Cantrips: Volume #2: Minor Magics Crafted to Amuse and Entertain

by Joey W. Hill

  Thomas drew back enough to meet his gaze. “If we put Julie in the guest bedroom, you might have time to take care of some things before she wakes up. You’re pretty efficient.”

  “And my sub is very obedient when properly motivated. Take her there and meet me in our room.”

  Thomas scooped Julie off the swing, Marcus sliding an arm up under her to help support the move. It woke her enough she made a pleased noise and nestled further against Thomas as he carried her through the door and to the guestroom. Despite his preferences, she was a pleasant, voluptuous armful of curves. The straight male population were a bunch of morons for not appreciating the gift she was. He slid off her shoes, unpinned her thick, curly hair from its barrette, sitting it beside the night table as she rooted down beneath the covers, disappearing like a caterpillar in a cocoon. He grinned when the jeans she was wearing emerged from beneath and fell to the floor, followed by the lacy red bra she’d been wearing under her designer T-shirt.

  “Does it match the panties?” he asked. In response, he was flashed a quick view as she lifted the covers, showing the bright red color, complete with tiny reindeer patterned across the silk. Then the covers came back down like the thump of snow falling off the eaves.

  “Christmasy,” she muttered. “Sleepy. Go away. Unless you want to come under and give me good dreams. Marcus wouldn’t mind. Doesn’t really count, right?”

  He snorted and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head just visible above the covers, giving the general vicinity of her hip a pat before he picked up the jeans and bra, folding them neatly and placing them on the rocker. When he straightened, he saw Marcus standing in the doorway, watching him. A meaningful tilt of his head, and he’d disappeared down the hallway.

  Thomas followed, closing Julie’s door behind him. Marcus had stopped at their bedroom door and was watching him come his way. Thomas wasn’t above being a tease, so as he came down the hall, he finished the job Marcus had started, unbuttoning his shirt all the way, shrugging it off his shoulders, reveling in the way his Master’s gaze intensified. When he was within arm’s reach, he wasn’t at all surprised to be pulled close with an impatient hand. Thomas bit down on a noise as Marcus palmed him through his jeans, massaging his erection. He clamped the other hand on Thomas’s tender ass, holding him in place.

  “You stand still as a statue, pet,” Marcus said. “Does it count?”

  Marcus could give a hand job over clothes better than a lot of men could flesh to flesh, and Thomas found himself struggling not to thrust into his hand. As well as to figure out what he was talking about, then he remembered Julie’s comment. Marcus moved his other palm to Thomas’s throat, wrapping his fingers around it to hold him still as he kept working his cock. He squeezed hard enough that Thomas’s breath caught beneath the grip. “You better answer me.”

  “Hell yes, it counts. I’m only yours, Master.”

  “That’s right. I’d beat her backside black and blue, but I think that’s what she’s angling for.”

  They both knew Julie meant it as a joke, nothing serious, just the usual harmless flirting, but Thomas was more than willing to roll with Marcus’s reaction.

  Marcus stepped back abruptly and jerked his head, telling Thomas he wanted him in the bedroom. Obediently, he moved into their own haven from the whole world, a king-sized bed with a pile of pillows and linens in brown and cream tones, masculine and earthy at once, the mahogany frame and color schemes a mesh of who they both were.

  “On your knees, there.” Marcus pointed next to the bed. “All clothes off.”

  Thomas complied, the quiver back in the limbs. Would that feeling that swept him whenever Marcus took control ever fade? Each time it only got sharper, cut deeper, as if the exercise of it was a sensual whetting stone. Marcus unbuckled his slim belt, unfastened and unzipped the jeans he’d donned to go pick up Julie. Reaching into the straining hold of his dark boxers, he stretched out a fully erect cock, almost at Thomas’s eye level. Thomas licked his lips. Reaching into the night table, Marcus handed him the lube.

  “Get me ready to fuck you.”

  An order straight from heaven, God forgive him if it was blasphemy. Thomas rubbed the lubricant over Marcus’s shaft, taking time to pump up and down slow. Marcus closed his eyes, dropping his head back to his shoulders, obviously taking full pleasure in Thomas’s touch, but in a few moments, he touched his head, stopping him. “Bend over the bed. If you want to keep that comforter from the dry cleaner, you better put on a condom.”

  They kept a liberal handful of them in the night stand, just for that kind of reason. Thomas had no doubts of Marcus’s faithfulness. Not anymore. And there’d never been a reason to doubt his own. What he’d said at the door, applied to man, woman—fuck, even to his own hand. His body and all its responses belonged to his Master. Even so, it still thrilled Thomas, these odd moments of fierce possessiveness that a comment like Julie’s could unexpectedly provoke in his Master. With that intuition that had only seemed to grow as he spent more time with Marcus, he suspected there was a connection there with Marcus’s earlier discomfiture, but now was not the time to explore that. God, no.

  As soon as Thomas was sheathed and bent over the bed, Marcus’s hand was on the back of his neck, pushing him down to his elbows, and he was guiding his cock into Thomas’s ass. Marcus could be gentle, merciless, teasing, firm, and all the points in between. Now he slammed home, balls deep.

  Thomas grunted, fingers clutching the covers. His balls drew up, cock stiffening at the demanding treatment, making it all the more exciting. He knew Marcus would ask, but he would say it first.

  “I’m yours, Master.”

  “Yeah, you are. Every fucking inch.” Another thrust, followed by a slick, incredibly erotic withdrawal that made all of Thomas’s nerve endings cry for more. Then re-entry, that push of Marcus’s broad head through the rings of muscle, teasing Thomas even further. “God…”

  Marcus leaned over him then, pushing him flat, his body on top of his, and began to piston his hips, hard and fast, so deep it was like Marcus was plowing earth. Thomas braced his legs, his elbows, felt his Master’s breath on his neck, then his teeth as Marcus bit. His neck, his shoulder… He wanted Thomas to see the teeth marks for the next few days. Thomas groaned. “Master, I need to come. Please come for me first.”

  Marcus didn’t respond, at least not in words. Instead he coiled both arms around Thomas’s chest, using the strength of his upper body and the brace of his feet between Thomas’s spread ones to hold them as he kept fucking Thomas with deep, long strokes, pressing Thomas’s knees even further into the side of the bed.

  “Master.”

  “No. You’ll come for me first. Let me hear you.”

  Marcus left him no other choice. Thomas gave him that guttural symphony of pleasure, groaning and snarling through the spurting of his cock, groaning anew as Marcus let go with a hot shot of seed into Thomas’s ass. “God…” Thomas managed. “God…Master.”

  Sometimes he suspected he interchanged the two in his mind, though he’d never be sharing that shocking thought with his mother or Marcus. It made a faint smile curve his lips, but as he put both his hands over Marcus’s on his chest, felt the quiver in his Master’s fingers, he knew arrogance didn’t make a man invincible. “Jesus, that felt good.”

  “Yeah, it did. Your ass is the place I always want to be.”

  They were both cognizant of their guest, and how it was past dinnertime for all of them, so Marcus didn’t linger as long as either of them might wish. However, he straightened and pulled out with slow reluctance, dropping a kiss between Thomas’s shoulder blades before giving his ass a smart swat. “Now tell me what the hell is under the tree with Julie’s gifts.”

  Fuck. The man missed nothing. He was like an eagle. Even so, Thomas hedged for time with an innocent “What?”

  But as he twisted to his hip, one foot still on the floor, the other knee pressed to the top edge of the mattress, he was treated to the heated tr
ail of his Master’s gaze over his bare flank and realized what an unconsciously provocative pose he’d made. He held it until Marcus had looked his fill, giving him an approving nod before gesturing him to his feet. “Fucking tease. You make me want to do that to you all over again.”

  Thomas would have been happy to accommodate that. He moved to strip off his condom, but Marcus moved in and did it, wrapping it up in tissue and tossing it in the trash. Then he fished the wipes they kept in the side drawer and cleaned Thomas, before doing the same to himself. Thomas watched, wanting to do it, but Marcus shook his head, leaning in to brush his lips over Thomas’s as he tossed the wipes and tucked himself back into the boxers.

  “Put on your clothes and go get it.”

  How he could keep so focused on one thing while he shattered Thomas’s brain into fragments was both a curse and a blessing. “It’s not Christmas yet,” Thomas teased him, trying to delay the inevitable. He’d planned to give Marcus the gift after the family event tomorrow, when everyone, including Julie, went back to his mother’s house. He never should have brought it out where Marcus could see it.

  Marcus gave him a look. As his Master fastened his own jeans, Thomas eased right up against him before he could zip them up, closing his hand over that tab. He eased it with care up over the sizeable package beneath, molding his palm over Marcus and earning a dangerous look.

  “Getting pushy, pet?”

  “Just needed to touch you. God, I want to touch you all the time.”

  Marcus wasn’t in the mood to change the subject. “We said no Christmas gifts.”

  “We said no bought Christmas gifts. I made it for you.”

  A shadow cut through Marcus’s eyes, an echo of what Thomas had seen when they’d tried to hang the ornaments. But he merely inclined his head. “Bring it in here.”

  Stepping back, Marcus buckled his belt. A belt that had strapped Thomas’s ass more than once in this very room. The reminder made him shudder, and of course Marcus saw it, his hand lingering on the silver buckle in pleasurable promise it wouldn’t be the last time. Maybe right now if he didn’t get moving.

  Thomas’s lips twisted wryly at that. Punishment was a pleasure-sex thing between them, not a motivating threat, but he wouldn’t put it past Marcus to give it a try if pushed. He pulled himself back into his own clothes, shrugging back into his shirt as he left the room. His skin was still vibrating, his cock still half-mast. It never seemed to settle down around Marcus, and the more demanding he was, like this, the worse it got.

  He was sure Marcus knew it, normally. But he wasn’t sure of Marcus’s mood. Another reason he wasn’t certain it was a good idea to give him his gift right now. It meant too much and he didn’t want to spoil the work that had gone into it, taint the significance.

  No, he couldn’t be that way about it. He had to forge ahead, no matter the mood. They’d both made that decision earlier and he’d honor that, stick with it.

  He brought the wrapped rectangular package—obviously a painting—back into the room and shut the door. Of course it hadn’t blended with Julie’s cheerful red and green wrapped boxes. He’d wrapped it in a silver paper with a froth of snowflake-patterned silver curly ribbon on it. Marcus, sitting in a cushioned occasional chair, gave it a bemused look impossible to decipher.

  Thomas bit back a hundred nervous comments. “Do you want to open it, or do you want me to do it?”

  He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Marcus didn’t even want to touch it, but in answer, his Master reached out, took it from his hands. Thomas propped his butt on the edge of the bed, six feet separating them. As Marcus loosened the paper, pulled it away, his eyes trained on what he’d revealed, Thomas shifted.

  Long ago, Thomas had created his one and only self-portrait, the result of a challenge between him and Marcus. I see you standing against a fence, farm boy. Leaning there like you’ve just finished a day of plowing. You’re sweaty, streaked with dirt and you’ve taken off your shirt…you’re wearing those working jeans that have no style, but they’re riding low on your hips. Because you’re leaning against the fence, they’re straining over that fine ass you’ve got…the sunlight is just barely touching you, outlining your body. I can see the hint of sweat on your shoulders… He’s just a farm boy taking a break after a hard day, never realizing how breathtaking he is in that one perfect moment. Everything about him is in that picture.

  Kate, the cow he’d raised from a calf, was in the background of that painting, because that was part of the challenge, Marcus claiming he’d never be able to sell a picture with a cow in it. But when Thomas finished it, Marcus had put it up at auction as he’d promised. In the end, Marcus had entered into a bidding war to retain it for himself. He’d mounted it on the wall of his gallery, directly across from his desk. Which was where it had remained until one volatile day, when Marcus thought Thomas was leaving him forever. In a fit of rage and despair, Marcus had destroyed it.

  What Marcus held in his hands was that painting, recreated with some important additions. Now Kate had company, a brindle, long-haired billy goat almost as tall as she was, the type of goat who had confronted Marcus in the Berkshires, a much more fond memory. Thomas was still leaning over the fence, only the right hand he had braced on the fence was covering the hand of someone standing just outside the picture, only the viewer could see enough of the elegant, long-fingered male hand to see the silver wedding band on it. A wedding band with a lightning bolt design that matched the gold one on Thomas’s hand, gripping the railing on his other side.

  He’d done it to further heal the wounds and underscore the bond between them, the potential loss of which had caused Marcus to destroy the first one. Thomas knew he shouldn’t say anything. Marcus was very specific about how he preferred his first impressions. No input, no noise at all. Particularly no self-conscious verbal wrigglings from the artist—Marcus’s exact words of course—but this wasn’t really something for him to market in his gallery, was it?

  “It’s a little sentimental, I know, the changes I made, but I followed my heart on it.”

  Straightening, Thomas slid behind Marcus’s chair. As he looked over his shoulder, he tried to figure out what was going through Marcus’s mind. Did he love it? Hate it? Think it was way too schmaltzy? It had all the signature layering and erotic tone of most of Thomas’s paintings, but the art world was anything but sentimental. He hadn’t made it for sale, though. He’d made it for his Master. A Christmas gift for his husband.

  Marcus set it aside, rose. As he turned toward the door, the look on his face was so stark and exposed, Thomas stepped into his path, intercepting him. “Marcus.”

  Marcus laid his hands on Thomas’s shoulders, gripped hard. He nodded, his lips tight. “Thank you, pet. It’s everything a Christmas present should be.”

  Then he left Thomas standing there, wondering what the hell that had meant.

  He would have chased him down to pursue it, but Marcus in certain moods was best left alone. Especially when they had a visitor in the house. So though Thomas was aching to offer help, comfort, anything, he waited, listening to Marcus cross the boards, go out the front door. A few minutes later, through the bedroom window, Thomas saw him shrugging into his overcoat and heading out over the back fields, a flat expanse Marcus sometimes preferred to stroll alone when he was in one of his solitary moods. Which was obviously what he was in now, because he was shaking out a cigarette and lighting it, something he only did in a state of deep agitation.

  “Damn it,” Thomas muttered.

  * * *

  By the time Marcus returned, Julie was awake. Thomas studied him closely as Julie chatted with them both, unaware of the problem. Marcus put a hand low on his back, leaned forward to see what was cooking for dinner. It was some venison stew and mashed potatoes Thomas’s mother had sent over. Julie had whipped up a salad and Thomas had a cobbler baking in the oven for dessert. Marcus gave Thomas a direct look, a nod. Then he pressed his lips to Thomas’s, a quick brush, and withdre
w to pull out some wine, asking Julie her preference.

  “Where’d you go?” Julie asked.

  “I was making sure Thomas wasn’t hiding a goat on the property,” Marcus replied. When he gave Thomas an arch look, Thomas shook his head.

  “Now you’ve spoiled the surprise. Don’t you know Les and Rory are hiding him for me?”

  “If that’s the case, goat stew is going to be a Christmas Day special.”

  “You really have to get over that phobia.”

  “Marcus is afraid of goats?” Julie jumped onto that with both feet, which of course set off a whole other wave of teasing. Smiling ruefully at both of them, Thomas decided Christmas was going to be a little bit like a boat ride—some waters more choppy than others.

  However, at least for the rest of the night, they seemed to be hitting perfect seas, since dinner ended up being a relaxed, entertaining affair, after which Julie proposed a sappy Christmas movie marathon. When Thomas went to their room to change into pajama bottoms, he found the picture propped carefully up on the chair for display.

  Would Marcus hang it at the gallery, as he had the last one? He already had a photo of Thomas on his entryway desk there, a shot taken at their wedding. The two of them were laughing at something, Marcus’s head tilted toward Thomas, that light smile on his lips, the look in his eyes the one that always made Thomas’s heart tip. Thomas had his hand on Marcus’s arm, a casual but unmistakably intimate contact. It had meant a lot to Thomas to find out Marcus kept the picture at work, where anyone coming in saw it. Just as it would mean a lot, knowing he’d hang this picture there again.

  It still felt like there were things not being said, but remembering that photo said time was on his side.

  Watching Christmas movies well into the late hours, they all sacked out on the sectional sofa. When they woke the next morning, the day was too tightly scheduled to catch time alone. They ate breakfast and then Julie helped Thomas wrap some more gifts, Marcus and he taking turns on the cooking. A couple quick runs to the grocery store became necessary for ingredients Marcus insisted they were missing.