S.L. Armstrong's Blog, page 25

"Catalyst" Guest Post

There is a guest post on Pants Off Reviews that I wrote discussing the origin and process of writing Catalyst. There's also a giveaway there for people who comment. You comment and you're entered into a drawing to win a free PDF copy of Catalyst! Go comment! Go!

Advent: Day Eleven (NSFW)

Title: Lights In the Darkness

Characters: Meh'al, Drayis

Origin: World of Egaea (WIP)

Advent Day: Day 11 (December 7th)

Rating: NC-17

Word count: 2,705

—

When Meh'al entered his hut at sundown, he stopped dead in his tracks, the door still open behind him. The shock of what he saw was too great, and only a shout from the sole occupant of the room snapped him out of it.

"Gods, Meh'al! Close the fucking door before I freeze!"

Meh'al shut the door more on instinct than in response to the actual order. His Elven lover had… gods above, what the fuck had he done to his hut? There was a fucking tree in his hut. He stared at the tree, the way it had been strung with nuts and berries. And what were those lights twinkling in his vision now? His eyes narrowed at Drayis. "What did I tell you about invading my mind with your tricks?"

Drayis' smile faltered, and a healthy flush came to his cheeks as he waved his wand. The motes of light disappeared, and Meh'al sighed his relief. "Now," he said, trying to stay calm, "what in all the gods' names have you been doing in here?"

Looking around, Drayis fidgeted. "It's… it will be Yule next week. I wanted to have some of my traditions here alongside your own."

"It's tradition to cart a tree into one's home and cover it with food?" It had to be one of the silliest things Meh'al had ever heard of! Still, he was trying so very hard to be more open to Drayis' culture, to understanding the Elf. "Why, Drayis, would this… this Yule require a tree brought inside?"

"Well… we don't usually cut them to bring them inside exactly, but if I left it outside here, it wouldn't survive for long." Drayis ran a hand through his hair, and Meh'al couldn't help but notice the slight tremor, the racing pulse. Was Drayis actually trying to impress him? "We decorate the trees because they are a symbol of steadfast life during winter. The evergreens don't fade but remain strong. I would have put ornaments on, or maybe candles, but I didn't have the materials for ornaments, and I worried I'd somehow burn the tree down and make a mess."

Meh'al tried his best not to comment that it already looked messy to him. He finally stepped away from the door. The closer he came to Drayis, the more the Elf's scent drew him in. "A tree as the symbol of life. And why the lights that you… tried to make me see?"

"As a reminder that light will return, even after the darkest and longest of nights."

When Meh'al stood close enough to Drayis to see the thudding of his pulse in his throat, he turned to look more closely at the tree. It was strange, but the symbol… what it represented to Drayis… Meh'al couldn't find it in him to be disparaging about the tree. He wet his lips. "Perhaps, if you and Veerle have the time and inclination, you can set up such a tree in the main meeting house for the women and children to enjoy, too."

It was a small thing, really, and Meh'al thought the females and young ones would love to see a tree so decorated with floating lights. "Maybe they can even help you make ornaments. We have materials in the supply house you could have access to." Meh'al turned to look at Drayis, wondering if what he offered would make Drayis happy. The Elf seemed to constantly be on edge, always walking about on tip toe. Meh'al supposed that was mostly his fault. He was so unused to having a lover like Drayis, to having… to have a mate. "Would that please you?"

Drayis brightened considerably, giving away the answer before he said a word. "I'd love that. It's a silly little thing, I guess, but it's something beautiful to look at, something that brings joy to our hearts during the long nights. It's a bit of home."

"You miss your own clan to the far south," Meh'al murmured, glancing at Drayis.

"Always," Drayis admitted softly, playing with the tip of his long, silvery braid. A smile curved his lips, though, and Meh'al much preferred that expression to the wistful sadness. "Not that being here isn't nice. Just different. I was curious what sort of things you do to celebrate the longest night of the year. Veerle's been all over Ky'ahn, and the others wouldn't let me corner anyone to ask without making some sort of scene."

Meh'al smiled a little, his fangs showing in the firelight. "The longest night is a sacred night. It is when mated pairs come together. They spend the whole night coupling, from sundown to sunup, and then we have a large number of females heavy with child six months later, ready to give birth on the shortest night of the year."

"Do mated pairs only… come together to breed?" Drayis asked, a light flush coloring his cheeks.

"No." Meh'al stepped just a little closer, the heat and scent of Drayis drawing him in. "Some mated pairs cannot breed. Some are of the same sex, after all."

Drayis' breathing changed, became just a little faster. "What do those mated pairs do, then?"

"They couple from sundown to sunup as well," Meh'al purred. "They celebrate the life others are creating by celebrating life and love together despite being unable to conceive."

"That's… quite a tradition," Drayis breathed, and the way Drayis licked his lips made Meh'al lean down and follow Drayis' tongue with his own. Drayis shivered. "Will I be included in this ritual, even as an outsider?"

"I've taken you as mate." Meh'al smirked. "Do you think you have the endurance for such a celebration?"

Drayis straightened at the challenge, just as Meh'al had known he would. Determination lit up Drayis' green eyes, followed closely by a glint of mischief Meh'al had quickly learned to both love and dread. "I think you'll have to help me prepare, just in case."

Meh'al chuckled, letting his mouth wander down Drayis' throat. "A full dose of venom would keep you hard and aching, desperate for my cock, all night." He'd rarely used that much venom with Drayis, as it seemed Drayis didn't like how intoxicated it made him feel.

He felt Drayis' pulse speed beneath his lips, and the temptation to taste, to bite and drink, was nearly overwhelming. Drayis' voice vibrated the flesh beneath his lips, and when he scraped his teeth gently over the line of the large artery, the muscles jumped and quivered. "If I gave you such control, would you meet my needs, over and over until the venom wears off?"

"Yes," Meh'al purred, suckling over Drayis' pulsepoint.

"And you'd hold me afterward? All day while I—ah!—recover?"

The holding thing was unusual, but something Meh'al had noticed Drayis needed. He tried to give more, to meet all the needs—no matter how strange to him—that Drayis made clear to him. "Yes," he said, his voice a low growl. He couldn't keep his hands to himself anymore, and he reached out, pulled Drayis against him. His hands moved over the Spirit Elf's clothed body, hungry to see bare flesh, to litter Drayis' beautiful body with his bite.

Drayis' hands tangled in his hair and pulled him into a kiss. His mouth was filled with some kind of spice Meh'al had never tasted before, something that filled his own senses with heat. For a moment, he thought it might be more of the Elf's magic, more mindgames, but when a needy moan escaped Drayis, he doubted Drayis had the clarity of thought needed for those kinds of spells. The magic the Elf possessed was an unruly thing, like a young child that had to be watched constantly but only did as commanded with a great deal of effort. The taste was just a taste, but it set fire to his own body. He had to pull away just to keep himself from ripping the clothing off Drayis' body.

The instant he pulled back, Drayis' hands darted to his own clothing, and he briefly wondered if Drayis had read his thoughts. A few seconds later, with Drayis nude in front of him, it hardly seemed to matter. He growled and pulled their bodies together again, finding the warmth of Drayis utterly intoxicating.

"How do you do it?" Meh'al growled, his hands tightening on Drayis' ass.

Drayis moaned, pressed close. "Do what?"

"Caged me, pull me in, make me so weak." Meh'al kissed Drayis, hard and hungry. His small ration of blood from the humans they kept meant he was usually always tempted to drink from Drayis, to indulge in the bloodlust the Elf inspired in him. He broke the kiss, panting raggedly, and he pushed Drayis backward toward the bed. "You make me feel out of control."

Drayis laughed as he climbed backward onto the bed of furs. "That makes two of us. You kiss me, and I feel like I'd give up my wand just for another taste of you, another touch, another moment of pleasure."

"Just a moment?" Meh'al murmured, crawling after Drayis, stalking him up and across the bed.

"I'd take more than a moment… an hour… an entire night." Now Drayis was just teasing him, and he pounced, pushed Drayis to the furs and devoured his mouth, sensing the way it made Drayis' blood surge through his body, pooling in the hard length of his cock.

Meh'al spread Drayis' legs wide as he pulled his own simple loincloth away, tossing it to the floor. The red hue of his eyes darkening to the shade of fresh blood, he thrust against Drayis. He let the Elf feel just how thick and hard he was, how the Elf drove him to lustful distraction. "You strip away everything so all I can think about is you… your body… your blood."

Drayis arched against him, his hands clinging to Meh'al. "I just want to love you," he whispered raggedly.

"You want into my heart and mind," Meh'al rumbled, unable to keep his hips still. "It is hard, opening myself up as you wish me to."

"I know," Drayis panted. "Try to give you everything else you need, let you know that… your efforts make me happy."

Happiness was something Meh'al never exactly knew how to give Drayis. How could he be happy so far from home, having given up everything just to travel here again? How could he be happy so isolated by most of the Varan? And why did Meh'al care so much? The thought filled him with heat, both anger and affection. "You infuriate me," he snarled, thrusting hard against Drayis' cock.

Drayis gasped and shuddered. "Is that what you call it?" The lusty smile that spread over Drayis' lips made Meh'al's body ache with need, and Drayis must have read that in his hungry growl, because he reached back, grabbed their oil and slicked him liberally with a firm hand.

"What would you call it?" Meh'al managed before hefting Drayis' legs up, exposing him completely.

"Love."

Meh'al shoved forward, pushed himself into the heat and tightness of Drayis's body with a loud shout. Drayis gave his own cry of pained pleasure, and Meh'al panted above him, eyes dark and hungry. "Love?"

Drayis moaned, his hands moving along his own body, bringing himself little bits of pleasure. "Be as brutal with me… as you want… but it's love that drives you." Drayis' green eyes seemed to burn into Meh'al. "It's what scares the hell out of you."

"I fear nothing," Meh'al snapped, and then he began to fuck Drayis, hard and fast. It was a punishing pace, selfish and angry and desperate. Meh'al tried to bleed out everything—his fury, his need, his hunger, his failure—in the act of rutting with Drayis. Drayis' cries only spurred him on, growls and grunts filling the air alongside the shimmering, lyrical power of Drayis' voice.

He pounded Drayis, pushing his thighs even wider with an unrelenting grip, but Drayis never cursed him, never told him to stop. All Drayis panted out between cries was a desperate, loving command. "Drink… Drink, Meh'al…"

Simple words, and yet they brought his bloodlust to the surface in an instant, demanding satisfaction. He growled as he bent over Drayis' body and bit into his neck. Drayis choked cry of pain tapered off into a low moan as a small dose of his venom raced from his bite into Drayis' blood. He fed, he drank down the powerful fount of blood Drayis offered so freely. It gave more power to his thrusts, more life to his limbs, and by the time he ripped himself away from the wound, Drayis was gasping for breath, vibrant eyes dazed with pleasure.

Meh'al covered Drayis' mouth with his own, offering a bloody kiss as he brought his hand between their bodies. He didn't usually touch Drayis while they fucked. Not like this. Usually, his bite was enough, his bite and the harsh rhythm tended to push Drayis over into release. Tonight, though, Drayis simply trembled under him, lost in the haze his venom offered, enhancing the physical pleasure while suppressing the pain. Meh'al growled as he pumped Drayis' cock, fondled it roughly as he slammed into him over and over.

The extra touch made Drayis writhe beneath him, and he muffled Drayis' cries with lips and tongue, drinking them in just as he'd taken Drayis' blood. He shouldn't have cared so much for Drayis' pleasure, and yet, he couldn't come, couldn't find satisfaction until Drayis was bucking beneath him, his cock pulsing out thick fluids over his hand. Only then, with Drayis' body clenching and trembling around him, could he let himself fall with a bestial sound, his cock driving deep inside Drayis as he came.

Bracing himself over Drayis, he panted against Drayis' bruised, swollen lips. He stared into the flushed, slightly drugged expression, his heart clenching in such an odd way. He found himself asking, "Are you all right?"

Drayis blinked slowly, almost drunkenly, and smiled at him. "Wonderful."

Meh'al couldn't help but chuckle. "We will see if you still feel wonderful when the venom wears off."

"Am I a bloody mess?" Drayis asked, a tremor of laughter trilling the words.

Meh'al smirked. "You could say that." The breathless, lazy laughter that lilted out of Drayis somehow made his soul feel lighter. The lights that he had ordered Drayis to stop after entering his hut slowly flickered back to life in his vision. "You're making the lights again."

An embarrassed flush streaked across Drayis' cheeks. "Sorry, I'll—"

"No," Meh'al interrupted. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked around at the lights, at the way the colors shifted and blinked cheerfully in the air around the room. They were an extension of Drayis, a magical byproduct of the pleasure, something Drayis couldn't hold back, even after such a brutal fuck. "They're… beautiful," Meh'al finally murmured.

Drayis looked at him intensely, sharpness returning to the green eyes for a moment. "You really think so?"

Meh'al ducked down and kissed him softly. "I really do." The magic would take getting used to, and so would allowing Drayis' thoughts touch his own. But, if Drayis was willing to give up his whole life to come to the Varan lands again, the least Meh'al could do was offer that simple intimacy. "I'm sure the women and children will think them beautiful, too."

"I love you," Drayis whispered, voice dreamy and subdued once again.

Meh'al took a moment to pull his cock from Drayis' body, and then laid beside him on the furs. He pulled Drayis into his arms, cuddled him just like the Elf loved following sex. The words he knew Drayis wanted to hear were difficult to form, but when they came, he meant them. "I love you, too."

Drayis became a comfortable, warm weight against him, and the softest purr of satisfaction lilted to Meh'al's ears before Drayis' breathing deepened with slumber. Even asleep, the lights continued to shine, and Meh'al couldn't help but smile up at them. Infuriating as the Spirit Elf was, he brought light and color to the darkness. One thing was certain: with Drayis close, this solstice would be unlike any other.

Advent: Day Ten

Title: A Debt to Pay

Characters: Cain, Lilith

Origin: Wanderlust: Land of Faith (WIP)

Advent Day: Day 10 (December 6th)

Rating: PG

Word count: 1,887

—

Lilith's carriage pulled up the hovel in the bowels of Paris. She looked out the small window and wrinkled her nose. The scent was foul. Absolutely foul. How anyone could lower themselves to visiting such an establishment in such a putrid district, she'd never know.

There was a time, her mind whispered, when you were in such a hellhole, bought and sold for a copper.

That had been then. This was now. She was a lady with a title, an estate, a dead husband, and lots of money. That time, which was too many years ago to have any bearing on her life now, was done. That woman was dead and buried.

"My lady?"

Lilith blinked, focusing on her driver outside the carriage. "This is the establishment, yes."

Her driver opened the door, and her footman helped her out of the carriage. Lilith sighed as her fine satin shoes stepped in some sort of filth, and then she looked to the large, battered doors of the crumbling building. Was he really inside? Would he hate her still? Would he even accept her help? When last she'd laid eyes on him, he was weeping, cursing her for having no care for anyone but herself as he cradled his dying daughter in his arms. It hadn't been her fault… not really… not… well, perhaps a little.

Which was why she was here, now. Whether Cain wanted her help or not, she would provide it.

Lilith approached the door of the brothel, and it opened even before she could pull the cord. In moments, she was led into the dark, fetid building. Lilith pulled out her handkerchief and pressed it to her nose and mouth. "The man with blood red hair," she demanded. "I have come to purchase him."

The man who led her inside looked seedy, his small, dark eyes far too keen for the rest of his emaciated form. "You have livres with you? How many are you prepared to part with? Such a rare man is worth a rare price."

Lilith narrowed her green eyes at him, and the force of her stare made him shiver and avert his gaze. Haggling with Cain's pimp in the pit of putrid rubbish that passed as the brothel was certainly not prominent among her desires. "Seventy-five livres."

The man's face scrunched up, nearly unrecognizable, and his beady eyes shifted about until he glanced up. "One hundred fifty, my lady. He is worth every livre and is sure to please for many years."

Lilith huffed and waved her handkerchief at him for a moment before placing it back over her nose and mouth. "One hundred, and not a livre more." It was a ridiculous price for a whore, especially one who was likely deathly ill. Well… not deathly, not for this man, but the pimp couldn't possibly know that. She snapped her fingers and one of the two footmen at her back bowed and stepped out. A minute later, he had returned with a large sack of denier. Lilith motioned him forward, and he handed the sack to the pimp. "One hundred. Now, take me to him."

A toothless grin curved the pimp's face, and he cradled his prize as he turned and limped his way back past a curtain and down a decrepit hallway. Her footmen followed behind her at a safe distance, and she was glad for their presence, even if this hovel was a threat to their health. The pimp pulled back a curtain, and she stopped short of stepping inside the cell of a room. Bile rose to her throat, and she barely managed to swallow it back. "Leave us," she ordered sharply, and the pimp bowed, making a hasty retreat, most likely to stash his money where no one else would find it.

The figure on the bed was practically a skeleton. God Almighty, she had never seen him so wasted, even worse than the pimp. His skin was pasty, an unnatural pallor having stolen the flush Lilith so vividly remembered. The scar on his back was the only mark that shown clearly on his skin, angry and red. She swallowed thickly, eyes taking in his naked, sickened form, and stepped forward.

"Cain."

Cain rolled over, slowly, as if every bone ached with the movement. His eyes, a dull, dead brown, took a moment to focus on her. And then he laughed. Well, it wasn't quite a laugh. More like a choked bark. "God, you."

"Yes. Me."

"Sorry, Lil, don't think I can suit whatever needs you have tonight." Cain closed his eyes, and a full-body shiver took hold of him before he began to cough, a horrid, hacking sound that was too wet. "You don't have a cock to plow my ass with, and Gaston thinks that's all I'm good for at the moment."

Lilith winced internally. Cain's natural preference wasn't men. "I haven't come for sex, Cain. I've come for you."

Cain took several rattling breaths, and then opened his eyes to look at her. "Such… a saint."

Anger surged through Lilith. "If you want to stay in this pit, then by all means, do. I owed you, and I thought I could help." She shook her head. "You're just like all men. Proud right to the end—but there is no end for you. You'll just waste away here, wallowing in sickness and sweaty, wine-drunk men who use your body to sate their own need." Lilith remembered vividly the hatred she'd felt when the men had used her, beat her, made her weaker than them through fists, cocks, and money. It was something she'd hoped to spare Cain. He might have had a taste of defilement, but he wasn't broken.

Lilith didn't want to see Cain—first born son of the world—broken by anyone or anything.

"Yes, Lil, just like all… those disgusting men you… hate so much," Cain spat, wheezing between words. "So leave me to rot. It's… what you've always wanted… isn't it?"

Lilith clenched her jaw and ground out, "No. That's never been what I wanted." When another round of coughing made Cain convulse, she felt her legs move without her permission, taking her to his side. "Dammit, Cain, you're such a fool. You aren't supposed to just give up without a fight."

"You don't want me to… give up, but I'm… supposed to let you hel—" The word was cut off by a particularly gruesome cough that ended in a terrible, garbled wheeze.

Lilith bit lightly at her lower lip behind her handkerchief before cursing under her breath and ripping a portion of her expensive underskirt to press it to Cain's nose and mouth, wiping away some of the fluids. "Yes, you're supposed to accept my help so you can become well enough to fight."

He seemed surprised by her uncharacteristically tender touch, wincing and staring up at her for several seconds. The next cough came so suddenly that she didn't have time to pull her hand back properly and was sprayed by the fluids as he instinctively clung at the clean strip of fabric. She nearly pulled her hand away in disgust, but couldn't bring herself to recoil completely, even if she did make a face.

Lilith sighed, refusing to let her face soften, even as she reached up with her free hand to push oily, tangled locks of red hair back from Cain's face. "Stop being stubborn and just accept my help."

"And be… beholden to… you?"

"And be free." Lilith stared at him for a long moment. "That's what we both have always wanted, isn't it? Freedom. You're hardly free here."

Cain smiled at her, a slightly delirious look to his eyes. His teeth were tinted pink, and Lilith knew she had to get him out of this hovel. "Free. How can… I be free if you've… bought me?"

"I didn't buy you, asshole. I bought your freedom." Lilith crouched beside the cot, not thinking about what filth was under her feet. "Come home with me, Cain. Let yourself heal." She smiled. "We can have some fun, can't we? I love how difficult you make my life, and you love how complicated I make yours. A couple of years, and you'll be as good as new and utterly bored of me, and then free to move on."

Something flickered in Cain's eyes Lilith couldn't quite understand. She'd seen it a few times in the past, but he never elaborated, never shared whatever thought went through his mind at those moments. "Go home with… you. You intend to… play sick-nurse?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I play at nothing. I'm not some useless lady of noble birth who hasn't been allowed to read by the controlling men in her life. Besides," she added with a wry smile, "whatever you have would likely infect my entire household. You'll be under my personal care, whether you like it or not."

Cain sighed, the sound a wet, rattling sound. "Do I have a choice?"

"No." Lilith stood again and motioned behind her. "My footmen will carry you out whether you want them to or not."

"You must be loving this," Cain rasped.

Lilith was quiet for a moment. "No. No, Cain, I'm not." She snapped her fingers and nodded, and the larger of her two footmen approached. "Be careful with him," she warned.

The man hefted Cain up from the filthy cot, and although she saw Cain trying to help, trying to move on his own, he must have been too weak to do anything more than give in. He coughed and convulsed, trying to curl into a ball in her footman's arms, and the way his shivering hands held to the stripe of fabric from her dress made her chest ache for an instant.

"I said careful!" she snapped before turning and navigating back through the decrepit brothel to her carriage. Part of her didn't want to see Cain like this. Cain was never weak, never defeated by the world he'd been cursed to inhabit forever. Yet, here he was, surrounded by sickness and plague and poverty. She didn't like it, and because she didn't like it, she took control.

She stepped up into her carriage, happy to be free of the worst of the stench from the brothel. Her man followed, carrying Cain up into the enclosed cab, and she rearranged herself, directing him until Cain was settled along the seat next to her. She cradled his head in her lap and signaled out the window for the driver to go. He shivered again, even though his skin was feverish under her fingertips, and she covered him with a blanket, determined to make him comfortable.

He settled against her as the carriage rattled its way along the Paris street, and before long, she could tell he was either asleep or had fallen into a delirious stupor. The tightness of her chest returned, and she exhaled slowly, petting his matted red hair. She couldn't control everything in the world, couldn't control what diseases overtook humanity time and again, but she could repay the debt she owed. She could help Cain this time, and she would.

The smallest of smiles played at the corners of her lips, and she nodded to herself as she murmured beneath the noise of the carriage. "You're safe, Cain."

Advent: Day Nine (NSFW)

Title: To Be Free

Characters: Jeryth, Zhen

Origin: World of Egaea (WIP)

Advent Day: Day 9 (December 5th)

Rating: NC-17

Word count: 7,228

Warning: Sex in half-shifted form

—

Zhen took a deep breath, feeling the cold air prickle at the inside of his nose and send a shiver down his spine. It was his second attempt at escaping into the snow. The first had been foiled by Gauwyn, who had caught him sneaking out in his barely-there slave's outfit. He'd nearly thought he would be ordered back to Jeryth's room, but Gauwyn had simply taken him to another Elf's quarters and dressed him in the softest, warmest clothing he had ever worn. All bundled up, the cold didn't bother him nearly as much, and he gingerly stepped outside, delighting in the crunch the snow made beneath his feet. It was beautiful, the way the snow dressed the trees around him, and he felt the most wicked sense of freedom.

Lust slaves weren't allowed outside into the snow, not like this. He hadn't gotten Jeryth's permission. He should have, but he hadn't been able to find his master in the library. If Jeryth wasn't working, he didn't know where Jeryth had gone. He should have just returned to Jeryth's rooms and stayed there, but he'd watched the snow fall all morning, and he had ached to walk in it.

He wasn't sure where to go now that he had taken the first step outside, but he looked around. There was a well-trodden path filled with other Elves, but to the far left, there was another path with only a couple old trails of footprints. It was so forbidden to him, that quiet path that fewer people had followed. If he were in the House of Water, following it would mean such a horrible punishment, but could he get away with it here? Would Jeryth want to punish him if he was found? Or worse, if Jeryth returned to their rooms to find him missing…

He looked longingly at the path for several seconds. Once he inched toward it, took a couple more steps closer—just to look, he told himself—he was pulled in. He couldn't help himself and whispered a soft apology to the trees before setting down on the path, smiling at the beautiful, snow-dusted landscape.

The forest was beautiful. The previous winter, he hadn't spent much time outside the main keep. He'd been kept with Maelog and Darron, and their needs hadn't led them—or him—outside the bedroom much. But, this winter, he didn't belong to Maelog and Darron. Zhen paused by a large evergreen and pressed his left hand to its thick bark. The cuff surrounding his wrist glittered in the winter sunlight. The fine white gold surrounded five carefully positioned rubies and spread two inches up his arm. It was a weight he was familiar with, having worn the cuffs since his body had stopped growing at the age of sixty-three. Maelog and Darron had never used the Master Gem magically linked to his cuffs, and something told him his new master—Jeryth—wouldn't either.

But Jeryth could. If Zhen angered Jeryth, the sweet librarian could bring him such pain. It just made Zhen want to be even better, so good Jeryth would never need to hurt him or send him back to the House of Water. Still, he'd left the compound without permission, and he was walking through the forest like a free Elf. Zhen bit his lip, debating turning around, rushing back to the keep and going back to Jeryth's room. He stood in the middle of the path, unsure, looking behind him and forward. Oh, he wanted to see the rest of the forest. He wanted to know what lay over the hill in the distance, but Jeryth… if Jeryth needed him… wanted him…

A rustle of the forest drew his attention from his internal debate. Zhen's heart began to race. Whatever was just beyond the treeline was following him. He tested the theory, moving forward another hundred steps, and the rustle followed. Zhen whimpered softly, fear stealing all sense from him, and he began to run. He didn't even think to run back to the main compound. He ran toward the hill, to that distant landmark, hoping to outrun whatever was behind him.

Just as he was about to reach the hill, whatever was chasing him sprung from the forest. In a flurry of black robes, white snow, and his own blue-white hair, Zhen toppled into a snowdrift, a panting form straddling him. He cried out, and then that voice rang in his ears.

"Zhen? Why were you running from me?"

Zhen stared up, eyes wide and lined with tears. "Jeryth?"

Jeryth smiled at him, face flushed. "You ran."

"I—I—" Zhen choked on the words, and his body trembled as they poured out of him all at once. "I'm sorry! I should have waited, should have stayed in your rooms and not strayed, but the snow was falling outside the window and I couldn't help myself and Gauwyn gave me new clothes and I wanted to follow the path and see the snow and—"

Jeryth's fingers pressed against his lips, and Jeryth's laughter caught him off guard. Why was Jeryth laughing? Gods, had he done something so bad that Jeryth was actually amused by his disobedience? He trembled beneath Jeryth, and the laughter died down. Jeryth tilted his head to the side, confusion marring the Wood Elf's beautiful face. "Why are you trembling? Did I hurt you?"

"No," Zhen answered quickly, shaking his head.

He wasn't planning on answering the first question, but Jeryth never get away with silence. "Then why are you trembling?"

"Because I know I deserve to be punished," Zhen whimpered. It was only then he realized he was looking directly at Jeryth, and he instantly averted his eyes. Such a simple mistake! He'd probably pay for it, though.

"Zhen." Jeryth called to him, and the warmth and sweetness in Jeryth's voice made him hesitantly look up through his pale lashes. "Zhen, I'm not going to punish you for going outside."

Disbelief made his face go slack, and he stared up at Jeryth again. "You… you aren't?"

"Of course not. I just didn't know you wanted to go outside. I thought I would join you, but then you ran." A bright smile came over Jeryth's face. "I can't help but give chase when you run like that."

Relief was a rush of warmth through Zhen, and his breath shuddered out of him. His eyes stung, and he had to blink several times to keep the tears at bay as his cheeks flushed brightly. "Never gone out… into the snow alone. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Jeryth chuckled, and he felt Jeryth's fingers play with his wispy bangs. "You like the snow?"

It was so strange, the way Jeryth always asked about his likes and dislikes. He was used to giving noncommittal answers, saying anything that would please his master, but with Jeryth, he wasn't able to read what the answers should be, which meant answering truthfully or not answering at all. He swallowed thickly. "Yes."

"Why?" Jeryth's fingers continued to touch Zhen in light, gentle ways.

A question without a simple answer. How could he answer it without upsetting his master? What would be the best response? "It's cold. And pure. White. When the sun shines off it, it's so bright…"

Jeryth's smile never faltered. "It can be so bright, you can blind yourself looking at it."

Jeryth's presence, those soft touches, that beautiful smile, all soothed his fright, but in its own strange way, that soothing made him nervous. Having a master like Jeryth, who treated him so well, was more than he could have ever hoped for himself. It was pleasurable just being within ten paces of Jeryth. It was a sensation he never knew how to cope with. He shifted on his back in the snow, his eyes averting. "Like your eyes."

He saw Jeryth's head tilt in the corner of his vision. "My eyes? What do you mean?"

A flush worked its way to Zhen's cheeks. "Your eyes are so bright and beautiful, I fear I might blind myself looking into them." It was a pretty compliment, one he might have given to any master if given the chance, but with Jeryth, he meant every word.

Jeryth ducked his head and chuffed softly as he sat back on Zhen's thighs. It was now, when sprawled on his back in the snow, that Zhen was thoroughly grateful for Gauwyn's outfitting him in proper winter clothes. He couldn't help but stare up at at Jeryth, so quiet, but so noble. Maelog and Darron were noble in their ways, but Jeryth… Zhen couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something deep inside him told him he could trust Jeryth as few lust slaves could trust their masters.

"My eyes give me away as the feline I am," Jeryth murmured. He was absently stroking his hands up and down Zhen's chest. "If you look close enough—and most Wood Elves do—you can see the slightly oval shape of my pupils. It was a cause for much shame when I was a child."

Zhen licked his lips. It took a bit of effort to keep his magic in check when Jeryth touched him like that. He was thankful his voice came out as steady as it did when he said, "Felines are elegant, agile, sleek, and mysterious. I admire such qualities."

"Are you simply flattering me?" Jeryth asked, a soft chuckle in the words.

"N-No," Zhen said, his heart beginning to pound. Had he said something wrong? "We didn't see many Wood Elves, and weren't trained for them. There were small classes that vaguely told us what we might encounter should we be sold to a Wood Elf—"

"But King Terfel dislikes the slavery so much that he forbids Wood Elves from owning lust slaves or any other enslaved Elf."

Zhen wondered briefly about that last half. "Other enslaved Elves?"

Jeryth raised an eyebrow. "They don't educate you much outside of how to serve a master or mistress, do they?"

Zhen couldn't help but blush deeply. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"No! Don't be sorry." Jeryth smiled at him again. "I only mean, they shouldn't handicap you so you can't carry a conversation with those you serve. In some of the other Houses, prisoners who are deemed worthy of a life-long sentence for a crime are enslaved. The same powers that bind lust slaves," he said, running his fingers over one of Zhen's wrist cuffs, "bind those Elves, but much more severely. While lust slaves are… trained… from childhood on, these enslaved Elves aren't. They fight. In order to make them save, the Houses enchant collars and cuffs—wrists and ankles—that bind the Elves' magic. Completely."

Bind their magic? Horror welled in Zhen. "Such punishment!"

A look of disgust crossed Jeryth's face. "It's cruel. Inhumane. Just as cruel and inhumane as what they do to the lust slaves."

"We were chosen for this life, though. It's who we are, what our magic calls us to be." That was what they had taught him, at least. It's what all his masters and mistresses in the House of Water thought. He shifted a little beneath Jeryth, troubled by the thought of Elves being bound so tightly that their magic was taken away.

Jeryth sniffed the air above Zhen's face, as if tasting the puffs of fog that his breath made in the cold air. It was an incredibly feline movement that made Zhen want to squirm for a completely different reason. "What makes you smell of fear?"

Always questions without answers he could read! He scrambled for some excuse, some placating statement, but Jeryth's keen eyes seemed to pin him in place and demand he answer truthfully. "Would… would you ever b-bind my magic like that? If I displease you?"

He saw shock pass over Jeryth's face. "Absolutely not! Never, Zhen. Did I not just say how cruel and inhumane it is? I don't intend to punish you at all, much less in such a terrible way."

Zhen let out a soft sigh of relief. Jeryth spoke so emphatically, he couldn't help but believe every word. He could trust Jeryth. When his eyes met Jeryth's again, the thoughtful frown on Jeryth's face made his heart sink. He should have kept his fears to himself. He lifted a hand and smoothed his long fingers over Jeryth's face, brushing through a few dark strands of hair in the process. "I still think your eyes are beautiful. The feline within you must be beautiful, too."

Jeryth chuckled, leaning into each soft touch of Zhen's fingers. "A leopard. My fur is black, and my eyes are the color of amber."

"Amber." Oh, to see such a thing! Zhen let his fingers come close to Jeryth's eyes. "Wolves dominate here."

"Yes." Jeryth's hands smoothed down Zhen's chest. "Felines are rare, a random mutation. King Terfel's eldest daughter is a feline."

"You're not the only one, then. Not alone." An involuntary purr escaped Zhen as he tried to envision Jeryth's other form. He had seen the large wolves around Beithe since he'd arrived, but he hadn't seen any felines like Jeryth.

A smile slowly unfurled on Jeryth's face. "Would you like to see me change?"

"Yes," Zhen whispered. There was no use in trying to hide what was obvious.

"I can shift fully or into a partial form that is halfway between." Zhen's eyes widened, his heart pounding at that second option, and Jeryth laughed softly. "I think I know which intrigues you more."

"I'm sorry," Zhen breathed. "I've just never—"

"Don't apologize," Jeryth reprimanded gently. "Never apologize for curiosity."

Jeryth rose and stepped back. "It's not a pleasant sight to watch." He began to undress, setting his clothes on a low hanging branch. "And I'd rather not ruin my clothing if I can help it."

"Does it hurt?" Zhen asked as he sat up.

"Yes and no." At Zhen's look of confusion, Jeryth laughed. "I've grown used to the pain of shifting. Most Wood Elves do. But, eventually I'll need to complete the shift and remain as the panther for a full turn of the sun and moons. I'm not powerful enough to do immediate, short term shifts."

"You'll be a black leopard for a full day?" Zhen couldn't keep the excitement from his voice, and at Jeryth's nod, he grinned. "I'll take very good care of you. I promise."

Jeryth laughed again. "I'll still be able to communicate with you. I won't be a mindless animal." Jeryth bent down and pressed the sweetest of kisses to Zhen's lips and breathed against them, "But you can still take care of me if you wish. I do enjoy having a brush through my fur when fully shifted. It's been a very long time since I've been groomed in that form."

Zhen moaned softly, the kiss stirring his blood, making his heart race. "I'll brush you until your coat shines."

"I know you will," Jeryth said. "Now, don't touch me until I'm done and tell you to, all right?"

Zhen nodded solemnly. "I promise."

Jeryth stood back and finally removed his trousers and boots. Zhen couldn't help but drink in the sight of his master naked. Jeryth didn't use him as much as Zhen thought he should, though he knew he had no right to think about what his master should or shouldn't be doing. Still, Zhen hoped. The times Jeryth did have him were wonderful, so new and different. His own pleasure was important, and it still made Zhen's head spin to think he was allowed the fullness of pleasure each time he coupled with his master.

The shift began slowly, a slight ripple moving through Jeryth's skin in time with his breathing. He wondered for a moment if the shift wasn't nearly as bad as Jeryth had said, but then Jeryth grimaced, lurched forward, and the ripple became a violent jerking, as if something were beneath Jeryth's skin and trying to escape. Zhen gasped as he watched, and the sound of bones snapping and tendons bursting was horrific. Jeryth shouted, but the sound caught in his throat and garbled as even the delicate bones of face and neck broke and contorted.

Zhen's hands went to his mouth, and he struggled not to cry out in fear or rush to Jeryth's side to ease that pain. For an instant, he thought of extending his own magic. He could ease that pain with pleasure if he wanted to, but then he remembered Jeryth's order. He couldn't touch, and that probably meant his magic, too. Unwilling to risk it, he bit at his lower lip and waited for the painful shift to finish.

Fur replaced skin, and when Jeryth fell forward onto his hands, Zhen sat up and leaned forward. Jeryth's breathing was labored, but he looked all right. He looked… well, Zhen had difficulty defining what he saw. Jeryth's body had elongated, become a little broader. His face was a strange mixture of feral and Elvish, his muscles toned, visible under skin covered with a sleek coat of black fur. As his eyes moved down Jeryth's form, he smiled at the sight of a long, black tail before his cheeks tinted pink at what dangled between Jeryth's legs. He looked up from the sight and was instantly caught in an amber gaze that made him shiver with unexpected warmth. He swallowed thickly, and the fear disappeared, replaced with an intense desire to touch, to feel the similarities and revel in the differences. It was still Jeryth, but it was unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

Jeryth was panting, but there was intelligent in the cat-like eyes. You can touch now.

The voice that rang in Zhen's head was not just Jeryth's voice—that soothing, gentle voice that calmed him at his most frightened—but it was also deeper, a little harsher. There was a bestial edge to it that just made Zhen's curiosity all the more potent.

He reached out, fingers moving across Jeryth's shoulders, down his arm, and along his chest. The fur was fine, not too thick, and the muscles beneath the furry flesh was lean, firm. Zhen swallowed as Jeryth moaned, the sound guttural in the half-beast throat. It was enough to harden him completely in the restrictive clothing Gauwyn had wrapped him in. Now he wasn't so pleased about the warm clothing. He wanted to be naked, press himself to the large, hot bulk of Jeryth's half-cat form. He didn't even realize he was making a soft whining noise until Jeryth's cold nose nuzzled him.

You smell good. No fear. Only… want. Jeryth's mindvoice was curious, awed. Arousal. I can smell it. Thick and sweet.

"I can't help it," Zhen moaned softly. "You're beautiful, powerful, and…" His fingers trailed lower, tracing ever so lightly along the thickness of Jeryth's flaccid sex. "…large," he finished. "I didn't anticipate that change."

A low growl rumbled from Jeryth, but it wasn't a growl that froze him with fear. Instead, that growl made arousal twist and roil in Zhen's gut, and he couldn't help but whine softly. You aren't using your magic on me, are you?

Zhen shook his head. "No. Would you like me to? Is it… possible to pleasure you in this form?" He didn't want to make Jeryth uncomfortable, even if he didn't feel the need to apologize for his own arousal.

Surprise was obvious on the feral face. You want to… while I am like this?

Uncertainty warred with desire in Zhen, and he met Jeryth's shocked gaze. "Yes, if… if you can, that is. I would give you pleasure."

No, I didn't ask if you would fuck me like this. I asked if you wanted me like this.

Zhen couldn't deny his bodies reaction, and if Jeryth could smell him, scent his arousal, there was truly only one answer to give. "Yes. Am I not supposed to want you like this?"

It isn't often that we couple in this form, even with one another. I have never heard of an Elf outside the House of Wood wanting one of us. Jeryth's amber eyes sparked, though, and the stirrings of arousal tingled at Zhen's magical senses. His fingers were still feather-light on Jeryth's skin, and he felt it begin to tighten, the flesh growing hard against his touch. A glance down, and he realized Jeryth was even longer and thicker when aroused in this form, and it sent a shudder through him.

You like the size. Jeryth tilted his head, expression unreadable. Am I unsatisfactory as an Elf?

Zhen's eyes widened, and he shook his head so hard that it nearly made him dizzy. "Of course not! You fit my mouth, body, and hands so well, I've wondered if I was made for you," he blurted out, immediately averting his gaze in apology for the outburst.

Jeryth's large, clawed hand cupped his cheek in an amazingly gentle gesture, forced Zhen's eyes to meet his again. Pleasure radiated in that half-feral, half-Elven mindvoice. Perhaps we were made for one another, which is why the gods took you on a strange journey until our paths crossed.

"You were destined to be my master?" Zhen whispered, leaning into Jeryth's warm, large hand.

Destined to be your lover, Jeryth corrected.

Zhen's heart raced, and his chest felt tight for a moment. He didn't understand the emotions that bubbled up inside him when Jeryth spoke so openly about love. Being lovers was something he wasn't sure he would ever understand, but the way Jeryth called him that made him eager to try. "How would you like me?"

I have no oil. If you would like to use your mouth… Jeryth's cock was almost completely hard under Zhen's fingers. Zhen couldn't believe the thickness, the heat, and the slick, copious fluid that filled the slit and dripped from the plump head peeking out from beneath the foreskin.

"You're slick," Zhen pointed out, circling the slit, the fluid so slippery. "And I always oil myself throughout the day." Didn't Jeryth remember? Zhen was always ready to be used by his master.

Jeryth groaned, the sound wonderfully low and animal-like, his hips pushing forward. I don't want to hurt you.

"You won't," Zhen promised, leaning forward to nuzzle Jeryth's throat. "Please, don't be afraid." Jeryth's fur and body were warm in the sunlight despite the chill of the air, and he breathed in the musky scent of Jeryth's skin, recognizing the hints of his Elvish form, simply enhanced by the feline musk of fur. He rubbed his face along the dark fur from Jeryth's neck down to his chest, and he smiled. "So soft," he breathed before finding a nipple in the dark fur and curling his tongue around it, expertly teasing it to hardness with his mouth as his hand continued to lightly stroke Jeryth.

A rumbling purr soon filled the cold air around them, and Jeryth's hands began to knead at Zhen's shoulders. The sharp claws pricked at him through the thick padding of his clothing, and it only made Zhen more determined to be naked and pressed to his master's feral body. He teased one nipple, and then the other, his own cock aching in the restrictive trousers. He whined, and that brought a different, sharper sound from Jeryth.

I can't take you in the snow. Jeryth leaned down and licked up Zhen's throat, the tongue broad and rasping. You'll freeze.

"No, I won't," Zhen panted, not even realizing how need was making him directly contradict his master. "Please, Jeryth. We can spread out your cloak. I've been naked in the snow before. Your fur and touch will make the chill a pleasure."

You're certain you wouldn't rather just taste me? Jeryth's mindvoice was hot with arousal. The energy swirled through Zhen's senses, and his mouth watered at the thought, but when he didn't answer, Jeryth chuckled, or at least chuffed his amusement. Something tells me you would rather do both.

"Anything you wish," Zhen moaned softly, desperate for the smallest bit of direction. Did Jeryth mind if he sucked him first? Did Jeryth wish him naked first?

Jeryth ducked his head, brought their faces close together. What do you want?

Always asking him what he wanted! Zhen didn't know how to choose those things. He didn't know what answer would please Jeryth most, and the strangeness only made him whimper. Direction. Couldn't Jeryth see how much he needed direction? He was a slave, not a free Elf, and he didn't know what he was supposed to choose!

After a moment, Jeryth nuzzled him, licked his throat again, and one of those big, clawed hands cupped the back of his head. Jeryth guided him down onto his hands and knees in the snow, drew him toward his cock. Suck me, Zhen.

Relief and lust flooded Zhen as he gave in, and he moaned as he sucked the slick tip of Jeryth's cock between his lips. Heat and musk filled his senses as he sucked, and he closed his eyes, slowly sinking down on the thick, long cock as his mind extended simple words to Jeryth's. Thank you.

Jeryth groaned, the sound guttural and feral, but the way Jeryth held the back of his head was so tender. He might be in a more animalistic form, but it was still Jeryth who was possessing his mouth and throat, still his quiet, beautiful Wood Elf master. That was what made him so eager, not just the sight of a large cock, but that it was Jeryth who was with him, claws carding through his hair, purr vibrating the air between them.

In this form, Jeryth's cock was thick, wide, and long. It was a stretch for Zhen to swallow most of the flesh. It pushed his limits, but he loved it. Jeryth's mewls and whining cries only made his own lusts run even hotter, and he wove a spell around them, ensured there would be plenty of endurance for them both. He wove a second spell to enhance the sensations they felt, and he was rewarded with another, throatier cry from Jeryth. Zhen reveled in the relief he felt as the magic in him bled out into the spells, the well inside draining to a more tolerable level.

With the spells in place, he didn't worry about making Jeryth come too quickly, didn't have to worry about pleasing him. Jeryth had resisted his magic at first, but now that he had been given permission to work his spells around Jeryth when he needed to, he took full advantage and worked his mouth and throat around as much of Jeryth as he could.

He could feel Jeryth's pleasure rising, tickling at his magical senses, but he didn't stop, sucking and bobbing his head, using his hands on every bit of Jeryth that he couldn't swallow. It was decadent, arousing, and so very freeing. Any other master would have punished him for being outside without permission, and especially for running, but Jeryth didn't punish him. Instead, Jeryth showed him part of his inner self, exposing himself, making himself vulnerable, all to a slave. It was the most humbling thing Jeryth could ever do, and Zhen inwardly swore to make sure Jeryth never regretted being so open with him.

When Jeryth bucked up into his mouth, he swallowed, nearly gagging despite his formidable training. There were more fluids than he had expected, and they flooded his mouth, spilling down his chin and jaw. He kept sucking with all his strength, and the feral shouts and growls it forced from Jeryth above him made his own cock positively ache in his thick trousers.

Jeryth had to pry him off, in fact, and even then, Zhen gasped, reached for him.

Zhen! Jeryth held him back, the strength of his arms twice that as an Elf's. I promise, you can suck me again. Whenever you want. I'll shift for you. Gods! The mindvoice was thick with arousal, with animal need, and an image filtered over into Zhen's mind, one of him on his hands and knees in the snow, that massive, glistening cock pushing into him over and over.

Zhen whined, shuddered, the lust so high in him, he thought he'd go mad. Jeryth's sandpapery tongue lapped at his face, his lips, cleaned him of the smeared fluids. It was such a sweet gesture that it made Zhen's eyes sting. He didn't understand what he felt other than the aching, burning need to make that vision of Jeryth's a reality.

He started pulling mindlessly at his clothes, pulling away the fabric that he could. Jeryth's clawed hands joined his, and the fabric fell away from his chest in ribbons as he moaned. There was just a hint of danger, a thrill sent down his spine at feeling those claws so easily disrobe him, and he shivered as the chilly air licked across his overheated skin. His nipples tightened, and he panted raggedly, his eyes locked with Jeryth's. The instant he managed to pull the belt free from around his waist, Jeryth's claws were on him again. He cried out when Jeryth's hand cupped him through his trousers, and before he could draw another breath, the fabric was ripped apart, the pressure relieved. He gasped at the cold against his cock as Jeryth stripped him down to his boots. There was nothing but Jeryth in that moment, nothing but his master and that vision in his mind. He turned and got into position on the snow, the ice biting into his knees, shins, and hands.

No, Zhen. Jeryth's mindvoice was joined by a growl that sent a heat through him so intense that he thought all the snow would melt around them. The cloak, or I won't take you.

Zhen whined, but immediately stood and crossed to the tree branches that held Jeryth's clothing. He snatched the cloak and spread it out on the snow. Before he could get on his knees again, Jeryth pulled him close and nuzzled his throat, giving it a nip that felt so intimate and loving that it pulled a soft sound from his chest. He savored that intimacy—intimacy, for a lust slave!—and then sat back, kissing the feline muzzle that had replaced Jeryth's lips and nose. Then, he deliberately turned, lowered himself to his hands and knees on the cloak, and presented his ass.

A desperate, hungry sound issued from behind him, and then Jeryth's rough tongue was on him, in him. He cried out, reaching back to spread his buttocks wide, let Jeryth as close as possible. It didn't worry him that the deep licking was removing oil. The fluids of Jeryth's cock were slick enough. He'd be smarter next time, though, and carry an extra vial everywhere he went. If this was a possibility now, he didn't want to ever miss a chance to couple with his master like this.

Jeryth's tongue pushed deeper, and then deeper still. It occurred to Zhen that no Elf's tongue should be quite that long, but then again, Jeryth wasn't quite an Elf at the moment. He shuddered, trembled, his cock positively aching with need the longer Jeryth tongue-fucked him. "M-Master," he managed, arching, moving into each thrust of Jeryth's cat-like tongue.

So wanton. So beautifully eager… but how much is really because of me?

The thought from Jeryth made his heart ache terribly for an instant, and he looked behind him, reaching with one hand to pet through Jeryth's fur. "It's all because of you. Every ounce of desire. I swear!" Jeryth's tongue left him, and he whined, spreading himself and wriggling his hips a little.

I believe you, Zhen. You don't swear lightly.

It was true. He didn't like to swear to things he didn't believe. Even his training hadn't robbed him of that. He might lie, might evade, but when he swore, he meant it. He heard the snow crunch behind him, and the cloak shifted with Jeryth's weight.

Jeryth's cock nudged him, and he shivered, the cold all around him pushed away by the pure heat of Jeryth's flesh. He whimpered, and Jeryth made that low, purring growl behind him as he pushed forward. The pain of being stretched so wide with only Jeryth's fluids to ease the way was bright and vibrant, and gods above, he loved it, crying out to the sky and trees as he was filled so completely.

There was no moment of adjustment. Jeryth drew back and thrust forward again. With his spells still fueling them, and his own lusts simply raging, there was no hope of holding back. Zhen screamed, squirmed, and met Jeryth thrust for almost brutal thrust. The clawed hands gripped his narrow hips perfectly, just a little bruising force, and Zhen knew then and there he could not have wished for a better master than his Jeryth.

His training made this possible. If they hadn't used large phalli on him through those formative years, taking Jeryth this hard and fast into his body would have been agony. As it was, it only drove Zhen mad. He was so close to coming, so close and without his master's command, that it frightened him. Holding back was painful. All he wanted to do was scream and let loose, and that desire was so far removed from his training that it disturbed him a little.

Come for me, Jeryth's mindvoice growled, that muzzle with its sharp teeth nosing his shoulders. Come for me, but stay hard. I'm not done. Not close enough.

Zhen screamed as he followed that command, and he came hard, his fluids spattering to Jeryth's cloak beneath them. He had no time to enjoy the release, no time to savor the burning pleasure in his veins. Instead, he had to pull himself from the pleasure and weave another spell. It took the last of his magic to keep himself achingly hard, but the spell bound around his cock as tightly as any cock ring would have. He practically sobbed as Jeryth continued to take him hard and deep. "M-Master… please… ah!"

Jeryth bit and licked at his throat, shoulders, back, all while those powerful hips pushed that thick cock in and out of him, making him ache. Please what, Zhen? What is it you want?

Zhen bucked, his knuckles turning white with how hard he gripped the cloak beneath him. He whimpered and snapped his neck to the side. It sent his hair over one shoulder, and he looked back at Jeryth. "I… I want…"

Jeryth seemed to understand his difficulty, because the next words that growled comfortingly through his mind were, Tell me.

The order made it so much easier, took some of the burden of responsibility from his shoulders. "I want… you to bite my neck. I want you to be free with me."

Jeryth's hips snapped forward so hard, Zhen couldn't help but scream a third time. But then those sharp teeth were pressed to his throat, his heart hammering in time with the pounding of Jeryth into his body. He would be sore for days, and he relished carrying that physical reminder of his master's desire for him. In a moment's time, Jeryth's teeth sank into the vulnerable flesh of his throat, and pain streaked through Zhen's senses, enhancing the pleasure, his spells making his mind absolutely spin. He bucked, writhed, moved on Jeryth's cock with abandon, a creature of lust and pleasure and need.

It felt like an eternity, thrust after thrust, pleasure and pain mingled into a single glorious sensation that pulled cries from Zhen and the deepest growls from Jeryth that he'd ever heard. He never wanted it to end, never wanted to give up that pleasure and pain, the freedom Zhen just knew Jeryth could feel as he was marked Zhen with teeth and cock, taken without a care. Jeryth always kept such a close hold on his control, stayed reserved because of Zhen's life as a lust slave, but now, Jeryth was free, and Zhen simply reveled in every moment as each bled into the next.

It was with a tightening of teeth and hands that Jeryth finally came, slamming forward into him over and over, and the liquid heat that spread through him made his body feel hotter than the sun in the cold winter afternoon.

After a moment of Jeryth huffing wetly against his marred throat, Jeryth pulled out, leaving him gaping and empty. He cried out, panicked. Had he not satisfied Jeryth after all? Had he overstepped his place? Was he to be punished now for wanting? For stating what he wanted? Zhen was trying to gather his wits about him enough to beg for forgiveness when Jeryth turned him over, spread him out on the cloak. Jeryth pushed his legs wide and ducked down, those amber, slitted eyes canted up at Zhen as that long, rough tongue snaked out of the cat-like muzzle and licked him from balls to the wet tip of his cock.

His eyes widened with shock, a startled cry leaving him as he stared down at Jeryth. He couldn't find any words, couldn't force his tongue to work in his mouth. All he could do was watch as Jeryth licked him over and over, making him flush and arch his hips in desperation until Jeryth took him in hand and stroked him, lapping at just the head of his cock. The rasp of Jeryth's feline tongue, the curl of it against his slit, was one of the most erotic things he had ever experienced in all his years, and he whined as he was brought to the edge by hand and tongue, aching for release but unable to let himself go.

Zhen hovered there, nearly sobbing as he squirmed, arched, and tugged at Jeryth's hair. It hurt. It hurt and didn't hurt and his heart pounded while his pulse burned through him. He thought he was going insane, losing his mind to pleasure and breathless agony. The cold air, the icy snow, the wetness of the cloak, none of it registered to Zhen. Just Jeryth's heat, that clawed hand pumping him, and that rough, demanding tongue lapping at the oversensitive head of his cock. His ass, balls, and cock would bring him such sweet anguish come the next day, reminding him of this moment in the snow as he trembled and Jeryth withheld that one word.

That. One. Word.

It never came, and Zhen was openly crying, his limbs trembling as he sobbed up at the gray sky. This must be the punishment for some infraction. He'd done something wrong. Something terribly, unforgivably—

Zhen's back arched, his toes curled, and a ragged, soul-worn scream left his lips as his body was wracked with the painful pleasure of orgasm after prolonged denial. He sagged back against the cloak, weeping, terror taking hold as he realized the magnitude of his sin. When Jeryth's body hovered over him, he winced, waiting for that moment when he would be struck for coming without permission. "I-I'm s-s-sorry, Master!" he managed, hoping that would lessen whatever punishment was coming.

Zhen… what are you sorry for? Jeryth's mindvoice wasn't angry in his, was only colored by confusion and worry. That warm tongue rasped over his cheeks, and the clawed hands soothed down his flushed, sweaty skin. Why are you afraid?

"I-I came. I couldn't hold on and I came and I'm sorry I came without your permission. I didn't mean to!" The words just rushed out of him, leaving him gasping for breath, and he squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the disappointment in Jeryth's eyes.

Zhen… Zhen, listen to me. He whimpered at the order, but tried to obey, tried to still the trembling of his body in the aftermath. I wanted you to come without my permission.

That caught his attention. His face contorted with confusion, and he sniffled as he peeked up from beneath his lashes. "You… You what?"

You heard me. Jeryth's voice was soft as the caresses he was given by those clawed hands, and was that a chuckle, an actual chuckle he felt Jeryth huffing out against his skin? It didn't make sense!

"I don't un-understand," he choked out.

You did exactly as I wanted you to do. You let go for me. You wanted me to be free with you. I just wanted the same. Jeryth licked lightly at his lips, and he whimpered. You've pleased me. Don't be afraid. You've made me very, very happy.

"I have?" Zhen dared to hope.

Jeryth nosed him, began to groom him with his tongue. You have. You were so amazing, tasted so good in that moment. I'm so glad you came out into the snow today, and that I followed.

Zhen felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. He had expected the worst. It's what his training had always demanded. If he expected the worst, he had fewer chances of being hurt. "I… I am… glad, too." It took so much for the words to pass his lips, but the moment they did, Jeryth's purr erupted from him in a warm rumble that chased away the chill of the day and his own fears. Well, almost. A shiver crept over him.

Are you cold?

"My clothes," Zhen breathed, evading the question with a solemn look. "Gauwyn gave them to me. Do you think he will be angry that I've ruined them?"

Another growling laugh left Jeryth's feral throat. Gauwyn will blush brightly and scamper away the moment you tell him how you lost the clothing. Don't worry. You can wear my clothes back to our room, and then you can take a hot bath.

"What… about you?" Zhen had to ask.

I will shift completely. A full turn of sun and moon as a large leopard at your side, and then I'll be able to shift back to my Elven form. I hope you don't mind. Jeryth reached for his own clothing, using the ripped shreds of the fine clothes Gauwyn had given Zhen to clean spent seed from Zhen's body.

The gestures were so thoughtful, so tender. They made his chest ache as he composed himself and pulled Jeryth's shirt over his head. Jeryth had a shorter torso than he did, which meant a bit of his midriff showed beneath the soft, comfortable fabric. "I don't mind," he finally said with a small smile. "I said I would care for you, brush your coat until it shines. I'm still happy to do so."

You are a sweet Elf. Has anyone ever told you that?

Zhen blushed. "Not the way you do."

Jeryth collected the ruined clothing and his cloak, and then nuzzled Zhen again. I can't wait until I can kiss you again.

Kissing was also a treat Jeryth gave him often, and Zhen smiled, ducked his head. "Tomorrow, I will lavish my master with kisses until he is satisfied."

As they walked back toward the compound, Jeryth huffed softly. Please, Zhen, I am no master. You are not property of mine. Call me Jeryth, remember? He nipped playfully at Zhen's shoulder. I am just a librarian.

Zhen nipped back with a smile, taking a chance with the gesture. "You're more than a librarian," he murmured into Jeryth's dark fur. "You're the most kind, gentle Elf I know… Jeryth."

Advent: Day Eight (NSFW)

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 sex 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.

Advent: Day Seven (NSFW)

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 her 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.

Advent: Day Six (NSFW)

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.

Advent: Day Five (NSFW)

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? Fuchsia? 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.

Advent: Day Four (NSFW)

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."

Advent: Day Three (NSFW)

Title: Silent Night

Characters: Malachi, Phinn

Origin: Breaking Point, Club Confession (WIP)

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.