The Rayne Lord braced his hands on his knees and leaned in, drawing the tip of his tongue up the underside of Miach’s erection, bathing him in such heat that he felt his own fyre flicker over his skin. Miach gave an involuntary grunt of pleasure, and clenched his fists. He’d admitted his desire, he was acting on it, but somehow he couldn’t take that final step and touch Dathan in return.
Dathan’s smile melted away as he leaned closer, pressing his face against the tender crease of Miach’s thigh, nuzzling until he opened his legs wider, granting Dathan further access. The first swipe of Dathan’s velvety hot tongue on his balls blew the last of Miach’s resistance to shreds. With a low, broken sound, he threaded his fingers through Dathan’s shaggy blue-black hair, not guiding him, just holding on, desperate for an anchor in the storm of sensation the Rayne Lord stirred up so effortlessly.
“Sweet Mother, Dathan.” He barely recognized his own voice in the deep, gravelly moan. Dathan was tonguing his balls, licking and sucking, and Miach thought he might die if Dathan didn’t stop. Then he thought he might just kill him if he did.
He dug his back into the sharp rock behind him, bracing against the pleasure of Dathan’s hot mouth. When his hips began to shift, mindlessly seeking more sensation, Dathan reached up and wrapped his hands around the backs of Miach’s thighs, steadying him.
Strong hands, long fingers. So different from Temair’s touch, but still so intoxicating. Dathan ran his hands up and down the long muscles of Miach’s thighs, digging in for a deep caress that dragged Miach closer to his mouth, closer to insanity.
Just when he thought he couldn’t take another second, the Rayne Lord drew back. He let his eyes roam the length of Miach’s body and licked his lips in a move that looked entirely unconscious and was entirely hot. Slowly, never dropping eye-contact, he wrapped his hand around the base of Miach’s dick, holding it firm and steady. The physical sensation wasn’t as intense as the feel of Dathan’s tongue between his thighs but, Sweet Mother, those tilted blue eyes were as effective as any physical caress.
Eyes glowing, lips curved in a slight smile, Dathan leaned forward again, drawing just the tip of his tongue along the slit leading to Miach’s cock-head.
“Oh, fuck.” Tendrils of flame crawled over his body and threatened to consume him. Dathan’s smile grew, and Miach was slammed with the dual urges to kiss him and to punch him. Unfortunately he couldn’t do either without moving Dathan away from his cock and that wasn’t something Miach was willing to do, not when Dathan was running the tip over his lips, darting out his tongue to make things nice and slick.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” Dathan’s voice was light, but his eyes were intent.
“About as long as I’ve wanted you to,” Miach responded gruffly. He wouldn’t lie about it, not now and never again.
His honesty was rewarded with Dathan’s radiant smile. “I’m going to make you feel so good, Consort,” he murmured, the words vibrating against the head of Miach’s cock.
“After all this you’d better,” Miach answered, trying to find a scrap of his usual sarcasm. “Now would be good,” he added a bit desperately. He was afraid if Dathan didn’t do something soon, he’d either implode, or explode with no more stimulation.
“Now,” Dathan whispered and proceeded to swallow Miach’s cock in one long, smooth gulp. Just like their kiss, this was nothing like being with Temair. Where her mouth was all molten tenderness, Dathan’s was rougher, his suction stronger.
He moved surely, fast and loose on the down-strokes, slow and tight as he pulled off, and with every thrust he took Miach deeper, with every withdrawal he played his tongue over the sensitive spot just below the head. Soon his mouth was meeting his fist, then he moved his hand and the world went starry as Dathan’s lips pressed hard against Miach’s groin and his throat closed over his cock-head like a silken vise.
His head fell back in pleasure, but Miach kept his eyes open. He’d always known Dathan was beautiful, had even thought more than he’d liked about how gorgeous he was during sex with Temair, but having all that beauty, all that intensity focused on him was nearly mind-blowing.
“Come for me, Miach.” Dathan’s low command clenched in Miach’s balls, drawing them up tight. “Give me your fyre, Consort. I want to taste you.”
Then he moved his free hand to cup Miach’s sac, rolling his balls over his palm and pressing his fingers to the smooth skin behind them. It was as though a fuse had been lit weeks ago, but had only just reached its charge.
Miach came with a roar, hands knotted in Dathan’s hair, body curled over Dathan’s as the pleasure threatened to send him to his knees. And Dathan didn’t stop, kept sucking and licking until he’d taken every drop, until Miach had to drag him away with a groan because it seemed the orgasm would never end, and he didn’t think he’d survive it.
Moving entirely on instinct, Miach used his grip on Dathan’s hair to pull the Rayne Lord to his feet. Dathan grunted at the sharp pull but didn’t resist, and when Miach kept on pulling until he could devour his mouth, Dathan simply groaned.
Miach groaned, too. He could taste himself on Dathan’s mouth, and below the salt of his own release was the clear, sweet, hot flavor that belonged to the Rayne Lord.
He was rough but he couldn’t help it, and Dathan didn’t seem to mind. In fact, each nip, each suck, drew a louder moan until they were passing the sound between them, no telling where it began or ended. After an endless time he became aware of the way the Rayne Lord was grinding against him, rutting his cock against the water-slick skin of his abdomen. Feeling a little unsure and embarrassingly shy, Miach was nonetheless determined to return the pleasure Dathan had given him, at least in part.
Slowly untangling one hand from Dathan’s hair, he drew teasing fingers down that beautiful, golden body. At Dathan’s hissed breath, he paused to play with the copper discs of his nipples before tracing the fine trail of silky hair that led to his cock. It pulsed in his hand, hot and hard and resilient, like his, but not. It didn’t take long to find a rhythm that had Dathan sagging against him, head dropped back on his shoulders, baring the long line of his neck.
Dathan moaned and Miach stroked, dragging every bit of sweetness he could along the length of Dathan’s cock. Pre-cum welled, slick and hot, and he used it like salve, let it smooth the way for his strokes. When Dathan’s hips began to rock in counterpoint with the slow, rough tug of his hand, Miach knew he was close. His incoherent whispers and rough moans told Miach that Dathan just needed a breath more stimulation to send him over the edge.
Leaning in, he used the same caress Dathan had started out with on him, running his tongue along the elegant line of the Rayne Lord’s neck then back down. Dathan gasped, and the steady rhythm of his hips faltered. Encouraged, Miach sank his teeth into the spot where neck met shoulder, and Dathan exploded with a raw cry. Miach didn’t let up the pressure, sucking at Dathan’s salty-sweet skin and milking every last drop from Dathan’s cock until he pushed Miach’s hand away and stumbled back a step.
Once again their eyes met, and again Miach was caught by the vulnerability in Dathan’s blue gaze. Suddenly he realized the Rayne Lord was waiting for him to say something cutting or cruel, or even just something flippant that would reduce their encounter to merely scratching an itch. But Miach had promised no regrets, and he’d meant it.
Lifting his hand to his mouth, he very deliberately licked at the cum on his fingers, then smiled a little when Dathan’s eyes flared. Sloe eyes glowing, mouth red and swollen from Miach’s mouth and cock, Dathan had never been more beautiful or compelling. Not that Miach would ever tell him so.
“Let’s go, Water Boy. We’ve got a Consort to choose and a rebellion to squash.”
It must have been just the right thing to say, because Dathan’s infectious laughter filled the chamber as he grabbed Miach’s hand and tugged him back under the fall of the Sacred Water.
* * *
Zevan spared a moment to wonder if
it was wise to leave Miach and Dathan alone, then decided that they were grown men, and warriors, and if they couldn’t manage to deal with each other, well, it was time for them to learn. He suppressed a tiny grin; to his mind the problem was that they wanted to deal with each other, but neither knew quite how to make it happen.
Forcibly pulling himself from his reflections, he turned to his guide. It would be so much easier to simply follow the man through the village to the hogan but Zevan realized that, as a Royal Consort, he was expected to be a political advantage, not a shy, silent child as his mother had wanted.
With that in mind, he addressed the Son of Earth. “My Princess assured me that not all lands were as harsh as the Aerie, but I found it hard to believe her until now.” Elan turned to face him, deep green eyes wide with questions, and Zevan found himself smiling tightly. “My mother believed all women should exercise their power… decisively.”
Elan frowned. “Isn’t that the woman’s responsibility? To guide us?”
Zevan tried to keep the bitterness out of his laugh, but from the look on Elan’s face, he didn’t think he succeeded very well. “Oh, no. The goal of the women in the Aerie wasn’t to guide us. It was to control us. And if we didn’t fall into line immediately… well, the consequences could be harsh. And painful.”
“But that’s an insult to the order of things,” Elan protested. “To the basic nature of our existence.”
Zevan’s smile was a bit more natural when he answered. “Yes, I’m coming to learn that. Temair has no desire to control us. She values our thoughts and ideas.” Elan still looked vaguely troubled, so Zevan hurried to set him at ease. “Anyway, control and power games don’t seem to have any place here.” He gestured around them, taking in the quiet little village. A group of children played a chase game in front of a small cottage, and their laughter rang merrily down the street. “Clearly your women are more interested in nurturing their men than in punishing them.”
Now Elan looked horrified. “Punish us? Our women would never punish us! And we would never give them reason to do so. We are taught from a young age what it means to be a Son of Earth, and we understand that it’s our duty and pleasure to take our destined place in the circle of existence.” Elan smiled a little ruefully. “Of course there will always be one or two rebels, but they aren’t punished. They are merely sent to the Earth to be purified. When they return, they are nearly always ready to take their rightful place in our society.”
Zevan was silent for a while, digesting the ideas and information Elan had shared with him. Finally he looked up at the big man, and he was afraid his expression must have shown his regret, because that rough-hewn face softened, and those deep green eyes became wells of empathy. Clearing his throat, he managed, “It must be a wonderful thing, to know your place in the world so clearly, and to be so assured of your value.”
Elan’s huge, callused hand landed on his shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Would you like to see one of our classrooms? This peace you appreciate so doesn’t just happen naturally. Our women cultivate it assiduously.”
Zevan’s ever-present curiosity won over his melancholy, and he smiled. “Show me, please.”
* * *
Elan was lost in his thoughts as he walked through the village. It was clear to him, though no one had said it, that the Aire Lord had somehow been abused in the past. The young man’s wonder at the gentle treatment the Earth males received had squeezed at Elan’s heart, making him wish there was some way to heal Zevan’s emotional scars.
That wasn’t the only thing occupying his mind, though.
Elan had been raised, trained, to know his place. He would never presume to put himself forward as a candidate for Consort; that was a decision for Mother and the Princess. That knowledge didn’t stop him from yearning, though.
To his great surprise, he liked the three Consorts. The Fyre Lord’s intensity and bristly exterior obviously protected a heart which had been created to care, to guard. The way he watched over the Princess, over her foster sister, and even over the other Consorts reminded Elan of a forest cat, ready to protect his pride, his family, to the death.
The Rayne Lord’s casual friendliness had set Elan at ease immediately. That friendliness translated seamlessly to an open affection which encompassed his entire family. While Princess Temair was clearly the fulcrum of the family, Lord Dathan’s warmth spilled over the other Consorts, over Princess Nuriel, and even occasionally over the Royal Guards. All the same, though, while the Second Consort seemed the polar opposite of the Fyre Lord, in his eyes Elan saw an intensity of emotion that matched the fyre in Lord Miach’s eyes.
Elan wanted to be a part of it. He wanted the Fyre Lord’s fierce protectiveness to extend to him. He wanted to bask in Dathan’s easy affection. He wanted to talk with Zevan, to learn the fantasy games the young man had described after seeing some young Earth males playing a strategy game in the school commons. Elan wanted to be a part of their family.
He didn’t dare admit, even to himself, what he wanted from the Princess. To even consider those beautiful, multi-hued eyes burning over him was nearly blasphemy. It was better to block it from his mind entirely. Wanting things, especially things like these, only led to dissatisfaction.
Elan dragged a hand over his smooth skull. Sweet elements. If he didn’t redirect his thoughts, and now, he’d need to offer himself up for purification.
Chapter Five
Temair was quickly deciding that her time in the Earth Lands was some of the most enjoyable she’d spent. Not only were their hostess and her family all that was agreeable and accommodating, but also the comfort level among her own family was growing almost daily.
Miach and Dathan continued to dance around each other. She thought that would always be the case. But now the teasing had a softer edge, and there was a glint of knowledge in Miach’s eyes that had been absent before.
Zevan was more relaxed and open than she’d ever seen him, which made her heart smile. She knew the change was, in large part, a response to her enthusiastic acceptance of him and, of course, due to Miach’s and Dathan’s adoption of him as an honorary little brother, but it was more than that. Something in the Earth Lands seemed to reach out to Zevan’s soul, imparting a peace that even the most loving family couldn’t yet match.
At the moment, Zevan was sitting on a cushion in front of the fyre, giving an animated description of the “Manhood Class” one of the Sons of Earth had taken him to observe.
“Elan,” Miach commented. “He’s the thirteenth son. The big one,” he added with his trademark half-smile.
“I think his heart is as big as his frame,” Dathan commented, moving up behind her to wrap an arm around Temair’s waist.
“He certainly has a way about him,” Miach agreed. Dathan nuzzled her neck and hummed happily, and the Fyre Lord rolled his eyes.
“It’s amazing!” Zevan was saying. “The women don’t have to punish the men, because the men are trained in how to behave.” Temair felt her brows raise, and saw Miach’s lower into the beginnings of a scowl. “There’s no guess-work,” Zevan continued. “You know what will cause trouble, and you can avoid it!”
“What a wonderful system,” Nuriel agreed. “If that had been the case in the Rayne Lands, Storm would never have felt the need to rebel.”
Dathan’s arm tightened around Temair’s waist, and she laid a gentle hand over his.
Miach’s scowl grew. “I think that any time there’s such inequity in how people are treated, there will be conflict,” the Fyre Lord commented slowly. He cast a glance at Dathan, whose rising agitation was clear. “I don’t necessarily mean that Lady Rayne treated her men inequitably,” Miach clarified. “I mean that in any society where one group of people has all the power, no matter how benevolently they exercise it, the powerless will inevitably rise to challenge them.”
Dathan’s grip relaxed a bit and Temair let out a slow, relieved breath. The Rayne Lord was slow to anger but once provoked, he was
a force to be reckoned with.
“I agree,” she put in firmly. “Merab was always meant to exist in a system of checks and balances. The women may rule, but the men were given control of the magic in order to protect themselves and the world.”
Zevan sent an earnest look around the room. “But don’t you see,” he insisted. “If the women’s only goal is to care for their families, their males, what could be the harm in a system like the one they’ve constructed here?”
“It sounds wonderful,” Nuriel agreed again, and Temair spared a second of regret that her foster-sister had been so traumatized by her experiences at the Aerie that she would embrace such a dangerous idea.
“Indeed, it sounds wonderful,” Temair agreed. “Unfortunately, we’ve learned all too destructively that sometimes ‘wonderful’ exteriors can hide rot clear down to the soul.”
* * *
Miach decided to take his own tour of the Earth school, and enlisted Pelagia, the highest-ranking Rayne Guard, to come with him. Not only did he prefer to leave Darmon, the head of the Royal Guard, with the family, but he wanted the chance to get to know the Rayne male better. He knew Temair enjoyed the man’s company, and Darmon had nothing but good reports to give, but Miach preferred to form his own opinions of the security staff.
“It’s an interesting set up,” the guard commented as they stood outside a classroom full of young boys. Miach gave a non-committal grunt. He supposed interesting was an accurate description.
“Each of you has his own special talent,” a full-bodied Earth woman was instructing the boys. “Your mothers and sisters will help you to discover your talents, and then it will be your job to develop them.”
“Mother Wendy,” one little boy questioned, “what if we don’t have a talent?”
“All Earth males have a talent, Seth. It may be as small as the gift of keeping a clean hogan, or as vast as the ability to bring joy to the community.”
Miach grunted again, and led Pelagia toward another classroom. This room was filled with adolescents. A formidable looking older woman stood at the front of the room. “Can someone tell me what happens to a male who cannot, or will not, take his place in our society?”
The Queens of Merab 4 Temair’s Earth Page 4
