Feast of the Flesh
Page 2
No…precisely otherworldly. The resemblance to those faint creatures of the ethereal plane was disturbing, especially since Caradoc knew he himself would appear so again, when this night was over.
But it would be different this time. He would have had his revenge. It was worth years as a cipher to have that satisfaction.
Sliding his fingertip wetly in and out of Patrick’s ass, Caradoc reached down with his other hand to stroke his own cock. It was almost time to set the trap. He watched Patrick’s eyes open, widening as they saw Caradoc manipulating himself. Shivers of pleasure ran through him. He shoved his finger in farther, a little rougher. Patrick’s eyes fluttered closed once more.
His cock surged in his hand, wanting to be where his finger was. “Soon,” he muttered to himself. “Soon.”
Still, there was no reason why he shouldn’t move on to the next stage.
Abruptly he pulled away, reaching at the same time for Patrick’s shoulders and pulling him forward for another kiss. Patrick’s tongue was loose with desire now, tangling desperately with his own. Caradoc reached down to grab Patrick’s cock and give it a squeeze. “My turn,” he whispered.
Patrick moaned. “Your turn?”
Caradoc nodded and twined his fingers in the hair at Patrick’s nape. “My turn. Suck my cock, Patrick.” He forced the other man’s head down mercilessly, making Patrick shift position if he didn’t want to hurt himself.
Caradoc leaned back and smiled, Patrick’s hair still twisted in his fist. “Suck it hard.”
Chapter Two
Patrick relaxed the back of his throat, yielding to Caradoc’s merciless entry. It was either submit or choke on the thick, turgid length the other man forced between his lips.
And it was force. There was nothing gentle or questioning about Caradoc’s touch. He wasn’t asking permission, he was claiming his pleasure, even setting the exact rhythm he preferred by holding Patrick’s head still with the hand fisted in Patrick’s hair while he thrust his hips forward, hard and deep. A sharp, metallic taste rose in Patrick’s throat and tears ran from behind his closed eyes, but he didn’t try to pull away. He only yielded, pulling in a breath when he was able, knowing he deserved no better.
He deserved every punishing stroke of Caradoc’s cock, deserved to be used for the other man’s pleasure. He was a low, vile thing, a man not fit to demand satisfaction from anyone, let alone Caradoc, a being of honor and faith.
Where is your head, Patrick! What are you thinking?
But the voice of reason was a weak thing when compared to the soul-deep shame that had washed over him the second Caradoc had forced him to his knees before him. Patrick had no idea where the horrible feeling had come from, but he was certain it had nothing to do with the fact that they were both male. Caradoc’s touch had reminded him how beautiful lovemaking could be between two men, banishing that foolish shame as easily as dandelion seeds blown away in the wind.
Reminded him. There was that thought again, as if he had known Caradoc before, and not only known him, but…wronged him somehow.
How was that possible? There was no way he could have forgotten committing a sin so grievous that even now, with Caradoc fucking his throat so viciously that Patrick knew he would be hoarse in the morning, he still felt he deserved the pain. That he deserved that and so much more for his cowardly wickedness.
He’s bewitched you, fool. You’re only twenty-five years old. You were barely a teenager when the war ended and so many were destroyed. You have wronged no one. Not in such a way as to deserve this man’s cruel treatment.
Patrick groaned around Caradoc’s cock, but it wasn’t a sound of protest. No matter that Caradoc’s use of him was bordering on cruelty, he was still hard enough to shatter glass. Worse, Patrick suspected it was the pain and abuse itself that was bringing him to the edge, seconds away from shooting his seed across Caradoc’s muscled legs.
“Harder, Patrick,” Caradoc grunted, increasing his rhythm. “Suck me harder.”
Patrick hurried to obey, suckling the other man’s cock until his jaw hurt, the protests of his logical mind fading as shame and desire flamed even higher. He braced himself against Caradoc’s lightly furred thighs, pushing forward, taking even more of the other man’s cock into his throat.
“Give me your hand.”
Patrick obeyed, raising his hand. Letting Caradoc take it into his mouth and sucking it until it was slick with saliva, then guiding it down between his legs, farther down.
“Rub my ass, Patrick. Fuck me with it.”
The words were so delicious Patrick had to fight not to come. Carefully he obeyed, moving as slowly as he dared, desperate to prove himself worthy. With his wet finger he probed until he found the tight muscled ring between Caradoc’s hard cheeks, then carefully pushed into it. Heat engulfed him, heat and smooth, tight skin. Experimentally he moved his finger, wiggling it, sliding it out then thrusting it back in. His own ass twitched and throbbed with desire. If he was lucky, Caradoc might do this to him in return. If he was very lucky it might be Caradoc’s cock forcing itself past his unyielding flesh.
“Yes!” Caradoc’s cock seemed to swell even thicker inside him and Patrick had to fight the urge to bring his hand to his own cock, to jerk himself to release at the same moment as his love.
His love? Where had…
But he knew Caradoc wouldn’t want that. Patrick would be allowed release only when he had served his penance, when he had begun to make retribution for his betrayal.
“Shall I come in your throat? Will you swallow it down?”
Patrick moaned, knowing the vibrations would help bring Caradoc to release, and sped his hand movements even more. No matter what wild thoughts raced through his mind, he knew he craved the other man’s orgasm as fiercely as he had ever craved his own.
“No,” Caradoc said, jerking Patrick backward with the hand he still fisted in his hair and twisting away so Patrick was forced to relinquish his ass as well. “Not yet. Not just yet.”
Caradoc smiled, as if pleased by the disappointment he read in Patrick’s face, as if he somehow knew how deeply Patrick had longed to give him pleasure and relished depriving him of that gift. Even if it meant depriving himself of what looked like a much-needed release.
The other man’s cock was swollen to the point that it looked painful, the bulbous head purple with thick veins standing out along his length. Patrick opened his mouth and leaned slightly forward, a silent plea for the chance to finish what they had started.
“I said, not yet!” Caradoc flung him to the ground with obvious disgust, and lifted both hands into the air.
“Please, Caradoc, I don’t understand,” Patrick said, scrambling to his hands and knees but making no attempt to stand. It was right for him to kneel before Caradoc, right for him to lie on his belly and lick the other man’s feet if it was what he wished. “Please, I know I’ve done something to offend you. I don’t remember what happened, but please, let me—”
“You will remember, Patrick.” Caradoc moved his hands through the cool air, leaving trails of light as he traced symbols Patrick somehow knew were older than the ancient dances he and his band brothers had danced this night. “I will make certain you remember everything before we part ways this Samhain eve.”
“Please, I—”
“But for now you will be silent, and still, and allow your lover to do as he will.”
Patrick tried again to speak but not a sound would come from his mouth. He could take in air, and his lips could move, but not so much as a sharp intake of breath broke the silence as Caradoc stalked slowly closer. There was strange fire in the other man’s dark eyes, a fire that made the shred of the sane, sensible Patrick that still remained want to run, but Patrick found he couldn’t move. He was trapped in his kneeling, subservient position, vulnerable to whatever Caradoc had planned.
The idea was terrifying…and thrilling.
“Down to the ground once more, I would have you on the forest floor.”
“Now…what shall I do with you first?” Caradoc smiled as he crouched down between Patrick’s legs, but there was no mirth in his eyes. He resembled nothing so much as a predator, a creature of relentless hunger who would have his fill of blood and flesh and be damned the fate of his prey.
The weak were made to feed the strong. So it had been for thousands of years. It was no different now, no matter how many laws the bands of remaining humans made. They struggled to mimic the peaceful ways of the ancient people, of those who had been tied to the earth and lived in harmony with her rhythms. They worshipped only the earth mother, shunning the gods whose veneration had seemed to fuel the fire that burned up the world, but they refused to acknowledge the darker aspect of that mother.
Death was a part of her rhythm, and perhaps it had come for Patrick tonight, come to collect in the form of a gorgeous man who had danced toward him in the firelight.
“There is fear in your eyes, brother,” Caradoc said as he lengthened himself above Patrick, using his thickly muscled arms to hold his body only inches away. “But your body still betrays your desire.”
Caradoc lowered his hips, pressing his hard length into bruising contact with Patrick’s before he started to thrust, rubbing the silken skin of their cocks together. If Patrick could have groaned, he knew he would have, he was so consumed by the sweet, wicked pressure. It was almost painful, but wasn’t. No, it was perfect, the rough touch of the lover of his dreams.
How many times had he awoken in the night, the ache for this exact brand of loving making his heart ache so deeply he could not return to his rest? Countless times, and now he was truly going to live those fevered dreams. His cock leaked with excitement, sweetening the friction of their bodies.
“You have never been taken in this body, have you? I will be your first.”
Before Patrick could fully understand the meaning of his words, Caradoc was lifting Patrick’s aching balls and sliding his cock beneath. The iron length felt as if it would burn his skin as Caradoc forced through the brief resistance created by Patrick’s cheeks and tunneled deep into his untried ass.
If he could have cried out, if he could have squeezed his eyes shut against the invasion, Patrick was sure it would have dulled the pain. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak as Caradoc sheathed his cock so deeply inside him that he could feel the other man’s swollen sac pulsing against the flesh below his savaged entry.
He’d wanted this since the moment he and Caradoc had touched, but he’d never imagined he would be taken with so little preparation. His virgin ass ached and stung, making him want to scramble backward howling, to do anything to escape his own skin.
“Relax, Patrick, stop fighting me.” Caradoc gazed deep into him, with that look that seemed to reach in and caress his soul. Miraculously, Patrick found himself obeying.
Caradoc claimed his lips with a kiss as soft and tender as his thrust inside him had been vicious. The other man’s tongue swept into his mouth, and with each caress Patrick’s muscles softened. The pain slowly gave way to a feeling of fullness and then finally, transformed into a different kind of aching.
Patrick’s breath came faster and faster as the kiss grew harder, wilder. With no words available to him, Patrick did his best to communicate his desire with his lips, teeth and tongue. Even the memory of the pain had vanished. All he could think of now was how desperately he wanted to be fucked, to have Caradoc pound into him while he fisted Patrick’s cock in his large, strong hand.
How many times had it been like that between them? How many times had they made love on the shores of—
No! He wouldn’t remember…whatever it was that other voice in his head wanted him to remember. To do so would be to have his heart shatter in a million pieces, Patrick knew that instinctively. He would take his punishment this night, but he would not remember. He refused to remember.
“Is this what you want?” Caradoc mumbled against his lips, beginning to thrust in and out of his body.
Patrick suddenly found himself able to move his hips, able to buck into Caradoc’s movements as the other man slowly, deliciously fucked his ass. Yes! This was what he needed, what he craved. This was the pleasure that would banish the darkness threatening at the edges of his mind.
“And this? You want this?” Caradoc took his cock in hand, fisting it, jerking and tugging as his thrusts grew faster.
Patrick’s balls ached and throbbed, so full and ready that he knew he wouldn’t last long. The feel of Caradoc’s hand, the delicious pressure of Caradoc buried deep, the ridge of his cock gliding over that sweet spot deep inside him again and again—it was too much blissful stimulation for him to hold his release at bay for long.
“You’re close, aren’t you? So close?” Caradoc fucked him harder, faster and Patrick responded in kind, lifting his hips, shamelessly taking everything his lover would give him. Caradoc was right, he was close, so desperately close that lights danced in the air around Caradoc and liquid fire surged through his veins.
“But not close enough.” He pulled out, even as Patrick felt his body begin the long tumble into the abyss. The sudden loss of Caradoc’s cock, of Caradoc’s hand, short-circuited the release, leaving Patrick’s body screaming with frustration.
It was by far the most torturous feeling he had ever known, to be so close and then have all that primal energy stuffed back inside his body. His skin felt too small, his insides burned and his very bones felt ready to fracture into a million pieces.
Patrick couldn’t imagine anything more depraved, until Caradoc did it again. And again. Each time taking Patrick to the brink before denying him relief. By the time Caradoc shoved into his ass for the fourth time, angry tears were leaking from Patrick’s eyes.
He no longer wanted to bear this torment, to serve penance for sins he couldn’t recall. Now he wanted vengeance of his own, wanted to make Caradoc pay for the savaging of his body and soul.
“I see it in your eyes. Now you experience the slightest glimmer of what it feels like to be betrayed, Padraig,” Caradoc whispered, his breath hot against Patrick’s neck.
But Patrick scarcely heard him. All he could hear was that name. His heated blood pounded in his ears, along with the echoes of the raw, agonizing screams of the man he had been so long ago.
How he had wept and howled with rage and regret that day on the rocky shore of the river Caradoc, when he had realized the magnitude of what he had done.
Padraig had only wanted to ensure the safety of his family. The Roman Christians tortured and killed those who refused to honor their one god in three forms. Padraig’s own cousin, two villages to the south, had been locked away in a cave without bread or water for three days in an attempt to turn him to Jesus. When he had still denied the new god, the Roman lord who had taken over control of the farms had ordered him to be cleansed by fire. The villagers said the screams could be heard for miles as Marbod was burned alive.
Padraig had a mother and father still living, and three little sisters yet to be wed. The protection his family gained from Padraig’s service to the river god was no longer enough. In the face of such danger, such madness born of man, Padraig knew that he would be forced to deny his beliefs when the Romans came.
And deny them he had, speaking the words of faith to their new god with his lips. But in his heart, he had remained true to the old gods, and to one intoxicating man-god in particular. To Caradoc, his Caradoc, his love, his best friend, the only being in the world he cared for with the same fierce love he had for his family.
But what lay in his heart hadn’t been enough. When the Romans were gone and Padraig had returned to the river to seek his love, Caradoc had vanis
hed. His spirit was simply…gone, as if he had never existed in the first place.
Patrick felt the tears flow faster from his eyes as the memories flooded through his mind at the same moment Caradoc’s cock flooded deep inside his body. Greedily he bucked upward, wanting to draw in every last drop of his love’s essence, aching to trap some piece of him inside his body, to make certain they would never again be parted.
“You remember,” Caradoc gasped as he pulled away from him, as if he couldn’t bear to touch Patrick for another second now that they saw each other clearly.
“I do, Great Mother, I do,” Patrick said, tears streaming down his face. He did nothing to hide them, didn’t even think to try to wipe them away though he found he was now free to move as well as speak.
He sat up slowly, facing Caradoc with new eyes. He did remember. He remembered every touch, every kiss, every vow. He remembered his betrayal and the heartrending loss of realizing the words meant only to deceive the Romans had stolen from him the only lover who had ever touched his heart, or owned his soul.
Patrick also remembered the myths of long ago, the tales of where the shunned gods went when their servants no longer kept them alive with their worship. His modern self wondered if perhaps Caradoc wasn’t truly a god, but a supernatural being that he, in his primitive incarnation, had assumed to be a deity.
Either way, god or fantastic creature, he knew it didn’t matter what Caradoc was, only that Patrick had betrayed him. And that Caradoc had come to collect the vengeance due one of his kind. Now it only remained to be seen if the god made flesh would let him live to see the sun rise another day.
“Do you see your death written in these eyes?” Caradoc asked, almost as if he too was curious to know the answer, as if he hadn’t yet decided Patrick’s fate.
It was enough to give him hope. If he could make Caradoc remember how it had been between them, if he could show his lover that he was still the strong, faithful man he had grown to love, there was a chance. A chance not only for survival, but for him and Caradoc to reclaim the destiny stolen from them all those thousands of years in the past.