"Do you look the same?" To Simon, the elf was so unique, he could not imagine more just like him.
"No," the elf smiled. "But almost... Do the salmon look the same to you?" he asked almost playfully. "They do not for the salmon. And neither do we, to each other," he explained. "But the old man came back, carrying ravens on his shoulders, and he could not tell us apart, neither could any threat make us tell who it was who had slain and eaten the men."
"Why not?" The man was surprised. "Surely you did not think it right...?"
The elf smiled again. "No," he said, "but neither did it seem important at the time. Right and wrong are words I learned from you, from men. We never used them or even thought that something like right and something like wrong existed, back then. We are, as I said, just are, but our unity and bond was strong. We knew of nothing else, but the twelve of us. Maybe we didn't quite know who was who and which was which one of us... I was my brother and he was me," the elf told the man. "And so it was that the old man punished all of us, by turning us into birds forever cursed. He carved mighty runes in leather with his blood and thereby changed our form."
Simon Ferryman thought it was an amazing tale, a tale of old told by someone who had witnessed it all, and even played a part. He felt blessed, as a man, to have been told such a story.
"And then, after so many years, you became my friend,” he said, marveling at the fact.
"I like you," the raven-elf explained in a shy voice and looked away. Simon smiled when he heard that.
"More than a friend," he said. "A brother. Like kin."
"I held you in my body," added the elf. His black gaze flickered.
"Yes, you did, and I remember it well!" Simon assured him. "It got me through the winter. Being with you..."
"I missed your companionship," admitted the elf, "so I called for you..."
"I missed you too," his voice was very quiet. "It was a beautiful thing what you did..." His gaze held the warmth of love when he spoke to the elf. "Where are we?" he asked next. "If this is not the land of the dead?"
"Nowhere," the elf smiled again, brief and shy. "I may be trapped and cursed, but I still know the crafts." His gaze darted to the side, away from the man.
"I guess you know much about forbidden things..." Simon said, excited, not uneasy.
"To us, they are not forbidden," the elf replied solemnly. "I was going to ask you to take me with you in death. I knew you would die, you see, your priest was right about that. I cannot leave this body of beak and feathers unless a mortal would willingly take me to the other side."
The ferryman lay quiet for a bit. "You can see the future, then?" he asked, unwilling to think the raven had caused his accident.
"Yes," the raven's smile widened. "Sometimes."
"So, that is why you became my friend, and helped me escape death in the river?" It sounded bitter almost. Disappointed.
The raven seemed to shrink beside him, wrapped his free arm around his own knees.
"But I am not going to," the creature said in a very quiet voice. "I am not going to ask you..."
"Why?" the ferryman's voice sounded mad, he could not help it. He was hurt he had been used, though he knew he should be grateful he had been saved from the icy water and shown such marvels as he had.
"I want to be with you." The dark one whispered.
Simon Ferryman looked at the elf and swallowed hard. He said nothing. Their gazes met, and then they looked away from each other, then their gazes met again, slow and insecure.
"I want you to live," the raven said at last. He was gazing at a point far away, "So I can be with you in your boat and eat plums from your hand." The elf looked at the ferryman now, something frightened and vulnerable was visible in his eyes, they looked shy and worried. "I want you to stroke my feathers and call me pretty names," his voice faded to a whisper. And then a flash of a memory entered the ferryman's mind unbidden. It was not his own memory, but the raven's. It was a scene seen from the bird's perspective, from its place on the other side of the boat from him. He could see himself on a clear summer's day, caressing the juicy plum in his hand and pointing out its resemblance of a young man's behind.
Simon blushed. The raven still did not look at him. His head rested on his knees so all that the ferryman could see was the lustrous, dark hair, not his face. The man felt dizzy.
"It made me want to have this form again," the raven said softly. "For when I do, I look much like a human and I have a..."
"Plum?" The ferryman finished his sentence with a surprised, little smile. He was shocked and embarrassed, yet the thought of maybe being close to him, to this naked and lovely creature made him grow hard. "You wanted me to touch you like that?" he asked boldly. Prayed that he wasn't wrong, that he had not misunderstood the other. That the raven had not misunderstood the man...
A shy glance from the elf was all the answer he got, but then, he did not need more. He let out a shivering breath and raised his free hand to stroke the raven's silky hair.
"Are you sure, my friend?" The ferryman could not quite believe it. This had been his most guarded secret and never had he thought that someone willingly would give himself to him. And to think someone so beautiful and so dear to him...
The raven's gaze had bled another shade darker when he looked down at the man again. He brushed his hair from one of his shoulders and without another word he caught Simon's free hand and guided it between his legs so he could feel his hard member, proving his sincerity with his flesh.
"Would you have me?" he asked breathlessly.
Simon's heart pounded so hard and fast in his chest, he found it hard to speak. He sat up, too fast, his head swam and a complaining sound rose from his throat. Then he reached forth and pulled the elf into his embrace. He kissed him, hard, on the lips. He kissed him, his neck and his ears, moaned quietly with the rush and the hunger and kissed him again, pulled him closer, held him hard. His own breathing felt hot upon his skin.
"Say I am not just dreaming this," he begged. "Say it is for real..."
"It is real," another whisper, pale arms wound around his neck and the elf's kiss was on his lips, sweet and soft. Simon's own were hard and full of need, it could not be helped. His hands drifted in under the smooth hair and caressed the slender back of the creature that had crawled onto his lap. At least he would not die without having tasted the greatest of pleasures, Simon's thoughts raced through his mind. At least he would have tasted it once, and from the loveliest of men.
Not a man at all!
"Oh!" He burst out. The elf had taken a hold of Simon's stiff member and he cried out with the sensation. Gently urged by delicate hands, he lay back down on the grass and pulled the elf back with him, kissing his eyelids, his brow and his lips again, licking his neck and biting lightly in his shoulder. The elf moaned on top of him. His slender arousal grazed the man's. They rubbed hard against each other, fueling each other's desire while they kissed.
Simon ached and cried again when the elf used his hand to press their arousals closer together and lock them in his tight grasp. The man's was thick, the elf's slender. Both were bursting with their lust, leaking moisture like ripe fruits, the juiciest, most tender meat.
"Be still," the elf begged breathlessly, "my love, you are weak!" His eyes were almost closed and his lips were red and glistening. He reached back and the ferryman felt him take a hold of his member, guiding it to his opening. With a deep sigh, the black-haired elf positioned himself above him and began pressing the hard member against the tight muscle of his rear.
"Be careful," Simon warned, worrying about him. He held the raven by his hips and felt the cool, black hair slide across his fingers.
"Good!" The elf rolled with his head, he drew a deep breath and opened his eyes, hazed with lust and pleasure.
"Move!" the man begged hoarsely and gasped. His member was caught in the sweetest, tightest agony, and if it was not seen to soon, he would must surely die!
The elf smiled down at him then as h
e half-lay, half-sat on top of the man, on his knees with one leg on each side of the human. Slowly, he began rocking back and forth, his hands steadying himself on the ferryman's body. The hard arousal inside of him slid in and out, while his own member brushed hard against the man's hairy belly with each stroke. The elf's pink nipples looked and felt like hard raspberries, Simon touched them and tweaked them, pulled gently in his long hair to have him lower his head so he could kiss his mouth and touch his tongue with his own.
Simon felt as if mad with this fever! His rhythmical moaning filled the absolute silence surrounding them and mingled with the soft sighs of his lover. The elf had a sheen of sweat on his brow. The ferryman tasted it, savored it. His hands devoured the other male's body, every limb and every angle he could reach, roaming and caressing. He was fighting the fire in his loins, did not want it to end just yet, did not want to come undone.
With a cry, he took a hold of the raven's shoulders, then forcefully rolled them both over, hoping that the other would not get hurt. He set to control the pace of the coupling himself, holding the raven’s legs in place, wide open and high up in the air, resting on the ferryman's shoulders.
Simon took it all in: his own arousal slipping in and out of the pink opening, the leaking shaft of the other. The elf's fingers were there, touching himself, caressing the hard member fast and roughly. It was too much! All too much! Simon gave a deep sigh and let himself come. He cursed and cried out, thrust hard and mercilessly, while the salt of his body poured forth inside the other male.
The elf had thrown an arm over his face but the man could see his eyes, his burning gaze. The delicate hand on his slender member was suddenly coated in white.
***
Simon Ferryman held the raven close to his chest. Their bodies were covered in fresh sweat and semen. One of the ferryman's hands was caressing the elf's lower back. The other arm just held him close. The elf lay on top of him again. He weighted almost nothing. His eyes were half-closed and his long fingers drifted up and down the ferryman's summer-kissed skin.
"Now it is time for you to go back." he said at last.
"No!" Simon said passionately. "I will never leave you!" The bliss still rolled through his body where the lust still lingered, but that was not why he said what he did. "For the next time we meet, you are a bird again, are you not?"
The elf did not reply.
"I know you will be," he needed no confirmation. "Why can we not stay here?"
The elf looked up at him with sad eyes."This is not a place," he said. "It is just borrowed, like the image of the plum trees in the stream, and it cannot last. Sooner or later it will be disturbed and broken."
Simon lay still for a while. He held the raven and pondered quietly.
"And if I die? And take you with me?"
"You will not die! You will live!" the elf said quietly. Insistently.
"Just because you say so." the ferryman kissed the top of his head. "But if I live now, you will live on as a raven, is it not so? Fly for eternity, unless you find another willing mortal to take you there?" His voice grew thick with jealousy.
"That is true," the elf said calmly, "but I would want you to be alive," he said quickly. "I do not know what is behind death's gates either. But we do know we will be together, if you are alive." He raised his head from Simon's chest and smiled down at him. His gaze appeared so serene and pure.
"It is not enough!" Simon man clutched at him passionately, filled his palms with thick, soft hair. "I would die with you," he declared. "I most certainly would without you," he said with a sad, desperate laugh, knowing he was already living on borrowed time. "There is nothing in my life more precious than you are," he said. "Nothing I will miss more than you... having held you now... your raven form will just not be enough. I have served Death much of my life," he continued. "Maybe it is time that I met him?"
The raven looked at the man. His gaze was dark and void of emotion. "Would you really do that?" he asked in a voice that quivered slightly. "Would you take me with you in death and free me from the bird?"
"Yes," he did not hesitate, "I will."
***
They fell through the water. The raven carried them both with strong wings. He broke the illusions with his gaze, as they fell through the mirror of the trees, through the leaves and the water, through the storm and the sun while life itself shattered like ice around them.
Deep down below, they could see the fruit grove, plum trees full of ripe fruits and green leaves, slender branches mirrored in the water. Soon they would break the surface and be free.
singing up the moon
by angel
It was Cooper-Young, so of course, anything went, and nothing was unusual. The little gift store hadn’t made it, so now they were washing the old sign off the front window to the drifting smells of food from the half-dozen restaurants on the block. Jars of herbs and roots, strings of myrrh, incense sticks and cones had replaced the fair-trade trinkets and local artisans’ works and all stood ready for their opening in the morning.
“You really think this is a good idea, lover?” The words were half-growled from behind the Commercial Appeal.
“Of course it is. A little alchemist’s shop in the arts district. How quaint, how suitable. And run by such a nice pair of older gentlemen.” The tall blond man wiped down the window again, watching the foot traffic which was substantial even this late in the evening. The al fresco diners at Tsunami across the way were caught up in their conversations.
“Don’t flutter. It’s not safe. Not even here.”
“Corin Faw, you’re a grumpy bitch today.” A few softly mumbled words and the paintbrush had painted ‘Faw and O’Brian Potions, Spells and Readings’ on the window. “What’s got your tail in a kink?”
“You, for being a big queen, and the opening day jitters. This is the South, dammit. The kind of place they drag people like us behind their pick-ups as queers, if they aren’t just burning us for witches first.” Corin lowered the paper and scowled. His grizzled hair fell into his bushy eyebrows that met above his nose. He sniffed. “You’re scared, too. That’s why you’ve gone all fey.”
“Do stop that, lover. It’s completely unfair to use that were nose on me.” He closed the paint and set it behind the counter.
“Says Cian of the Second Sight.” Corin rose and folded his paper. He turned out his reading lamp and let darkness descend on the shop. After his eyes adjusted, far better than his lover’s, he took Cian’s hand and led him upstairs. “I’m a cranky old wolf who would rather have earth under my feet than live in a shop on a city street.” He kissed Cian gently.
“And that, my love, is what our country house is for. I hear there is a pack in the area. Are you interested?”
“Right now, all your grumpy bitch wants is his dinner and a mating. I wish I could be here for the opening. I leave for the cottage tomorrow.”
“PreLunar Syndrome again,” Cian rolled his eyes. “I fear it’s Michelina’s again tonight. We still haven’t shopped.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow before I go. There’s a grocery about five blocks up Cooper.”
They heated the frozen dinners and ate in silence. The September heat rippled on the pavement, making the air conditioner run, and the sun went down very slowly.
“Grand opening on Saturday,” Cian sighed. “I’m just not sure having it during the Cooper-Young Festival is the best idea.”
“Biggest crowd you’ll see all year, bar Pride in June. That’s what the folks say.”
“Could we take a walk? I’ve been so absorbed in getting settled, I haven’t done any exploring.” Cian reached over and touched Corin’s shaggy hair. “Unlike my restless lover.”
Corin shrugged. He washed their forks and carried the trash out. Cian waited by the door. The end of the daylight turned him ethereal and Corin remembered how he’d looked so many years before, trooping on the fairy-ride down the side of Sugarloaf Mountain. The Fair Folk’s pipes had drawn all the youths of the g
ypsy band from their wagons, and Corin had seen Cian among the Unseelie Court.
There were plenty of tales of how to claim a sidhe for one’s own, but Corin only half-believed them. Before that night, he had only half-believed in the Fair Folk. The beautiful man had smiled at him, and he had followed, ensorcelled by the May night, the pipes, the voices like birds, like bells, like rain. His own sturdy pony had caught the mood and he had ridden beside the dapple grey whose hooves did not touch the grass. The blond beauty astride the horse kept smiling at him.
They had lain together, under the waning moon near a fairy fort in Killarney. Corin had known the girls weren’t for him from a young age, but Cian had amazed him, drawing his seed from him time and again, as they grew wet with dew and moonbeams.
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