from deep within Malin’s chest, and he grinned as he nibbled down Malin’s throat and rubbed their cocks together. “Mmm?” he purred, reveling in the groan he pulled from Malin by teasing his fingertips against Malin’s entrance.

“I want…”

Malin’s voice trailed off, but Audric smiled and nipped at Malin’s ear. “I know.” Malin never really had to ask him for anything. They had been together for so long that reading one another’s needs was second nature. He massaged Malin’s hole before dipping one finger inside a fraction, and Malin melted against him, moaning into his hair.

Audric’s cock twitched, and he brought his hands back up Malin’s torso, already slick with sweat, skin prickling with excitement. He loved that sensation, knowing how aroused the heat and breeze made Malin. For a moment, it was like no time had passed between them. They were years younger, sharing a summer tryst without a care, their kingdom still strong and secure. Malin had driven him mad with need most summer nights. To give Malin the same treatment now made his cock ache.

He pulled back, making to turn Malin around and bend him over the edge of the bed a few steps away, but Malin’s muscles rippled, tensing against him, and he looked up with a raised eyebrow.

Malin swallowed thickly, and again, that strange expression appeared, so foreign, so unlike Malin. “Like this, Audric,” Malin whispered, keeping their bodies pressed close, face-to-face. “I want you to take me like this.”

“Standing?” Audric teased, smirking when that hint of uncertainty melted away from Malin’s features, replaced by frustration and desire. Yes, that expression was much better. He carded his fingers through Malin’s hair and nodded. “Lie back.”

Malin’s eyes, deeply shadowed, never left his as he climbed back onto the bed. He settled against the pillows, his legs wantonly spread. Audric cast back in his memory, wondering when he’d last made love with Malin like this. He frowned a little as he gathered the oil, something tugging at his mind. Not recently, no, it had been mostly fucking followed by sleepy cuddling. He’d been remiss in giving the softer, more tender touches, and Audric set to rectifying that.

“We haven’t done this in too long,” he said, mounting the bed. Audric crawled up between Malin’s splayed legs, lapped at the plump head of his cock. Again, something nagged at him—the taste wasn’t quite right, the size just a little off—but Audric shoved the misgivings aside. He hadn’t blown Malin in months, after all. Perhaps his memory was playing tricks on him as it tended to do on the nights Malin came to him. He turned his eyes up to Malin at the moan that filled the silence, his heart hammering in his chest. “You taste thick… so thick…”

“Enough talk,” Malin growled, need shining in his eyes as his hand cupped the back of Audric’s head and brought it back to his cock.

Audric didn’t fight Malin. He didn’t want to. He drew the shaft between his lips, sucked him in with a groan, and lost himself to the stretch Malin’s cock always was in his throat. Bobbing up and down, riding Malin’s eager, impatient thrusts, Audric oiled his fingers and eased two inside his lover. Without grief and lust clouding his mind, Audric indulged in the foreplay. He spread the oil deep, teased that gland inside, a spike of need moving through him when Malin cried out and bucked up into his mouth.

It was wonderful and slow, easy and familiar. Even if Malin’s smell wasn’t quite right—perhaps his lover had spent far too much time with the horses today—it was still everything he’d spent the day fantasizing about. Audric pulled off Malin’s cock, kissed his way up the wet, burning skin of his stomach and chest, until their lips touched. “I want inside you,” he breathed into the parted lips.

“Then stop wasting time and take me,” Malin ordered, nipping at Audric’s lower lip.

Even receiving, Malin was perfectly dominant. Audric pulled his fingers from Malin as they kissed and slicked his cock. The kiss started brief, but he couldn’t help but deepen it, thrusting his tongue between the welcoming lips and claiming every inch of Malin’s mouth as his. The summer heat only made the heat between them that much hotter, and Audric tore his mouth from Malin’s when he pushed forward, slipped easily into Malin’s body. Malin arched his body, offered himself so selflessly, so willingly, and Audric fell in love with the man all over again as he settled root-deep within Malin.

It wasn’t the rough, desperate fucks they had shared more and more often of late. The glide was perfect, allowing his cock to thrust slow and deep. When he finally became dizzy from Malin’s kisses, he drew back a fraction and panted into that vibrant hair he so loved. Even in the low light, Malin’s hair glimmered with copper and flames. He inhaled Malin’s scent, the spice of his musk amid the strong aroma of sweat, horses, and wild grass.

Malin’s hands wandered over his skin, tracing the ragged lines of his scars. There was such reverence in that touch, such familiarity. It made Audric sink deeper into his pace, rocking Malin into the bed and sucking over the area of Malin’s throat that vibrated with each moan. The throb of his own pulse was maddening, a tempo sending heat across his skin in blistering waves, faster and stronger with each thrust.

As his thrusts became more desperate, Malin cried out and tugged sharply at his hair, forcing his face up from Malin’s throat for a hungry kiss. He barely caught a glimpse of those beautiful green eyes, the large pupils ringed with gold—gold? when had Malin’s eyes borne a kiss of gold?—but that flash of color remained behind his closed eyes as they kissed, the pleasure mounting.

They spiraled higher and higher, feeding off one another’s moans and clinging as much as their sweaty forms would allow. Audric snaked a hand between their bodies and pumped Malin’s cock just as motes of light invaded his own vision. When his climax came, it was with a flash of brightness and a blast of heat so intense that it nearly felt cold. In the haze of his own release, he barely felt the splash of fluid over his palm, barely heard the cry of pleasure coupled with his own deep moans.

Audric sagged against Malin, his kisses wet and sloppy as he panted in the aftermath. Gods above, had it ever been this good? This right? He nuzzled against Malin’s throat, murmuring against the heated flesh. “Love you… love you so much…”

Malin’s fingers combed through his hair, caressed his ears. “I love you, too.”

The heat sapped the last of his energy, and Audric pulled out, laid beside Malin. Within moments, Malin’s arms were around him, holding him as if he was the most precious thing in Malin’s life. The thought made Audric smile lazily as he stroked his hand through the cooling seed on Malin’s stomach. “I don’t want a night to pass without you here with me,” he admitted. “We’ve spent too much time apart.”

A kiss was pressed to the crown of his head, and Malin’s arms tightened. “Every night?”

Audric nodded against Malin’s chest, half-asleep. “Every night.” There was a strange, long silence. It pulled Audric up from that drowsing state. Why wouldn’t Malin want to spend every night with him? Well, every night within reason, but it would be most nights. He tilted his head, tried to meet Malin’s eyes, but his lover was too deep in the shadows, the angle of their hands preventing him from seeing Malin’s expression. “Malin?”

“Every night,” Malin repeated again, and Audric caught that faint, sad smile on Malin’s lips before Malin forced his head back against his chest. They settled there, the sheets kicked to the foot of the bed. “I can think of nothing better than every night in your bed, Audric.”

“Me, either,” Audric yawned, sleep pulling at him. “It’s about… damn… time.”

The last thing he heard was Malin sighing, and the sound was so resigned, so sad, and Audric didn’t understand it. Why would Malin be resigned to a nightly routine? Maybe it was because of Primeveire. Yes, yes, it was because of Primeveire. He would have to speak with Malin about it tomorrow night, assure him of his place. Cuddling closer despite the heat, Audric smiled against Malin’s chest.

Malin’s place was here, with him, in his bed.

…to be continued in another couple minutes! Don’t you love getting more so quickly? ^_-

Chapter Two

It wasn’t until mid-morning that the sunlight filtering into Audric’s bedchamber finally roused him, and even then, awareness came slowly. All sense of memory seemed to have been lost in the haze of slumber. But then, that was why he sought that black abyss so often of late — he wanted to forget everything. Everything that had happened in the last year. He wanted to forget the betrayal by his supposed allies in the neighboring kingdom, and the subsequent invasion of his lands. He wanted to forget the loss, destruction, and bloodshed that those months had wrought before he had pushed the invaders back. But most of all, he wanted to forget the moment after that final, gruesome battle when the captain of the guard named the knights slain in the fracas, and the name Audric most feared to hear was spoken in that list.

But the waters of Lethe were denied to him. As it did every morning, the haze of forgetfulness lingered for only a few moments before being ripped away, startling Audric awake with a wave of grief, no less powerful for being familiar. Images of the battlefield assaulted him, the horror of it burned forever onto his mind. And yet, of all the bodies battered and broken during those days and weeks of combat, only one had managed to tear away a piece of him. He had suffered minor wounds, to be sure, but those had long since healed. The deepest injury of all had been to his heart, and that cut was as fresh as the day it was given, even after a full cycle of the seasons.

“Malin,” Audric whispered to the empty room, cradling his head as he sat upright. His lover was gone, lost to the battlefield and the funeral pyres. Malin had always been such a bright presence in his life. It was Malin who had helped Audric overcome his quiet nature and take charge of a kingdom that had become his far too soon. When he took Malin as a lover, no one had openly objected. So long as he maintained the option for a strategic, political marriage, Audric’s relationship was looked on by his advisers as a stabilizing and generally positive influence.

As the flood of memories began to catch up to the present, the events of last night returned to Audric’s thoughts. He had not lain with another since Malin’s death, but last night, the emptiness and grief had become too much to bear. Audric had sought to lose himself, even for a moment, in the arms of another. He had asked Holden to discreetly ask among the rest of the guard for one willing to offer Audric the sort of companionship he desired, and one had answered the summons. Jarrett, the knight who had been Malin’s squire in his youth.

Just thinking of the young man brought back the rest of the night with startling clarity, and Audric groaned. Bowing his head forward into his palm again, he felt guilt bloom brightly in his chest along with the shock of what he’d done. It had been Jarrett in the blazing firelight, not Malin, but that hadn’t stopped him from calling his dead lover’s name. He had been so eager to lose himself to past happiness that his mind had woven an intricate tapestry of lies and excuses as to why Malin had been away for the past year and now newly returned. The small differences between Jarrett and Malin had been overlooked in favor of the similarities. Jarrett’s slightly sharper features were easily hidden by the curtain of auburn hair the same shade as Malin’s. Jarrett’s skin may have shone a bit more pale in the candlelight, but the build was Malin’s, and a long sojourn to the north could have stolen some of the color from the normally darker skin.

Yes, seeing Jarrett as Malin was easy enough, but touching him, kissing him, took a bit more effort. Jarrett was many years younger than Malin, and though he clearly had at least a bit of experience, the youth couldn’t know Audric’s body as well as Malin did after nearly a decade of sharing pleasure. And while Audric had enjoyed submitting to Malin’s more dominant whims, that would be impossible with Jarrett. The touches, the kisses, the feel of Jarrett’s mouth upon him, or even Jarrett’s cock within him, would all be too different for him to ignore. His imagination had limits, and if he was truly going to pretend…

“By God, Audric, what are you thinking?” he suddenly asked, shattering the silence of the room with the realization of his shameful scheming. He rose from his bed and pulled his discarded robe over his nudity. His brows furrowed as he tied the sash at his waist and began pacing.

He shouldn’t have done what he did, but, then again, who could blame him? It had been a long year, and he had needed the tryst. After spending most of his adult life in the company of his departed lover, of course Malin was on his mind when he sought intimacy again. Anyone would understand that. Even Jarrett didn’t seem to hold it against him. The lad hadn’t objected to being called Malin, after all. When he had asked Jarrett to stay, the knight could have declined and left, insulted by his behavior, but Jarrett had stayed.

Maybe Jarrett hadn’t even heard him and wouldn’t mind answering his summons again. Audric’s scowl eased at that thought, and his pacing slowed. The young knight’s behavior all seemed to point that direction, and if Jarrett consented, then there wasn’t really a problem. It was only a little harmless pretending. People probably did that sort of thing all the time, letting their minds wander and perhaps think about someone else.

The knot that had formed in Audric’s gut slowly unraveled. He may have pretended, but it was harmless, and he probably wouldn’t even have to do it again. The once may have been enough and purged it from his system. Crossing his chamber with an unusually energetic gait, he pulled the cord to summon a servant who would bring him his morning meal. Though he had a lot of work in the hours ahead, he found himself smiling softly. He felt a bit better this morning than he had in a long while. Perhaps last night hadn’t been such a disaster after all.

The clang of blades and shields rang clear in the early morning. The knights’ morning practice was in full swing, and for the first time in months, Audric had joined them. He was already breathing hard from the exertion even though he had been on the field less than half the time of the knights who served in his inner circle. Part of that might have been due to his choice of sparring partners. As king, he had the privilege of working with the best armsmaster in the Five Kingdoms, but as his old reflexes failed him and he stumbled sideways over his own two feet, he wondered if he would have been better off sparring a less experienced knight.

Holden was the captain of his private guard, a broad and imposing figure on the best of days. In battle, the gray-haired warrior was terrifying to behold, and if Audric didn’t know the man for the kind and caring soul he was, he probably wouldn’t dare raise a blade against him, even to practice. Holden wouldn’t hold back, wouldn’t take it easy on him for his lack of recent discipline, just as the captain never allowed his father any special privileges. Kings had to be warriors as well, and with the way Holden kept landing perfectly aimed blows against his shield and blade, Audric resigned himself to being humbled.

“Hiding away in your room has worn you down, Your Highness.” The robust voice carried easily, and Audric could have cursed himself for letting it distract him enough for Holden to land yet another blow. His shield arm was jarred by the impact, but he managed not to stagger backward. He lashed out with his sword in retaliation, but Holden just side-stepped the swing, and they returned to circling one another.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Audric argued, now that he had a moment to speak between his panting breaths. “The activity in my room enables me to draw my sword against you once more.” He couldn’t spot any weaknesses in Holden’s stance, so he settled on the most unbalanced interval of his gait, striking out again.

Holden laughed as he easily blocked the attack. “Recent activities can hardly be counted as remaining agile and swift, lad.”

“How would you know?” Audric countered with a smirk. “I wield my sword quite well in the bedchamber.” His legs were growing more sluggish, and he knew he couldn’t win in his current condition, but he wasn’t going to simply wait for Holden to pummel him into the ground. He tried for a series of advances, seeking a weakness while being as creative as his sword and gear would allow. His efforts were rewarded only with blocks, and his last swing was a complete failure. Holden spun out of the way, and Audric was forced to morph his yelp into a grunt when the flat of Holden’s blade collided with his ass. The bastard probably thought that was nothing but a ‘light tap’, too.

“So you and Jarrett are getting on well, then?” Holden asked, his voice thick with amusement as Audric struggled to recover with some dignity.

The question drew a blank in Audric’s mind. Jarrett? What did the boy have to do with his bedroom activities? He had been with– “Buck up, lad! Pay attention!” The shouted command was coupled with a thwap of Holden’s shield to his, and he started, snapping back into his stance, which he hadn’t even noticed had fallen completely while he was distracted. His eyes focused back on Holden again, his brow furrowed with concentration.

It took a few more seconds for realization to dawn, and Audric stuffed down a momentary jolt of guilt. “Well, indeed,” he finally answered, trying to cover his pause by rotating his shoulder, which was sore enough to make the movement believable. Settling into his stance again, he charged, engaging Holden’s blade.

“It must be, for you to call for him three of the last seven nights. He is late to morning training without fail the day after your summons.”

Audric could tell from Holden’s tone that neither he nor Jarrett were being reprimanded for their activities. He ground his teeth together with the effort to remain in position with his blade locked against Holden’s. “I think it’s just what I’ve been needing,” he admitted through his clenched jaw, but even the small amount of energy it took to speak was too much. Holden shoved him back, and he skidded against the dirt, digging his feet in so he wouldn’t fall.

Holden stood, steady as an aged tree, well-rooted to the earth beneath him. “I’ve been worried about you,” the warrior admitted, the first signs of strain audible in his voice between panting breaths.

He struggled to control his raging pulse, to summon up the last of his strength, and when Holden looked up at the sun to check the time, he took full advantage of the distraction. He lunged forward, exerting all his remaining strength, but Holden was simply too quick to be caught unaware by his sluggish attack. It took mere seconds for Holden to engage, spin, and repel him, and the movements tipped him off balance too quickly for him to recover. He crashed into the ground and rolled over onto his back only to see the tip of Holden’s sword pointed at his chin. Cursing breathlessly, he relinquished his grip on his own blade, acknowledging Holden’s victory. “I’m a mess…” he panted, finally admitting to the obvious, “…but I’ll get better.”

Holden chuckled and switched his blade over to his other hand, offering Audric help up from the ground, which Audric took after about a minute of resting on his back. “No one expected you to be anything but a mess for a while,” Holden assured him. “It’s good you’re pulling yourself together again. I’m glad Jarrett can help with that. He worshiped Malin.”

Back on his feet, Audric stooped to pick up his sword. “Who didn’t worship Malin?” he asked wistfully, his smile weighed down by familiar sadness. “But Jarrett learned everything he knows from him. It’s only a matter of time before the lad… replaces Malin completely.”

He caught an odd look from Holden as they walked off the field towards the armory. “Replace him? No one can replace Malin, Audric.”

Realizing the mistake in his wording, Audric flashed Holden a smile, hoping that it appeared genuine. “No, of course not. You’re right.” He stifled a sigh of relief when Holden didn’t press him and changed the subject instead.

“Has the council begun pestering you about the Lady Primeveire?”

Audric groaned at the choice of topic, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Pestering would be putting it kindly. They didn’t even ask my permission before sending out summons for her. I’m now obligated to consider her or risk losing even more respect from my people and our allies.”

“Ah, the sacrifices of a king,” Holden chuckled, earning a half-hearted glare from Audric. “You knew marriage would happen, Sire. An heir must be produced.” Holden defended his position. “She is said to be lovely to look upon, even if she possesses no sense of wit.”

“Pity the two aren’t exchangeable,” Audric muttered. When Holden opened the heavy door to the armory, he stepped inside, letting his eyes adjust to the lower light. He glanced sideways at Holden, a glimmer of mischief in his expression. “Maybe she would benefit from a fortnight spent amongst the knights? If anyone could teach her wit…”

Holden all but roared his laughter, and the sound lifted Audric’s spirits, helping him put aside the pain in his chest from talk of Malin. “Sire, I doubt many couldn’t benefit from time spent with the knights.”

They began taking their practice armor off, storing the pieces in their proper places throughout the room. “I don’t know how I shall dodge this proposal, Holden. Politically, it is the right time to marry and strengthen our kingdom with an ally like Merindia.”

Holden sighed, and Audric could see him cross burly arms over a broad chest. “Perhaps it is time, then to stop dodging, Audric, and marry.”

He didn’t much like that suggestion. He had never been overly attached to thoughts of marrying and settling with a family, even if he had always known it was his duty to continue on the monarchy of their kingdom. He had been even less inclined towards it when he had been with Malin. What need did he have for a wife beyond duty when he had someone like Malin to love and hold on the cold winter nights? But, at the same time, he wasn’t fond of the idea of marrying a woman he held no respect for. That’s why he had refused so many possible matches over the years. With Malin now gone and the kingdom in need of strong alliances that could be counted upon, he knew Holden was right, and he nodded his reluctant agreement as he racked his sword.

“You can have the agreement made to favor your other proclivities, Sire,” Holden suggested softly, “so that you might share your wife’s bed while a knight shares yours.”

It wasn’t unheard of, but Audric still hesitated. “I just miss him,” he replied at length, his voice soft with restrained grief. “He would have known exactly what to do, exactly what to say to encourage me without giving up his place in my life.”

When he looks up again at Holden, the man’s eyes are gentle, his expression fatherly. “Of course you miss him. You’ll miss him until the day you die, lad. But we both know what Malin would have encouraged: what is best for the kingdom while sacrificing as little of your personal comfort and happiness as possible.”

Audric managed a small smile, soothed by Holden’s manner and care. “Aye, that is what he would say. The kingdom always comes first.” He ran a hand through his hair, which had fallen out of the leather tie he had used while sparring. “I’ll speak to the council about the agreement. The envoy arrives in another three days. I haven’t had a potential queen at the keep for several years.”

Holden clapped him on the shoulder, almost hard enough to knock the breath from him, though he composed himself again in record time. “Not many matches are made for love, but if she is lovely and kind, then I advise you to consider accepting her as your queen. You celebrated your thirty-third birthday a full season ago. It is high time to wed and have a child.”

“You’re right,” Audric was forced to admit, exhaling slowly. “I need an heir soon so the lad can grow before I reach my own end. No political match is ever perfect, but maybe I will be lucky like my father was. He learned to respect and love Mother, even after a rough start.”

“Rough,” Holden snorted. “What a pleasant way of phrasing it.”

“All right, so she once pulled a knife on him and frequently threatened to poison him in his sleep,” Audric chuckled. “It could have been worse.”

Holden laughed as he nodded his agreement and held open the door again for Audric. “Luckily, it wasn’t.”

“At least my mother had wit,” Audric pointed out with a smile, feeling a bit more optimistic. “I hope Lady Primeveire is a fair match. If I refuse her, the council will wish they had the authority to skin me alive.”

“Best make certain you spell out all your needs within the marriage contract, Audric. Do not surprise the young thing,” Holden warned, leading him from the armory back through the keep to the main hall.

He elbowed his captain in the ribs. “I may be grief-stricken, but I’m an honorable man. You know that. Whatever woman I marry will know precisely what she’s getting herself into.”

“Good. Jarrett seems fond of you. Always has. I would hate to see his current distractions cast aside for a marriage bed.”

It took him a moment’s pause to make the connection between Jarrett and said distractions, but he recovered much more quickly. “That would be a true pity,” he agreed with a smile. “I’m glad he continues to answer my summons. I doubt anyone else would do.” After all, no one else in the guard had such features. No one else could inspire his harmless little fantasies, which had been keeping him sane the last week.

“Why do you think no one else would?”

Holden’s question broke through his thoughts like a rock through a pane of glass, and his mind scrambled to find an adequate excuse for his words. “Few have the… passion that our young knight does,” he began, relieved that his voice was holding steady. “Even fewer would accept an invitation to another man’s bed, even if that man is the king. I may be admired, but you know those who share my proclivities are in the minority.”

Holden’s severe expression smoothed out almost instantly. “Very true, Sire,” the knight agreed, and Audric inwardly heaved a sigh of relief.

He hiked up an eyebrow to punctuate his excuse. “Unless you’d like to take Jarrett’s place,” he teasingly offered.

Holden obviously believed him, because the warrior snorted his amusement. “I think my Annie might take offense to that proposition, Sire.”

Audric smiled and laughed, both out of triumph and genuine affection. “Along with your three children and four grandchildren. Or is it five grandchildren now?”

“Five,” Holden corrected with a grin, pride positively beaming from his expression. “Young Jasmine is newly with child.”

Audric shook his head. “Fortune smiles on your family. By God, you will outlive us all, and your clan of descendants will take over the kingdom at this rate.”

More of that wonderfully uplifting laughter rang from Holden as the warrior countered, “You still have plenty of time to sire a dozen children, lad.”

“Do me a favor and tell that to the council the next time they pester me,” Audric scoffed, but his smile was soon to return, and he clapped his hand on Holden’s shoulder when they came to the middle of the main hall, the action mirrored by his armsmaster. “I will find you tomorrow for a rematch… as soon as I can move.”

“I look forward to it, Your Highness.” Withdrawing his hand, Holden stepped back and bowed to him. “Good day, my lord.”

“Good day, Captain,” Audric replied. Turning, he made his way up to his chambers to cleanse his body and tend to his other, less enjoyable duties. It would be a long day, but at least the spar had left him feeling optimistic. The bruises and sore muscles were worth it.

…to be continued in the next post!

Chapter One

They hadn’t used enough oil. That was the only thought running through Jarrett’s head as Audric slammed into him again. Of all the things he could be thinking about, he could only focus on the rough drag of Audric’s cock as his king withdrew and drove himself home yet again. He’d be sore. He’d be so damned sore, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to ride in the guard in the morning. Still, that fact, or the fact that his ass was already aching, didn’t detract from his own arousal or his deep sense of satisfaction that he’d finally been called to the king’s bed.

For the last ten years of his life, he’d watched the king, wanted him. Ten years, from the time he was but a boy taken as Malin’s squire, he’d coveted his king, though Audric’s affections belonged to the scarlet-haired Malin alone.

But Malin was gone. Slain in a battle that had nearly taken Jarrett’s life as well. In one battle, Jarrett had lost his mentor, his confidant, and his dearest friend with the stroke of a single sword. He still mourned the loss of Malin, a knight that held no equal within the king’s ranks, and it was the love he’d felt for his brother-in-arms that created the kernel of guilt in him now. On his hands and knees, Audric’s sweaty, heavy weight moving into him at an angle that made his spine tingle, was where Malin should have been.

The sting of guilt, though, could not remove his desire to be where he was. When Holden, the eldest knight inside the king’s circle, had come to him and said Audric sought company for the night… Jarrett hadn’t even thought about denying the veiled request. He’d nodded, clasped Holden’s shoulder, and made his way to the king’s rooms in the upper level of the castle. Once he’d presented himself, and consented — Audric had been full of tension as he’d demanded to know if Jarrett consented — Audric had ordered him to strip and come to him. Audric had ordered him not to call him ‘my lord’ or ‘Your Highness’ within the walls of these rooms, and as soon as Audric’s name had passed Jarrett’s lips, Audric was upon him.

Audric did not engage in foreplay. Only rough kisses, a command to go to his hands and knees on the bed, and then the oiled thickness of Audric’s cock entered him almost savagely. Jarrett gripped the counterpane beneath his hands tightly, setting his teeth as the friction built to a nearly uncomfortable heat. Audric’s hands clutched at his hips, holding him in place, and then the rhythm changed for a brief moment. A small respite was offered as Audric began to circle his hips, drive himself deeper, and all Jarrett could see was the waterfall of his own red hair before his eyes.

“Have you missed me?” Audric asked, his voice husky and a little breathless. “Have you longed for this… just as I have?”

Jarrett gasped. “Yes! Yes… I have longed for this, Audric. I have wanted you… for so very long,” he moaned, Audric changing the pace once more, sliding in and out slowly. There was no mistaking the claiming the king was doing at that very moment, and Jarrett reveled in it.

The intense thrusting began again, and Jarrett cried out each time Audric’s hips snapped forward, rocking his body as they moved together. Audric’s lips pressed to the fall of his hair over his back, and Jarrett distantly wished Audric would brush his hair aside and kiss his flesh. The pleasure of their coupling, though, robbed Jarrett of any logical thought, and he sank deeper into roughness of Audric’s cock moving inside him.

“So beautiful,” Audric panted against his hair. “So strong… so giving.”

Jarrett met Audric thrust for thrust, Audric’s breathy, rasping words barely making it through the haze of lust surrounding Jarrett’s mind. As Audric’s movements increased in strength, as the pounding become more frantic, Jarrett balanced on one hand while the other reached between his legs. He was under no impression that Audric should see to his release, and a low, needy groan left his throat as he wrapped his fingers around his own cock. He pumped himself rapidly, shuddering as Audric took him with abandon. Jarrett wanted to be on his back, able to see Audric’s face as they fucked so carelessly, but he didn’t dare ask. This was what his king wanted, and Jarrett would not ask for more. This was enough. He now knew the feel of Audric inside him, the length and girth, the bruising force of fingers on his hips. It was unlike any other encounter he’d had in his short life, and never would he forget this night.

Suddenly, Audric changed their positions. Strong arms wrapped around Jarrett’s stomach and chest, lifted him up from the mattress. Jarrett moaned loudly as his thighs were spread wide across Audric’s, as Audric’s cock sank deeper into him. Upright, held in Audric’s arms, the pace was no less swift, but it was so much deeper. Jarrett felt utterly possessed, sweaty and exposed as Audric’s lips caressed his ear through the veil of his hair.

“God, yes,” Audric panted. Then there were kisses littered over Jarrett’s shoulders, almost loving, almost tender as the arms hugged him tighter. Jarrett’s back bowed as much as it could when Audric’s hand dropped from his stomach to wrap around his cock. As Audric stroked him, feeding the blaze of their lusts and making Jarrett cry out and writhe, the king spoke desperately into the knight’s ear. “A year… I have been without you for a year. I have you now, Malin, and I will not let you go. Never again… never again will I let you go!”

Reality slammed down on Jarrett then. Yes, he and Malin had looked uncannily alike. Malin had often teased him that his father must have visited Jarrett’s mother one night, but it was nothing but taunting. They looked similar, but that was all. No relation beyond mentorship, friendship, but perhaps, in the low light of the king’s shadowed bed, it didn’t matter. Grief and darkness made it easy to mistake him for a lover who had been dead for a year. Much to Jarrett’s shame, he felt tears prick at his eyes. He had thought this might be an opportunity for both Audric and him, a chance for something to come from the loss of Malin, but in truth, he was just Malin’s replacement. He closed his eyes and relaxed in Audric’s arms, becoming utterly pliant, riding out the bucking and pushing of Audric’s hips. A cold pit of sadness settled in his gut as Audric’s cock continued to take him, and he whispered raggedly, “I love you.”

It was a simple truth he’d held close to his heart since he was thirteen, and he used the moment when Audric was most vulnerable, lost to an illusion, to make his confession.

“I love you, too,” was whispered hotly against Jarrett’s ear.

Jarrett felt Audric swell slightly inside him, and the hand upon him began to pump furiously. Regardless of his inner conflict, Jarrett’s body was desperate for its release. He arched against Audric as his climax rushed through him with bittersweet intensity. As Audric’s seed filled him, his ears rang with Audric’s cry of Malin’s name. In the immediate aftermath of their coupling, Jarrett hung limp in Audric’s arms as Audric rubbed his seed into his abdomen. It took all Jarrett had not to hang his head and weep bitterly as Audric whispered in his ear, Malin’s name over and over mingled with words of love.

Audric tilted Jarrett’s face upwards, and their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss. It was like a knife to Jarrett’s gut. Audric brushed his fingers along Jarrett’s lashes, and murmured against Jarrett’s lips, “Don’t cry, lover. Stay. Stay with me until I sleep. Stay until the sun rises. Please, stay.”

Their bodies detached from one another, and Audric urged him to lay down on the mattress. Audric’s body pressed to his back, his king’s arms wrapped tightly around his body, and Jarrett swallowed, nodded. “I will stay as long as you like,” he breathed, his heart aching with the truth of what had just happened.

“Mmm,” Audric purred. “Good.” There were more kisses, soft and reverent, pressed to Jarrett’s shoulders and throat as Audric settled against him. The kisses slowly ceased, and then Audric’s gentle snore made its way to Jarrett’s ear.

Into the late watches of the night, Jarrett laid there in Audric’s arms, staring blankly at the shadows the dying fire cast upon the walls. Audric was pleased; the evidence of his king’s pleasure was smeared upon his thighs. He could be happy with that. He could do this, night after night, for the rest of his life if that was what Audric wanted from him. He could do this.

He would do this.

Malin had loved Audric right up until the moment he died… and Audric still loved Malin. Still needed Malin. There was no room in Audric’s heart or bed for Jarrett; Malin, even in death, continued to fill those spaces. And if Jarrett had to stand in for the fallen warrior in order to lay with the one he desired, then he would obey the will of his king.

Thanks to the amazing skills of my co-author, who knows a ton more about HTML and graphic design than I do, KPiet.Net has had a major overhaul. It’s needed it for a while, and I’m so ecstatic about the final result! Everything is bright, colorful, clean-cut, and easy to read. (Not to mention how easy it is for me to update now, which is always a major plus. )

The big additions to the site include a full update on both my published fiction and my works in progress AND a new Freebies page, where you can sample my fiction before you buy my published work. Some of my favorite microfiction and short stories from the last year are up there already for you to enjoy, and I’ll be adding more bits and pieces periodically. So pull up a chair, enjoy the new colors, and read!

In other news, I finally have an outline for my short story contribution to the Daughters of Artemis Anthology. My story features both werewolves and weretigers. I took my inspiration from the interaction of grey wolves and amir tigers in the Russian Far East, where they compete for territory and access to their strikingly similar prey. It will be a fun piece to complete, and I look forward to diving back into writing it today.

Saundra and I are also working on our serial fiction, A Knight’s Sacrifice, which should be a weekly treat for everyone with new chapters being posted up each Friday. I’m a few weeks behind in posting these, so you’ll get the existing chapters here throughout the week. Yay for free fiction! For now, I’ll tease you a little with cover art. Enjoy and tune back in for those chapters in a few days!

Luke was also in the area, not a hundred meters off by Hanger B.

Adding Esther would make his group an even dozen, and that too made Shepherd smile. He pulled off a piece of masking tape and pressed it beneath the others on the control panel. With a marker, he wrote her name.

Twelve was a good number. A holy number, if the Good Book was right. Peter, Matthew, David, John, Paul, Mary, Luke, Bartholomew, Joseph, Martha, Mark, and now Esther. Yes, twelve was right.

As he watched Peter tromp toward the newcomer, Shepherd heard a strange noise over the radio. At first, he thought it might be a breeze caught in Peter’s microphone, but it grew steadily stronger. The moan reached him across the speakers in the air traffic control tower just as the little red button next to Peter’s name began blinking ferociously.

Not a moment after that, Luke’s light started flashing, too.

Shepherd stared at the lights, hardly remembering what they were meant to indicate. It had been so long since one had flashed.

He snatched up his binoculars and looked out at the three figures, now visible and moving toward one another. As he watched, the girl lifted what he’d mistaken for a long stick at her side and pointed it at Peter’s head.

The girl was alive.

Shepherd’s hands leapt for the microphone button. “No, wait!”

The blast of a shotgun echoed through his tower speakers.

Panicked, Shepherd twisted the knob for Luke’s frequency and slammed the speaker button again. “Wait! Don’t shoot.” He stabbed his fingers onto the keyboard to command Luke to stand still. “Hold your fire. They won’t hurt you. I’m in control.”

The speakers buzzed. “Who’s talking? Where are you?”

Shepherd froze at the sound of the voice and lifted his face toward the window again. “Penny?” His voice cracked when he said her name.

“Hold on,” Shepherd said, ducking under the control panel to plug in the video line for Hanger B’s security camera. A flood of grey light filled the dusking room behind him as he scrambled back into his seat.

The girl stood some twenty yards away from the hanger, and Luke was less than half that distance from her, his back and the glint of his bolted metal spine visible on the video feed. The girl’s shotgun was leveled at his chest. The video was too grainy to see much else in detail.

Shepherd leaned in until the static from the screen crackled at the tip of his nose. “What’s your name?” He couldn’t even be sure of her face shape, let alone her features.

“I’m not telling you shit until you tell me where you are.”

“Sorry—I just need to fix… something.” Shepherd squinted and leaned back from the screen, as though blurring the image more would somehow make it sharper.

Is it? He couldn’t be sure. He counted off how old Penny would be now, if she was still safe. She’d been fourteen when she left, so she’d be nineteen now.

Over the speakers, Luke’s wheezing grew stronger. The muzzle of the girl’s shotgun, which had dipped toward the ground as she surveyed the area, snapped back to attention. Shepherd glanced at the light next to Luke’s name, but it no longer blinked.

“How are you doing this?” The girl’s voice had a husky growl in it, too low for Penny. But the longer he looked at the video, the more the girls seemed alike. “How are you controlling that thing?”

“I’m coming down. Wait there.”

“You try to pull any tricks and I’ll blow this motherfucker’s head off just like the last one.”

“No tricks. I’m in the control tower. You’ll see me coming.”

The girl grunted as Shepherd released the microphone button and headed for the stairs. Bart and Mary stood barring the door out to the tarmac where he’d placed them. Their lips and blood-crusted teeth chewed at him around the edges of the speakers he’d installed in their throats. They gave him a cursory glance as he slipped past them with a light touch to their shoulders and a quiet, “Excuse me.”

He’d grown so used to them that he’d forgotten how frightening they must look to a someone who didn’t realize the suits prevented them from acting on their feral instincts. Still, his chest tightened as he turned the corner of the tower and saw the three figures in the foggy distance: two standing, and one crumpled on the ground.

“Lord, have mercy upon them,” Shepherd whispered.

He wanted to run to them, but he fought the urge for fear of making the girl nervous. With each step, he tried to make out the details of her hair, her face, her height—anything to determine with certainty that she was familiar. But as he drew near, and the girl turned toward him, he knew she wasn’t Penny. Just a youth alone in a bitter world clutching to her firepower like a security blanket.

He lifted his hands.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “It was me you heard. Please, put the gun down.”

“Not on your life,” the girl said, glaring at Luke. His exosuit was locked at the joints, but he didn’t struggle against the sudden stillness of his limbs. Instead, he twisted his head as a trickle of bloody spittle dribbled down his chin from the side of his mouth.

But then, Luke had always been the quietest of the bunch. Shepherd felt a pang of guilt that he was glad that Peter had taken the shot, and not Luke.

What kind of a father thinks like that? His gaze dropped to the form on the ground collapsed in a pile of awkward angles. A marionette with cut strings and stiff metal joints.

The girl aimed her gun toward him as Shepherd knelt beside what was left of Peter. The left side of Peter’s head was gone; pulped grey matter coated the asphalt. The dislodged speaker hung out the open side of his skull. The battery pack strapped to his twisted back hummed.

With a sigh, Shepherd pressed Peter’s remaining eyelid shut and flipped the switch on the pack to shut it down. Then he bowed his head and whispered the Lord’s Prayer. He wished he knew what pastors used to say over gravesites, but all he could remember—which he added to the end of the prayer he knew—was, “Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.”

The girl shifted her weight on her stronger leg, and the gravel crunched. He could see now that the heel of her favored foot was pushed up and out of the dirty sneaker. There was crusted blood speckled up the ankle.

“You’re hurt,” he said.

The girl scowled at him. “Who the fuck are you? And what… what the fuck is that?” Her finger stabbed in Luke’s direction.

“That’s Luke. And this was Peter. You don’t have to be afraid. No one here will hurt you.” He began to rise to his feet, but the girl pushed the muzzle of her shotgun into his chest.

“Don’t move.”

She was younger than he’d first thought, certainly younger than his Penny would be now, but Shepherd knew better than to underestimate the anger of youth, so he sank back down to his heels and lifted his hands again.

“I have a first aid kit in the tower,” he said. “And food, if you want it. I’d be happy to share it with you.”

“Yeah, right.” The girl scoffed, her attention flickering between him and Luke. “You’re just going to be a good neighbor and give me medicine, food, and a big damn feather bed for nothing?” She shook her head, and her sneer twisted into something a little like a smile. “You think I don’t know how this works?”

The girl took a shuffling, unsteady step back, putting a little more space between them. For a moment, a wince cracked her face. “Are there more of those things around here?”

“Yes. There are nine others.”

The girl cursed and reached into a backpack she wore slung over one shoulder. Tucked under her arm and obscured by the bulky jacket, Shepherd hadn’t even noticed it until then. She squinted at him as she pulled out a box of shotgun shells and pried it open with one hand while the other remained on the trigger. She glanced at the box—once, twice—mouthing the numbers she counted without seeming to realize it.

“You won’t need your weapon here,” Shepherd said. “They can’t hurt you. Even if they wanted to, I’ve modified them so that they can’t move without my command.”

“Oh, yeah?” She stuffed the box of ammo back into her bag. “Prove it.”

“How?”

As he stood, she smiled, keeping the shotgun pointed at his chest. “Go up and stick your arm near those nice chompers of his.”

Shepherd nodded and walked to Luke’s side. He put his hand on the roamer’s shoulder, squeezing it. Luke seemed calmer in the eyes today. Perhaps—if he wasn’t reading too much into it—even a little sad when his unfocused gaze rolled down to Shepherd. Perhaps he understood what had happened to Peter.

Perhaps.

“It’s okay, Luke,” he said softly. “It’s all right.”

“What kind of a sicko are you?” The girl watched him with narrow, red-rimmed eyes. “I mean, hey, don’t get me wrong, everyone’s got the right to go ape shit these days, and I’m thrilled to pieces to meet you, Mr. Talks-to-Zombies, but… shit…” She shook her head from side to side slowly. “You’re fucking insane, you know that?”

It was the rush of blood to his face that made him suddenly realize that he was angry. It had been so long since he’d let himself feel like that, or screamed, or cursed, or broke things, or released all that pent-up energy inside of him. It was a thought that made him close his eyes and will the flames back into submission. Flames unchecked—like tempers, like pride—rose and consumed, driven only by selfish destruction. Tamed fire was much more productive.

Patience, he reminded himself. It wasn’t a virtue he’d had to practice lately. His flock of injured souls didn’t know what they were doing, and it was easy to forgive them. Years had passed since he’d spoken to someone who could talk back to him, could curse at him, could shout at him. When he opened his eyes, he could see the girl for what she was: alone and scared, just like Penny had been.

“Not insane,” he said quietly. “Just…” If he listened too closely, he could almost hear Penny’s screams still ringing in the dark coils of his inner ear, could almost feel the sting of her fingernails against his arms, his face, and the warmth of her spit in his eye. It made him shiver before he could stop himself.

He looked up into Luke’s bruised and bloodied face, the one empty eye socket that oozed milky puss, the broken teeth in his blackened gums, the spidery blue veins webbing his sagging jaw. “How can I not pity them? They’re misery incarnate.”

The muzzle of the shotgun clicked as it dipped down to the pavement. The girl squinted behind her, at the fringe of trees and the orange haze of the sunset tinting the fog around them. She wobbled on her good leg, and the toes of her injured foot pushed against the ground to stabilize her. She gritted her teeth and sucked a sharp breath through them. She glanced back at him with a softened frown and cleared her throat.

“Look, this is how this is going to work,” she said. “I need that first aid kit. And a place to stay for the night. I’ve got my own food, if you don’t want to share. I get that, so don’t worry about it. I’ve got a little ammo I could give you in exchange, or…” The frown shifted to a hard, motionless expression that seemed to draw her eyes further back into her skull. “Or maybe we can work out something else.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Shepherd said. “I don’t need anything.”

The girl hoisted the shotgun up so that its muzzle pointed toward the darkening sky, resting against her shoulder. “Sure, you don’t. Just name it. I’m not a prude, so you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

Shepherd looked at the scrawny girl and felt a pang in his chest. She’d been alone for a long time. Alone and very conscious of it. Was Penny like this now? Hardened? Ruthless? Did she know how to pull herself back like that, to disconnect, to escape when there was no one to protect her?

“I don’t want anything from you,” Shepherd said. “Your company is enough. I haven’t spoken to anyone in years. It’s just nice to hear a voice that isn’t my own, and…” He wasn’t sure if he should say anything, but the girl’s doubts shaded her face, and the pang in his chest made him bold. “You remind me of my daughter. That’s all. You can keep your gun and your belongings. I won’t hurt you or trick you. I can swear that in the Lord’s name, if you want. I take my oaths seriously.”

The girl watched him beneath her drooping eyelids, but after a moment, her gaze fell to the ground and she nodded. “Fine. But I’m only staying for one night.”

 ***

Sometime in the slow, hobbling trip back to the tower, the fog dissipated, and the evening’s long, wet shadows stretched like steel bars across the asphalt. The girl refused Shepherd’s help as she limped along, despite the sweat pearling on her brow and the lancing wince that crossed her face every time she put too much weight on the injured foot. But despite that streak of stubbornness, she seemed to trust him, at least to a degree. She made no protest other than a hunched-shoulder glance at Bart and Mary as he lead her past them and into the tower. She didn’t ask about the floors they bypassed, moving up to the second highest, and even allowed him to carry her up the final flight of stairs and into the furnished living room.

Her arm over his shoulder felt like a broken wing—thin and fragile beneath the thick bulk of the jacket she wore. She was light, too, and for a moment he allowed his imagination to think she might be an angel sent to give him some kind of message.

He lowered her on the sofa bed he slept on, and sat down beside her. A sigh whistled through her teeth as she gingerly slid her sneaker off, revealing the heel to ankle gash glistening with dark, oozing blood.

“I was following the river,” she said as she settled back and moved her foot onto his lap for closer inspection. “There was a… a metal bracket or something. I don’t know. It was hidden in the tall grass.”

She twitched when he put his finger near the inflamed laceration. The pale skin was red and swollen; grains of dirt lined the tender edges. Yellow bruising spread out and up the leg.

“How long have you been walking on this?” Shepherd asked.

“Two, maybe three days, I think.” The girl’s face had gone ashen and she swallowed hard. “Do you… do you have some water or something? I think I’m going to throw up.”

She lay quietly, eyes closed, as Shepherd brought her a cup of water and then retrieved his first aid kit. He put on his reading glasses, the kit’s rubber gloves, and carefully lifted her foot back onto his lap.

“I’m going to have to clean this,” he said. “It may hurt.”

The girl grimaced and shrugged. “I can handle it.”

He used the antiseptic wipes to clean out the dirt and gathering puss. The girl’s teeth clicked from time to time as she clenched them, but she said nothing—not a curse, not a whine, not a whimper. But when he tossed the first wipe away, he saw that her cheeks were wet.

His heart ached, watching her fluttering, moist eyelashes, her averted gaze. His own foot tingled along the ankle, and his stomach turned. In the semi-light of the room, and with her hair brushed back, her face struck him with its similarity to Penny’s. In another life, at another time, she could have been mistaken for a daughter of his. Maybe she and Penny might even have been friends, confused for sisters—or twins—while shopping at the mall or volunteering at the hospital. The angle of her nose was like his; her eyes, slightly wide set and pale, could have been Anne’s.

Anne. Shepherd looked down at the blood smeared on the rubber gloves, and the room suddenly spun. The last time he’d had blood that red, that fresh, on his hands… His throat tightened. Little trickles of blood dripped down his palms and onto his pants. The antiseptic on the second wipe was wet, and its liquid blurred the red streaks on his fingers, turning them a softer, fading pink.

He tried to be gentle as he continued, but judging from her occasional twitches and hisses of air, he knew he didn’t always succeed. When had he last been near someone who could feel anything, could wince, could ache, or sting, or whisper curses under her breath? The skin he worked on blushed deeper with the irritation. His hands trembled. The silence between them, pierced only by her involuntary reactions to his touch against the wound, crept under his skin and festered into a film of nervous energy.

“Where are you from, originally?” he asked, noting the crack in his voice when he spoke. “Around here?”

The fabric of the sofa hissed as she shook her head against it and sighed. “I can’t really talk right now,” she whispered. “I’m barely holding it in as it is.”

“Then I’ll talk,” Shepherd said. “Sorry, it’s just… I haven’t spoken to anyone in… years, I think. I mean, I talk to my flock, but it’s…” He paused, closed his eyes against the sudden flicker of a headache. He wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, or press his palms against his suddenly burning eyes, but he could feel the slime of blood on his gloves between his fingers, could smell it thick in his nostrils. He wasn’t sure when he’d started sweating, but suddenly he felt clammy and cold, and had to fight back a shiver.

“It’s not the same,” he said, the words pushing themselves off his tongue and out of his lips before he had time to even think about what he was saying. “And it’s just nice to know someone hears you—I mean, really hears you—instead of just… you know. I don’t even know if they can understand me, and sometimes… sometimes you just… just…”

“Hey.” He glanced at the girl. She was looking right at him, no hint of smirk or scowl on her face. “I get it,” she said, so softly he almost couldn’t hear it. “Talk if you need to. It’s better than bottling this shit up.”

Shepherd sat back and leaned his head against the wall behind him. He closed his eyes and tried to breath slowly, deeply, imagining all the little particles that made up his body, his cells, his molecules, his atoms, his electrons, and the energy that—for the moment—gave him existence. That same energy that gave everything he could see or touch or smell or taste or hear substance, all of life; the same energy that made dirt, made trees, made animals, made Penny, made roamers, and likewise made planets, stars, galaxies—everything. He was awash in a sea of existence, and it was good.

When he opened his eyes, the shivers had passed and he felt calmer. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, he thought, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

He sighed and shook his head, once more leaning forward to apply the antiseptic wipe to the cut. “I’m sorry,” he said, pleased to hear that his voice was steady. “I’m not normally so easily shaken. It’s just that at first glance, I really thought you might be my daughter. It got under my skin. That’s all.”

The girl frowned, eyes closed. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“Alive?”

“Don’t know.” He shook his head and tilted the foot toward him. The girl winced. “I’m sorry. I’m almost done.”

Shepherd taped the wound closed with a series of adhesives and pressed a clean square of gauze over the spot, which he bound in place with an ace bandage. The girl sighed as he wrapped up the foot, and rested her head back against the sofa arm. She sniffed and rubbed her jacket sleeve across her face.

“Thanks,” she said. “I don’t think I could have done that myself.”

Shepherd lowered her foot onto the sofa as he stood. “You really should stay off it for a few days. And I’m not just saying that so you’ll hang around.” He smiled, hoping that she could sense his sincerity. “The cut needs to close up a little. The bandages won’t hold under too much movement.”

The girl smirked. “Lucky you. What’ll it cost me?”

Shepherd peeled off the gloves and tossed them into the trash. “Is that what it’s like out there now? No one’s willing to help each other without a motive?”

“It’s the way of the world, Pops. You don’t get something for nothing, you know?”

Does Penny think like that, too? He shook his head and sighed, trying not to let his mind carry the thought any further. “Well, I don’t believe in that,” he said.

“What do you believe in, then?” the girl asked, shifting herself up onto her elbows. “I can’t trust you if I don’t know what you want.”

Shepherd smiled and moved toward the door. “What I want?”

What did he want, really? Penny, he thought, but it made him frown. That door had closed a long time ago, and the girl’s presence only made that more clear to him. The Penny who lived now—if she lived at all—wouldn’t be his Penny, wouldn’t be his little girl. She’d be world-hardened, angry, and defensive. He wasn’t even sure she loved him anymore, wherever she was, though he thought about her every day, and prayed for her safety, and ached to comfort her, to explain to her, to show her that he’d taken what she said to heart.

“Meaning.” Shepherd looked down at his hands. “I want meaning. And that’s not something you can give me. That’s for the Lord to reveal.”

“So you’re waiting for a sign? Is that why you take care of those things? Because of some twisted sense of responsibility?”

The gruffness in her tone made him smile despite himself. She sounded like a normal teenager, annoyed by a teasing comment, being grounded, or asked a personal question. He could see now that she wasn’t Penny, wasn’t anything like her. The lines of her face were all wrong; her eyes were set too deep and framed by shadows.

“No,” he said. “Because of a promise. I think you’d have to be a parent to understand.”

The girl shrugged and reclined again. “Whatever. You’ll tell me what you want eventually.”

“Are you hungry?”

Again, she shrugged. “Sure. Rack up the bill.”

Shepherd shook his head, but kept smiling. He brought her some of the prepackaged foods he’d collected from raiding the airport’s vending machines and the local convenience store, and a smoked piece of the salmon he’d caught earlier in the summer. They spoke only a little while eating and that mostly about the choice of the airport as a safe house compared to the others she had seen on her travels, but by the time they finished the salmon and the snacks, the girl seemed more relaxed and even smiled as she scraped the last few smudges of pudding out of the plastic cup.

Shepherd stood and gathered up the trash, moved toward the door. “I’ve got some work to do,” he said. “Will you be all right on your own?”

The girl chuckled at him and lifted her shotgun from the floor. “I’ve been all right so far. I think I can manage.”

Shepherd nodded but then paused in the hall. “What’s your name? You never told me.”

The girl half smiled as she sucked the chocolate pudding off her finger. “What was your daughter’s name?”

“Penny.”

“Then call me Penny.”

“Is your name Penny?”

The girl shrugged. “Does it matter?”

 ***

Shadows are everywhere. There are large ones, cast by abandoned buildings on a sunny afternoon; and there are small ones, like the love fading out of a child’s eyes. On the dimmest days, there are shadows so dark they’re like a puddle of night left behind from the previous evening. On the brightest days, there are sharp, unyielding shadows like brick walls.

But the worst shadows cling to you, hang over you, and haunt you in your sleep. They don’t have to be dark; some of the worst are bright and filled with familiar faces that laugh and speak to you like they’ll always be with you, even when they’re not.

Shepherd stood at the door on the third floor of the tower, the key in his hand hovering an inch from the first of three padlocks on the doorframe.

One for Anne. One for Chris. One for Penny.

The metal lock was cold in his palm, and heavy like the grip of the handgun he used to keep in his bedside table. With a sigh, Shepherd slipped the key into the first lock.

Compared to the bright hallway he stood in, the room itself was shrouded by shadow. Even when he flicked the light switch, only one of the fluorescent bulbs turned on. Its pale white light seemed to touch only what was necessary and no more, a weak brushstroke of illumination across the central table, the workbench, the shelves of plastic cartons filled with wires, bolts, metal piping, and tools. Car batteries he’d harvested from the long-term parking lot were piled in a plastic tub in the corner. Stains of red, brown, and black blossomed on the grungy tile floor around the table, spreading outward like grasping fingers.

The odor that swept over him as he stepped inside made the gall rise in Shepherd’s throat, as it always did, and he pulled the paper mask up over his nose and mouth.

Luke waited in the hallway, sputtering behind his speaker. His hands twitched against the bolts in his wrists as he held what was left of Peter. Shepherd now took the remains himself, cradled the dead weight of the full-grown man as best he could, and carried him to the workroom table. He laid the body down gently, and pushed the cord restraints off to the side, unnecessary for this operation.

In all the confusion of meeting another conscious person, he had neglected Peter. Good Peter. The first. The rock. The trusty follower. Shepherd pulled his stool up to the table and gingerly brushed back the matted, sticky hair on the good side of Peter’s head. Death had been kind to Peter, even if it means had been abrupt and gruesome. Despite the bruising, the un-healing lacerations, the crusted blood at the corners of his cracked lips, Peter looked like a man again. Peaceful in death despite his trials in life. Shepherd closed his eyes and tried to block out what he could remember of Peter prior to this moment, tried to erase the sound of his moan, the snap of his teeth, the feral glow in his eyes. When he looked back down at the corpse, he thought he could see what Peter had looked like before, when he was a son, a father, a co-worker, a neighbor to someone. He couldn’t be more than just a few years older than Shepherd himself, perhaps looking forward to a first grandchild, or a twentieth anniversary on a cruise ship in the tropics.

Or perhaps he was divorced, living in a one room apartment alone, drinking at the corner pub morning, noon, and night, feeling the missing presence of his children like phantom limbs he swore were still there.

Shepherd shook his head at the sinking of his stomach. This was not the time to think about things like that. Instead, he took Peter’s cold, rough hand in both of his. Shepherd always thought Peter’s hands looked like a carpenter’s. Little crisscross scars danced up the sides and across the knuckles where a whittling knife might have pushed too hard against a knot of wood, slipped, and cut.

“May you rest in peace, my friend,” he said softly, squeezing Peter’s hand. “Please forgive me for not serving you better and for what I must do now.”

It was messy work, pulling out the motors and the bolts, prying back the cage that had kept Peter safe—safe for Shepherd, and safe for himself—and it took time. Each bolt broke the bones as they came out, spraying his masked and goggled face with moldy blood. The skin slipped and peeled back from the coagulated divots in the muscle. Twice, Shepherd had to get up and stand outside, leaning his forehead against the wall as he took deep, uninhibited breaths to clear the stench out of his nostrils and to settle his stomach.

Shepherd buried Peter in the grassy field beyond the runway. Ringing the grave, Martha, Paul, Matthew, and Luke stood quietly, wheezing and gurgling. Peter’s towel-shrouded body lay beside the grave. In the distance, Shepherd could hear one or two roamers, their moans and shrieks amplified by the stillness of the river and the flat of the runway.

His companions heard them too. Luke pushed his head forward, straining his neck and back against the metal restraints bolted into his flesh and bones. Martha’s eyes rolled from side to side, and her wheezing intensified; she stiffened at a distant howl, and her throat rumbled with a muffled cry in return.

“Stop it,” Shepherd whispered. “Stop it. You’re better than them. You don’t have to give in to the sickness.”

Paul gurgled at this, and a sludge of blood and bile oozed down his throat and dripped from his chin to the ground.

Shepherd hoisted himself up from the hole and laid the shovel aside. Peter’s body was light, what was left of it, and Shepherd carefully placed it in the bottom of the grave. There was a part of him that wished he could give Peter a proper burial, with a coffin and flowers and a minister’s ordained prayers, but the close-hugging blanket of dirt would have to do. At least it would keep Peter’s remains undisturbed by the gnawing teeth of free roamers.

No, not free, Shepherd reminded himself. They’re controlled as much as my flock are. More, because they have nothing to live for, nothing to hope for beyond the torments of this world.

Luke’s gasping, grunting moans grew louder as Shepherd shoveled dirt over Peter’s corpse. Luke wheezed, and the metal restraints groaned as he pushed against them. Back in the control tower, Shepherd knew the warning lights must be blinking, but he did not fear. He had given up on fear a long time ago.

He withdrew the weathered, life-beaten New Testament from his back pocket and turned to a page marked with a bloodstained fingerprint. Seeing it made him pause, catch his breath, remembering all too well the crack of nine-millimeter bullets entering the skulls of two very familiar heads, heads that had born faces twisted beyond recognition by the virus’s grasp on the minds within.

Once upon a time, Shepherd thought, and his trigger finger ached.

He should have realized then what he knew now: that the roamers could be controlled, could be guided and helped, at least for a while.

Luke quieted, as he always did when Shepherd read scripture to him. It warmed Shepherd’s heart to imagine that Luke was a God-fearing man, like himself, or had been before the virus trapped him in his body. Luke’s desire to listen, or appearance of it, was the one shining example of hope—a quiet, patient sign—that perhaps he wasn’t completely insane for thinking they could still be helped.

 ***

He was lying on the sofa, dry-eyed but shaking as he staring at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the dark red streaks smeared down the wall and the lumps of the bodies where they’d fallen to the floor. His lips and the tips of his fingers were stiff and numb. He could feel his chest rising and falling, but he didn’t know if he was breathing.

The front door slammed, shaking the whole house, his eyes in their sockets, his heart in his chest, his brain in his skull. It shocked him back to life, and he sat up. The sofa springs creaked. His breath came in short gasps at first, short bursts he used to whisper her name. But his throat held back the cry. If she stopped, if she turned and came back, what else could he tell her that he hadn’t already tried? What could he say that would work? Would make her stay, make her forgive him?

She had called him, begged him to come home, to help her. Her trembling voice echoed in his ears: “Something’s wrong with Mom. I-I don’t think she’s breathing.”

He could still feel Anne’s fingers clawing at his arms, at his face, see the flashing white of her teeth and the blood oozing from the corners of her eyes. He could still hear Chris’s howling moan as he lurched out of his bedroom, his white T-shirt turned maroon and brown.

He knew what to do, knew what was best, the only option. Even when Penny screamed at the gunshots, caught his arm, tried pulled him away, he hadn’t hesitated. He hadn’t thought about it, and he should have. He should have stopped. Should have controlled himself, or tried harder, anything… It was easy to shoot them. What did that say about him?

Clutching his head with his sticky hands, he felt a moan resonating in his chest. It seeped out from between his lips from some dark place within him, and cracked the silence left in the wake of the squeal of tires on asphalt as the last living person he cared about raced away from him into the night.

 ***

He awoke in the shadows to the blinking of a warning light. Its red, pulsing bloom beat against his eyelids like a dying heartbeat. Darkness fell away to the sanguine glow, and then descended again, leaving him disoriented.

From somewhere below, he heard a crash. Shepherd’s heart jumped, and he threw back the blankets to scramble from his makeshift bed to the control panel. The warning light was Luke’s.

A gargled moan crept up the hollow cavern of the stairwell. Another crash, and this time, a scream—a girl’s scream—and the blast of a shotgun. It jumpstarted Shepherd’s feet, and he dove for the door, barreled down the stairs. Another shotgun discharge filled the stairwell with resounding, discordant noise.

The handle of the stairwell door was sticky with blood, and the loosened hinges groaned as he pushed the door partway open before it hit something on the floor and stopped.

It was silent inside. Shepherd slipped through the crack into the darkness and whispered, “Penny?”

A croak came from the far corner where his adjusting eyes located a hunched figure. The croak broke suddenly and became a sob. “Fuck.”

A body lay across the floor, its foot keeping the door from opening all the way. Shepherd tripped over a twisted metal bar connected to a contorted ankle as he stepped over it.

“Fuck,” the girl whispered again, her voice shaking. “Sonofabitch.”

“Are you okay?”

Shepherd climbed over the body and kicked a speaker he hadn’t seen. It bounced off his foot and struck the wall with a hollow thud.

The girl sat pressed into the corner, curled up so tight she almost seemed like a part of the wall. When he knelt in front of her, he saw tears shining on her cheeks.

“Penny—”

“He got me,” she said, and pushed something toward him. It was long, cold—her shotgun. Her eyes were so wide, he could see his shadow in them.

“Where?”

Her lips trembled as she fought back a sudden surge of tremors, and thrust out her injured leg. The ace bandage was torn ragged and soaked with sticky blackness. In the dark, he could only see the deep emptiness beneath the torn fibers where there should have been skin.

Shepherd set the gun on the floor next to what was left of Luke’s skull, his hands cold and shaking as he turned the foot to examine it. “It’s not so bad,” he said. “We’ll bandage it up and see. There’s no saying it’ll be infected. You may be fine.”

“Stop it,” the girl said from somewhere deep in her chest, growling up her throat. “Fuck, Shepherd, I know about survival, okay? I know what this means. So… stop it.” With a shaking sigh, she rubbed her face. “You’ve got to shoot me. Do it now before I turn.”

Shepherd shook his head, unable to let go of the slender ankle, even as the blood from her wound dripped into the palm of his hand, trickled down his wrist. Penny jerked her leg back, pulling her knees up to her chest. She choked, and her eyes widened, the whites reflecting the light from the stairwell. There was a thin rim of red around them, red that melted away and ran down her cheeks with her tears.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, Shepherd. You have to do this for me. I’m begging you!”

Shepherd shivered, and his hand fell upon the muzzle of the shotgun. “I… I don’t…”

Penny spasmed, her head cracking back against the wall. The impact and the sob that escaped her throat tightened his grip on the gun. “Please. Please, Shepherd…”

Her voice caught in her throat, choking her again. This time, it took her a moment to swallow. She gagged, clutched at her throat. When the bubble burst, she gasped for air between clenched teeth. Her eyes rolled.

Shepherd stood, the shotgun weighing down his arm. “I don’t kill them,” he whispered. “I don’t. I just… I can’t.”

Penny’s gaze rolled up at him, and her breathing rasped, her nostrils flared. With a shudder, she fell back against the wall, eyelids fluttering, blood trickling from the corners of her mouth. Then she went still. Relaxed, calm, she looked just like Penny. Maybe it was Penny. Maybe it had just been too long, and he couldn’t recognize her anymore.

Shepherd bent down beside her, touched her cheek with his rough fingertips. Every second he spent looking at her face, her eyes, her nose, her lips, her chin—everything about her could have belonged to Penny.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, and she opened her blood-rimmed eyes.

 ***

As Shepherd stepped into the bathroom and locked the door behind him, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror: a masked and bloody creature, tiptoeing into the darkness. It made him shiver, made the sticky spots on his hands and cheeks burn. Shaking, he tore off his dirty clothes, his mask, his goggles, and crouched on the tiled floor, his head in his hands. Every inch of him burned like he was lying naked on a bed of coals. There was blood on his hands, blood in his hair, blood on the floor, on his clothes, in his ears, in his nose. He could taste it, smell it, breathe it, feel it everywhere, like a thin film of filth that covered everything and everyone, no matter how many times you scrubbed, no matter how much you cleaned.

He shivered and heard his voice crack in the darkness, a pitiful whimper. His eyes stung and he hung his head, letting the few tears that escaped patter onto the blood-slicked floor. Deep breaths drew up through his nose and escaped through his lips. Once. Twice. The shivering stopped and he could breathe again, and stand.

His hand found the light switch in the dark. The shadows fled, and he stood in the unsteady light, a man naked and vulnerable before an unmerciful mirror. There were no secrets here, no personal barriers, nothing hidden. The Lord could see him here, in his moment of greatest weakness. In this tiny room, with the mirror catching his every move, every blink, every glance, his scars were exposed. They ran up his arms, little lancing crescents of pale and pink tissue, to his shoulders and stopped, though there were a few on his chest and a notch of missing flesh at his hip.

Through the floor he could hear the roamer tied to his workshop table moaning and gnashing her teeth. Even after bolting the motors and metal bars to her, she fought against them, tried to spit out the speaker he’d put in her throat.

Shepherd pressed the palms of his hands to his sweating brow. He could walk away. He could leave. It would be so easy. No one would notice, much less care. His roamers would die eventually. So would he.

The temptation was strong, but it awoke something within him. His hands fell to his sides and he looked into his own eyes in the mirror.

The valley of the shadow of death, he thought. I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me, and I am with them. There’s meaning in that.

With a sigh, Shepherd took up the lavender gift shop soap and scrubbed himself from head to toe, rinsing with the tub of water he’d carried over from the river. He dug his fingernails into the purple and pink-swirled bar, rubbed his skin raw with it, massaged it against his scalp and hair until his head ached. Refreshed, cleansed, and forgiven, he dressed and returned to the control room.

Maggie Slater writes in Portland, where she lives with her husband and two old, cranky cats. She has seen her work published in a variety of venues, such as The Storyteller Magazine, Fantastical Visions IV, and most recently in the anthology Dark Futures: Tales of Dystopian SF, from Dark Quest Books. She currently moonlights as an assistant editor for Apex Publications. For more information about her and her current writing projects, visit her blog at http://maggiedot.wordpress.com.

Title: White Christmas
Characters: Aric, Nikola
From: Rachmaninoff (spoilers!)
Word Count: 735
Rating: PG

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Aric couldn’t stop taking in deep breaths, even if the icy night air made his lungs ache and the little hairs inside his nose freeze. He blew a stream of warm breath out in front of him and watched the spire of fog rise into the falling snow with a grin.

“Content now?” Nikola asked from beside him, and Aric tightened his hold on the taller vampire’s arm.

“Yeah,” Aric admitted, leaning against Nikola’s arm as they walked down the deserted streets of Novi Sad. Home was the first place they had thought of where there was a better chance of snow this time of year, and that’s exactly what he’d craved while lounging in the warm nights Australia had to offer.

Try as he might, Aric couldn’t imagine a Christmas without snow, or at least the dreary wetness of London. When he’d grown restless in Australia with Nikola, he’d been damn lucky Nikola was willing to pack up at his silly whim. He’d also been lucky that Mishka picked up the phone when they’d called to check on the weather.

“Thank you, Nikola,” he murmured. “I’m spoiled rotten by you, and I don’t say it nearly as often as you deserve it. Thank you for bringing me home for Christmas. First thing tomorrow evening, I’ll head out to the store for supplies. We’ll deck the halls just like the carol says.”

Nikola chuckled, looking down at him with amused, cool blue eyes. “You do realize we have a very large estate, right? While expense is not a concern, you only have one more night before Christmas Eve.”

“So?” Aric asked stubbornly.

“The entire manor?” Nikola persisted with a raised eyebrow.

Aric glared, but dammit, Nikola was right. There wasn’t enough time to decorate the whole place, even if he enlisted the help of Josef’s entire family, and that just wouldn’t be right, taking Josef and his kids and grandkids away from home to work when they should be celebrating. He sighed, and his breath formed a cloud around him that they slowly walked through.

“Okay, fine,” Aric relented. “Just the sitting room with the fireplace, then. I’ll rearrange a few things so we can at least have a Christmas tree with lights, tinsel, and ornaments. Oh, and stockings! We have to put up stockings again and that centerpiece for the mantel.”

Nikola laughed softly, and Aric peered up at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Nikola insisted. “The Christmas season still brings you joy, after nearly a decade with me.”

Aric looked away, his pale cheeks blushing just a little with borrowed warmth. “I thought I might grow out of it, that being in Australia would be a fun change. I figured I’m not human anymore, so I should ween myself off the traditions, but…”

“But the traditions are what makes us who we are,” Nikola finished when Aric’s voice faded. “You might be set on still changing with the times, but part of you will always be bound to your generation, Aric. It’s what keeps the human parts of us alive after the change.”

Aric smirked. “Which is why you still wear that old-fashioned garb when we’re home.”

“And why you will always want a snowy Christmas with all the shimmering silver, the vibrant green and red, and the star atop your indoor tree,” Nikola quipped with a smile, drawing him close as they paused outside their home.

Aric blinked back the snowflakes that stuck to his eyelashes when he looked up. “And the scent of pine and gingerbread. Don’t forget those,” he breathed up as Nikola dipped down.

“How could I forget?” Nikola purred before sealing their lips in a sweet kiss that lent a warmth to Aric’s spirit that rivaled any warmth human blood could bring his body.

When the kiss drew to a close, Aric smiled warmly. “And you,” he added. “Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without you.”

“Then I can expect to be pulled under the mistletoe every winter?” Nikola asked, a gleam in his pale eyes that sent shivers down Aric’s spine.

“Until the plant goes extinct,” Aric laughed, claiming Nikola’s lips again. This was exactly what he’d wanted. The decorations were a plus, the holiday music a fun distraction from his other piano pieces, but the kisses in the snow were more important than anything else. He had Nikola, he had a home, and that was the real essence of Christmas.

Advent 2010: Day Twenty-One

Title: A Night’s Service
Characters: Nora, Althaea (of Greek Mythology)
From: Original Drabble
Word Count: 2578
Rating: NC-17

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Nora laughed as she bumped into a couple of the other servants who scrambled to clean up the large table in the great hall following the first of the two banquets of Saturnalia. The first had been a source of great merriment for the servants. There was no other time of year when men and women like Nora could sit at the grand, ornate table, much less be served by their masters. Some of the men like her cousin, Aetos, used the opportunity to make friendly jabs at the lords and king, but, then again, men like her cousin weren’t going to move up much in the staff. Like it or not, Saturnalia only lasted a few days, and after that, the lords and ladies they served would remember who had treated them with disrespect, even if it was in the spirit of the holiday to make merry.

Nora enjoyed the holiday in a slightly more subdued way. Oh, she danced and drank wine and made her libations to the gods like everyone else, but she had the sense to avoid the drunken orgies, which were only fun until you were stuck with an unplanned pregnancy throughout the next year, and then another mouth to feed following that. With her mother ill from the frost that had come to the hills surrounding the city, the last thing Nora could afford was to lose her ability to tend the lord and lady. She was part of the reason her mother’s life thread remained strong enough to elude the Fates’ shears, and even in a time of joy, lust, and pleasure, she remembered herself.

Apologizing to the other ladies clearing the table, she made her way to the kitchens with her load of dishes. The banquet was over, their masters released from their temporary role reversal, and they were expected to have a second traditional banquet on the table in just another two notches of the candles. A tune was struck up by someone washing dishes, and she joined in both the work and merriment, singing the melody and laughing when two of the kitchen boys put aside their tasks to kiss and fondle one another just a few paces away. It made her cheeks flush to see everyone so open in their pursuits, but she had never found fault in them.

“Nora!” The voice came from the entrance to the kitchens, and she turned to see Calista, one of the handmaidens beckoning her. She dried her hands quickly before crossing the bustling kitchen. She didn’t even have to speak up. Calista beat her to it. “Queen Althaea wishes to see you.”

Nora’s blue eyes widened, and her heart pounded in her chest. “Have I done something to displease her?” she asked desperately, but Calista just shrugged and shook her head. Nora wrung her hands for a moment before nodding, and she followed Calista up through the stone estate. She did her best to smooth her dark hair back and make herself presentable as they walked.

Queen Althaea wasn’t just one of the ladies in Calydon, she was wife to King Oeneus. Nora had seen her at the first banquet, had actually blushed when Althaea had refilled her water goblet. It had been something she was going to tell her parents when she returned home. Now, she wondered if she had inadvertently done something wrong. Even during Saturnalia, she was just a maid and kitchen servant. Oh, gods, this could be bad. Very very bad, indeed.

Nora clenched her hands into fists so they wouldn’t tremble as she was admitted to the Queen’s chambers, which were adjoined to the royal bedchamber by a door that she noted was closed. At least it wasn’t the queen and king she had offended; one of the two was bad enough.

“Leave us,” Althaea ordered from behind an expensive, wooden screen, it’s carved sections half draped by fine, discarded garments. Before Nora could even look behind her, Calista was gone, and the heavy door closed.

Nora dropped to her knees and prostrated, afraid to look up when Althaea stepped from behind the screen. She listened as the footsteps came closer, and she could feel the weight of Althaea’s gaze. Unable to keep her hands in fists, she couldn’t help but tremble with uncertainty.

“You are Nora, the servant girl I saw at the banquet this evening, correct?”

Nora had to swallow against the dryness of her throat before answering. “Yes, my queen.”

She heard the shift of clothing and the jingle of metal jewelry as Althaea crouched in front of her, and her heart sped, the trembling of her hands worsening. “Do not fear me, Nora,” Althaea ordered, reaching under her chin and forcing her head up. “Look at me.”

Nora complied, though she knew her eyes betrayed her lingering fears. Althaea was beautiful, her blond hair cascading over her shoulders in waves and curls that glimmered in the firelight. The brown eyes that looked down at her were rich and glimmered with amusement. It was that emotion that finally eased Nora’s panic. Queen Althaea wasn’t known for anger or mistreating her servants and slaves, so if there was no trace of ill intent in her eyes, perhaps she wasn’t called to be punished after all.

“How did you come to be in the service of my husband’s house?” Althaea questioned.

“Your s-son, Meleager, m-my queen,” Nora stuttered. “He was playing near the stream by my parents’ home in the hills. I had been sent for water, and when he saw me, he…”

Althaea tilted her head when Nora trailed off. “Go on,” she encouraged, genuine curiosity coloring her tone.

“He was only a child,” Nora prefaced, “but he saw me and told his maid I was a pretty naiad tending the stream. Both his maid and I tried to explain I was not, but he insisted I was a water spirit and that I should come bless the stream that runs past your estate. That was four years ago, my queen.” She paused before averting her eyes, her cheeks heating again. “I suppose he has learned now that I am but a simple servant.”

Althaea laughed, and the sound was like a warm caress to Nora. “My son was right, though. You are very pretty. With hair dark as the stones in the river and eyes the pale shade of a moonlit stream, I cannot blame him for mistaking you.”

Nora thought her face would burst into flames, so powerful was her blush. “You flatter me,” she whispered humbly.

“Rise, Nora,” Althaea responded, waving away her modesty. She did as told, and was surprised when Althaea took her hand and tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. “I would like you to wait on me tonight. Unless you have other plans,” she added politely.

Nora had the distinct feeling the gods were playing tricks on her, but perhaps Althaea was being gracious and asking her permission because it was Saturnalia. In any case, a hesitant smile tugged at her lips. How could she refuse such an offer? Even if it was only tonight, she might be able to advance her place amongst the servants if she did well. “I would be happy to, my queen.”

“Excellent. And please,” Althaea chuckled, “use my name while in this room. Tonight, I am not Queen of Calydon.”

Althaea led Nora by the hand to a comfortable lounging area. The padded circle was nearly large enough to be a bed, and the pillows and fine fabrics draping it from the ceiling added to the beauty of it. Nora assumed she would help by first brushing Althaea’s golden hair. There was a brush nearby, and she picked it up proactively.

Another laugh lilted from Althaea, and Nora was uncertain why but unwilling to ask after it as she was pulled down to sit on the edge of the circular mattress. It was soft beneath her, and she removed her simple sandals before shifting so she was behind Althaea, who smiled and presented her hair. Nora brushed the hair to smoothness, carefully working out the tangles until it was a soft, shimmering mass that spilled like golden liquid over her fingers.

When Althaea turned to face her, she was rewarded with a bright smile, and her heart leap with happiness. “I’d like to thank you, Nora,” Althaea purred, obviously pleased with her work.

Althaea stood at the edge of the mattress, framed by the beautifully woven drapes. Nora couldn’t help but admire her beauty, but her breath truly caught in her throat when Althaea pulled the peg of her dress free at the nape of her neck and let the fabric fall from her body, leaving her nude, her skin glowing faintly in the firelight.

Nora seemed frozen in place as Althaea climbed atop the mattress in front of her and reached forward, cupping her breast through her dress, which seemed so coarse and simple compared to the queen’s wardrobe. Althaea leaned in, and when their lips met, Nora gasped, the spell keeping her immobilized finally breaking. “M-my queen! I–”

“Shh,” Althaea soothed. “I meant what I said before. You are lovely, and I would like to thank you for your service.”

“But…”

“Do you find me unattractive after birthing my four children?” Althaea asked.

“Yes,” Nora answered quickly. “You’re like a gift from Apollo, made of the sun’s golden rays, but–”

“But your body doesn’t respond to those like yourself?” Althaea interrupted, her eyes open and honest, not filled with the beginnings of anger like Nora half expected them to be.

Nora had to swallow against the pounding of her heart. “No, it isn’t that. You’re queen of these lands. To be with you would tempt the Fates and risk the wrath of your husband, my king.” For all her words and worries, however, she had yet to move away or take Althaea’s hand from her chest.

Althaea’s laughter was warm and deep, laden with sensuality that made Nora grow damp between her legs. “I wouldn’t worry about him, if I were you. He’s off making merry with some stable boy or guard he fancies, and so long as I don’t take a man’s seed inside me, he won’t care a whit.”

Nora could do nothing but stare for several seconds. “You… fancy me?” The rumors said that Althaea’s son, Meleager, had been sired by Ares. They also said her young daughter, Deianeira, was the product of an affair with Dionysus. How could one sought after by the gods of war and revelry possibly be interested in her? It was ridiculous, insane, and the most erotic compliment Nora could ever receive.

“I will show you,” Althaea promised, her voice like sweet honey as she brushed her lips across Nora’s again. “All you have to do is say yes, Nora.”

Gods above, the choice was now hers! Nora’s mind reeled, but she could think of nothing to say as Althaea’s hand gently massaged her breast, her thumb and forefinger toying her nipple to hardness through the fabric. She moaned, and any doubts she had drifted away like steam produced by the fire of passion that was lit inside her.

“Yes,” she breathed, and her lips were instantly sealed by Althaea’s, her mouth gently possessed by a knowing tongue that found and exploited her sensitive spots in seconds. Heat unfurled between her legs, and she hesitantly reached forward, her fingertips encountering the warm flesh of Althaea’s belly and slightly distended breasts.

When Althaea moaned at even the slightest touch, Nora gave in to instinct and hugged her close, surrendering to the kiss as her hands took in every inch of Althaea’s beautiful body. The lingering signs of childbirth only made her more stunning to Nora’s mind, and she pulled back from the kiss to gasp out Althaea’s name, speaking it without any title for the first time.

Althaea’s smile warmed her to her core, and her own clothing was soon cast aside and her body spread out beneath Althaea’s dark, heated gaze. She had dallied secretly with other women before, but none of them had looked at her like that. It made her pulse race, her body eager, and when Althaea dipped down to kiss and suckle at her nipples, she moaned her desperation.

The sweet mouth moved back and forth between her nipples until they were left aching, throbbing in time with her heartbeat. She shifted on the luxurious mattress, her hips pressing up, her groin aching for the same attention.

Althaea finally abandoned her nipples in order to kiss her again, and Nora clung to her. Two fingers slid between her folds and stroked her, forcing a cry from her lips. She panted Althaea’s name over and over as soon as her lips were free, and it felt like her queen was blessed with the hands and mouths of two. The sensations that were granted to every part of her seemed too overwhelming to be produced by a single woman.

The fingers gently explored her, and she moaned her encouragement when a single digit slipped inside her. She was still tight, having only slept with one man in the past, and a second digit stretched her nearly to the point of discomfort. She whimpered, but Althaea soothed her, whispering. “Shh… no more than this. You’re perfect, so slick and passionate.”

The compliments sounded so genuine, and her flush brightened when Althaea’s tongue moved between her folds and up to that perfect place of sensitivity. The fingers shifted, moved back and forth inside her, matching the strokes and swirls of Althaea’s tongue.

She was lost, completely at Althaea’s mercy as wave after wave of pleasure rushed through her, the tide dictated by Althaea’s expert movements between her legs. That wonderful pressure she had only managed to feel with other women she had slept with began to build inside her. It grew in her center, pooled in her sex, and when that sensitive nub was suckled and flicked, it exploded out of her with a rush of light and sound. She arched her back and cried out, her hands tangled in golden silk, her mind consumed by pleasure and lust.

The touches to her body softened, and she trembled as the fingers were replaced by tongue. She squirmed and moaned in the aftermath, jolts of pleasure making her twitch. Althaea kissed her way back up Nora’s body, and the instant Nora was able, she pulled Althaea close, resting with their limbs tangled.

She kissed those lightly swollen lips, tasted herself on Althaea’s tongue, and struggled to regain her breath as she let her head fall back to the softness beneath her head.

“Do you… wish me to…?” Nora breathed as Althaea moved them to their sides, still entwined.

“Not yet, and not until you’ve rested,” Althaea chuckled warmly, pressing a kiss against her throat. “It can even wait until tomorrow, when you will officially start your duties as one of my handmaidens.”

Nora gasped softly and pushed Althaea back so their eyes could meet. “Are you a gift of Morpheus’, sent to me in my sleep after too much wine and dancing?”

“No,” Althaea laughed softly, making Nora shiver. “You are the gift, chosen by my own son. The gods smile down at us tonight, Nora. Smile back.”

Nora couldn’t help herself.

She smiled until her face ached and laughed until Althaea silenced her with more kisses.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Althaea was a queen in Greek Mythology. She was the wife of King Oeneus of Calydon and was rumored to be courted not only by the God of War, Ares, but also the God of Wine and Revelry, Dionysus, bearing them a son and daughter, respectively. That son was Meleager, the warrior famous for slaying the Caldonian Boar with the help of the huntress Atalanta. Her daughter, Deianeira, was Heracles’ third wife, and the one who unwittingly killed him with the poisoned Shirt of Nessus. Although Althaea’s story ends in tragedy when she is forced to kill Meleager and takes her own life afterward, this short story is a glimpse of the time before Meleager reaches manhood. I hope you enjoyed it!

Advent 2010: Day Twenty

Title: Like a Cat with Cream
Characters: Alec, Tavish
From: World of Egaea (WIP)
Word Count: 622
Rating: PG-13

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Alec purred, warm and utterly sated from the attentions of his mate by the fireplace. Their den smelled like a combination of sex, pine, and fresh cookies. It might have been a rather strange combination among their kind, who preferred the smell of a fresh kill to something baked, but Tavish brought strange traditions from his life in Forrin, and Alec found he couldn’t complain.

He was far too busy lapping at a bowl of cream Tavish had set down for him to complain.

You are such a house cat.

Alec glanced over at Tavish’s lynx, Kasa, his ears twitching as she flicked her tail in that slow, amused way that his own often swished while he was with Tavish. He didn’t even have to reach through his soulbond with Tavish to respond. He simply let the twitches of his ears, tail, and facial expression convey that he suspected she was just jealous of his cream.

The way her ears turned down and backward a little, the tufts of fur at the tips pointing away from him, was a clear sign of her affront, and he watched her eyes dart down to the bowl and back up to him. He purred even louder than before and made a show of lapping up more of the sweet, rich liquid.

Kasa growled softly, but even the small sound managed to be threatening, and Alec crouched over his bowl, shifting on his legs so he was ready to pounce and defend his cream if she made a move.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Tavish laughed from behind him.

It drew both of their eyes to Tavish, who sat crosslegged beside the fireplace, munching a couple cookies freshly plucked from the tiny clay oven they had added to their den following the war.

“She called me a house cat,” Alec complained, a touch of growl to his words.

“You are part domesticated cat,” Tavish pointed out, making Alec’s ears flatten unhappily. Tavish was not helping the situation. He looked at Kasa the instant Kasa’s gaze returned to him, and his tail ticked back and forth like a pendulum, counting the seconds to her attack.

The stare was only broken when Tavish reached over and took his tail in hand, petting and scritching it. His slight growl instantly transformed to a deep purr, and he moaned softly, “Unfair.”

“If you let her have the rest of the bowl, I’ll groom your tail with the brush until it shines,” Tavish tempted, his voice trilling lightly with his own purr that made Alec want to knead a circle in his mate’s lap and curl up for a nice, long cuddle.

Kasa inched her way towards the cream, and Alec looked between the two, torn between the options.

“Would it help if I w-were to g-g-give you another sort of cream l-later?” Tavish asked softly, his cheeks flushing prettily in the firelight.

Gods, that stuttering question made Alec’s choice for him. He couldn’t resist his innocent mate whenever he attempted to talk dirty. It was the most adorable trait that no amount of lovemaking had changed in Tavish, and he was glad that it surfaced every so often.

The bowl was abandoned without another thought, and Alec purred as he lovingly nipped and scent-marked Tavish’s neck. “Petting and grooming first, and then I’ll groom you for that cream.”

Tavish blushed but chuckled as they kissed, and Alec’s rough tongue teased Tavish’s smooth one, making all sorts of little promises. When they pulled back and smiled at one another, Alec knew that the greatest gift wasn’t the cream that Kasa noisily lapped behind him. The real gift was Tavish, and he’d make sure Tavish knew it the rest of the night.

Title: Never Alone
Characters: Gabriel, Michael
From: Original Drabble
Word Count: 815
Rating: G

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gabriel groaned as he let his head fall forward onto his books with a loud thud. The carolers were back outside the room he’d managed to rent for the month of December, and he wished for the third night in a row that they’d just go away. His room wasn’t much, but the space heater plugged into the wall was enough to keep the chill from the marina at bay. In addition to the heater, he’d made himself a giant mug of hot cocoa. Sure, he’d had to reheat it three times in the microwave as it sat untouched next to his textbooks and laptop, but it was still part of the comfort he’d tried to fabricate.

The holidays just didn’t seem as cheery when you had to research nearly a dozen paranormal sightings and hit the ground running the day after Christmas. It had been easier in college, when the end of final exams meant he could go to parties and maybe get laid after a drink or two. Those days were gone, though. He’d graduated with a degree in Paranormal Studies.

Yeah. Would you like fries with that?

Only in the Bay Area could you get a degree in something like that. Then again, San Francisco was probably one of the few places you could actually get a paying job in the field of paranormal investigation without having to start up your own ghost hunting business. He shouldn’t have been complaining.

He turned his head to stare blankly at his laptop screensaver. Why did the sight of the multi-colored ribbon curling and dancing across his screen suddenly make his loneliness feel worse than before? The sight coupled with the sound of “Joy to the World” sung slightly out of tune made him depressed rather than uplifted. The carolers just made him envious because they were outside enjoying the holidays in their little group while he was stuck inside, alone, with work to do.

It wasn’t fair, but there was nothing he could do about it.

‘Stop brooding.’ An annoyed voice so much like his own huffed above him, so real that he batted next to his upturned ear in an attempt to get it to shut up.

“I’m not brooding,” Gabriel argued weakly, but the voice just laughed at him.

‘You are, and it’s annoying as fuck. You’re the one who took the job in the first place, and they told you holidays were gonna be like this.’

“They didn’t say I’d be alone on Christmas two years in a row,” Gabriel muttered unhappily, his eyes still on his computer screen.

A short silence followed, and Gabriel started to think the voice had understood his point and would let him brood in peace to the tone deaf rendition of “Ding Dong Merrily on High”. A minute later, though, the voice was back, just softer than before.

‘No, they didn’t warn you, but… at least you have me, right?’

There was a warmth and uncertainty to the question that made Gabriel’s chest feel a bit tight, and he looked up to the space above him, where he knew his dead twin lingered just out of normal sight. “Yeah,” he admitted with a small smile. “At least I have you, Michael.”

‘That’s more like it, Gabe. But don’t forget the specter in the stairwell, the ghost in the attic, and the spirits that linger around the singers down there.’

Gabriel shot upright in his seat, his heart pounding in his chest. “You said the building was clear!” he yelped, panic chilling the blood in his veins as he scrambled stiffly from his desk to the kit of paranormal gear he had stashed under his bed, nearly tripping over himself in the process.

The momentary silence was broken by a breathy laugh that floated around him like an echo, and the sudden panic that had hold of him was transformed to relief, anger, and the smallest hint of humor. “Oh, that joke is so going to cost you, asshole!”

Michael’s voice came closer again, became clear in his mind. ‘But do you feel as alone now?’

Gabriel clenched his jaw. The answer was no, but he’d be damned before he said it out loud to his brother. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to reach up and try to strangle Michael or hug him.

‘I rest my case. Now take a break so you can drink your hot chocolate and laugh at the carolers with me for a couple minutes.’

Gabriel let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and shook his head, his anger leaving him in a rush as he went back to his desk, grabbed his huge mug, and took a seat by the window. Whether he liked it or not, Michael was right.

He might have felt lonely in some ways, but he wasn’t alone.

He’d never be alone again.

Advent 2010: Day Eighteen

Title: Surprise, Surprise
Characters: Terrill, Keegan
From: World of Egaea (WIP)
Word Count: 707
Rating: PG

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Terrill let out a slow breath as he gently shut the door of King Bleidd’s chambers behind him. Two hours he had been in there, but it had only taken him five minutes to give his report on the state of the troops out on the borders of Stoyrm.

No, he hadn’t been delayed for the reason most might think. Gods, if only that had been the reason! He would gladly have given in to a more lascivious pursuit by his feral king, but the hunt had never started for Bleidd, and so it would never end for Terrill. The willing prey could never be captured so long as the predator never gave chase.

Terrill was a coward; that was the trouble. He had been a king in his own right, but, thanks to Doran’s necromantic tortures, his years as Forrin’s ruler were literally a lifetime away. He shivered at the memory of being slain, revived, and sent into the horrible madness that had always followed. Those memories made even the warmest days feel chilly. He started slowly down the hallway toward his own chambers, trying to concentrate on what had happened after all that.

When his captivity had ended, he’d decided against returning to Forrin. The kingdom had changed; it’s people had become as harsh as the landscape of the far north. He couldn’t have lived there as a subject, and he was certain they wouldn’t have welcomed him as king. He’d offered himself as a warrior in Stoyrm and tried to start over, but with Doran’s forces renewed, it was impossible to escape the shadow of his past.

Bleidd didn’t want to hear all that, though, not during their nightly talks. Those moments were not about Terrill but about Bleidd, a chance to relax and speak simply to cleanse the mind of its clutter. Usually, Terrill enjoyed the time he spent in Bleidd’s chambers, listening to details of Bleidd’s life no others were privy to. As another winter dragged on, however, he found his own spirit weakening like the trees that had lost all their leaves and were pummeled by the powerful snowstorms. Every evening was like another gust of wind that threatened to bend him to the point of breaking.

Terrill tried to ignore the Maith that passed him, obviously excited about her destination. He knew exactly where she was going and what she would be doing with Bleidd in a few minutes, and he wanted to be curled up with some hot tea in his own chambers before any cry of passion could reach his ears. He quickened his pace, all but running the rest of the distance to his rooms.

When he threw back the door, he skidded to a halt. Shock faded into joy as he took in the sight before him.

“I was wondering when you’d finally find me,” Keegan purred from his bed, already dressed in sleeping trousers and slightly rumpled from what looked to be a long wait.

Terrill didn’t even bother with a proper greeting. Instead, he rushed over to Keegan and drew his old friend and sometimes-lover into a passionate kiss that soon left them both breathless.

“You… missed me,” Keegan panted through a grin.

Terrill laughed, and used his grip on Keegan to roll them both onto the bed, stopping when Keegan lay partially atop him. “A decade since your last visit to Stoyrm, despite dozens of letters we’ve exchanged, and you sound surprised! I should spank you for your negligence.”

“You won’t be the only one who wants to by tomorrow evening.”

Terrill raised an eyebrow, and then groaned. More trade agreements. That was why Keegan had been sent from Tira. Shit. “Bleidd is going to want to tear you apart.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve seduced his captain of the guard, don’t you think?” Keegan chuckled, dipping down to pull him into another sweet kiss. Keegan tasted of the icy forests of the north that Terrill missed so much, and their bodies fit perfectly against one another. Keegan gently swiveled his hips, causing them to exchange soft moans in the kiss.

“Commerce can wait for tomorrow,” Terrill decreed before losing himself in his friend’s kisses and all that they promised would follow.