by Robin Moray
Peter made a sound of amusement and ducked his head to press a kiss to Kevin's pulse, sending warmth rippling through his skin. "Kevin," he said, but that was all he said, mouth open on Kevin's throat.
It was perfect. Even with the counter digging into his back, even here in front of the window where anyone could look in—
Actually, no, that was not perfect, not in a town full of gossips. Kevin pushed away from the counter, into Peter's chest. "Hey, come out the back." Peter blinked at him, so Kevin rocked up against him, wondering if Peter could tell he was already half-hard. "There's a couch."
Which seemed to do the trick. Peter let go of him long enough to be led to the back room but as soon as they were there he wrapped an arm around Kevin's torso, fingers catching in his sweater, and leaned into the back of Kevin's neck just to breathe.
It felt good, every inhale drawing a little magic with it, and Kevin wondered what would happen if he filled Peter up with it, just topped him up to the brim. How would that feel for him? Did he miss it? He was so dry and Kevin wanted to bathe him in it, just soak him until he was plump as a grape.
"Come on," he said, twisting to face him. Peter claimed his mouth again and again it made Kevin shiver, just the brush of stubble against his chin, his lip, how firmly Peter ran his hand down Kevin's spine to nest in the small of his back. Kevin kissed back until he was breathless, and then he tried again. "Come on. Make out with me on the couch. It'll be like school."
That made Peter laugh, though he let go of Kevin long enough to take off his coat and then let Kevin pull him down. He propped himself up on his palms, knees spread around Kevin's thighs, and the couch was too small for this but, fuck, Kevin didn't care, not with that smile and those eyes shining down at him.
"What?" Because Peter looked as though he was thinking twice about saying something.
"Contrary to what you might think," he said, lifting a hand to swipe a thumb along the bone of Kevin's cheek, "adults do make out on the couch. We just don't tell everyone."
"I won't tell anyone." There was no-one to tell. But Peter seemed cagey for some reason, and Kevin didn't like it. "What now? Is this the part where you tell me you don't normally do things like this with people you just met?"
"Oh. No." And now he looked almost embarrassed. "I used to do things like this with people I'd only just met all the time. But … a while ago." He shifted, leaning his weight on one arm, leaning in to brush his mouth against Kevin's cheek. "I haven't wanted anyone in so long."
Kevin swallowed because he knew. "Three years, right? It's been three years."
Peter grimaced. "That wasn't real. I don't think I really wanted any of it." But he smiled, just a little, but enough to chase the shadows from his eyes. "I do want you."
"Good," Kevin breathed. "You should show me."
The smile widened, and then Peter ducked his head to nuzzle along Kevin's jaw. He kissed a trail down Kevin's neck, lipping the skin as he went, lapping at the magic that pooled around them despite Kevin's best efforts at keeping it contained. It wasn't a problem, usually, had never been a problem with anyone before. It wasn't like he had to shut it away, had to be careful, had to think about it at all; magic had just never been involved. But now, with every taste, every touch, every tug Peter gave to it, Kevin's magic responded, arching up like a cat to be scratched. It felt good, and Kevin wanted to know just how good it would feel to give it all up, let Peter drink his fill, see just how much magic he could gather. Just being near him made the magic come easier, dancing at his fingertips like sparks, and that was the problem, right there. It was looking to earth itself, and Kevin couldn't let it, had to rein himself in, banking it like a fire.
He reached for Peter with his hands, finding the hem of Peter's sweater and pushing the wool up to get his fingers under it, looking for his skin. He was firm under there, lean but surprisingly muscular. Kevin felt him out, lingering on the dips and valleys of his flesh, finding the stretch of coarse hair that ran from his throat to his belt. Peter sighed, coming up to catch his mouth, teeth eager on his lip. And everywhere, the tingling of magic between them, electric where skin met skin. The sweetness of it went to Kevin's head, dizzying, an agony. He wanted. And he knew what he wanted.
"Peter, let me." Kevin tugged, rolling them best he could to get Peter under him, and straddled Peter's hips.
It was a hell of a view. Peter's perfect hair was mussed, sweater rucked up to his ribs, his mouth red, his lip wet, colour in his cheeks that suited him. He was breathing hard and—Kevin slid a hand down Peter's ridiculous abs to palm his through his trousers—he was hard.
"Hey," he said, hearing himself breathless and husky. "Is that for me?"
Peter's breath caught, and he shifted, pushing himself into Kevin's palm. "Only if you'd like it."
"Yeah. Can …" He hesitated, running his fingers along the generous length of Peter's cock. "I wanna see you."
Peter's smile was almost a smirk. "As you wish." He lifted Kevin's hands to his belt, arching an eyebrow, and Kevin unbuckled him, unbuttoned him, brushed his fingers along the outline of him in his boxers. They were blue, which was for some reason endearing, and Kevin just stroked him through them, thinking about how it might feel to have that in his mouth, or just in him. He shuddered, and glanced up to see Peter watching him with a mix of anticipation and something that might have been anxiety on his face.
"All right?"
He nodded. "Go on."
So Kevin did, tugging the underwear down and taking Peter out and, oh, he was beautiful, a good length and a good width and uncut. Kevin had to swallow at the sight of him and again—How would that feel in the back of my throat, Jesus Christ. He felt good too, in Kevin's hand, soft-but-hard against his palm, and the small noise he made as Kevin slid the length of him went straight to Kevin's cock.
Then—"Come down here," and Peter was reaching for him, fingers insistent on the nape of his neck. "Kiss me, please? You're driving me mad."
Kevin let himself be pulled, let Peter suck his lip and moan into his mouth, let him drink off as much magic as he wanted, let him open up Kevin's jeans and slide a hand inside to find him. His grip was tight and good and Kevin thrust into it, sucking in a breath to feed the race of his heartbeat. The constant drag of magic burned on his skin, blending into the dull ache of Peter's palm on his cock, and it was just a handjob, he reminded himself, but fuck, it had never been as good as this.
Peter made small, desperate noises as Kevin stroked him, hips bucking up off the couch, a firm hand pressing blunt fingertips into the base of his skull to keep him within kiss-distance. Peter kissed like a starving man, as if he really could devour Kevin's mouth, teeth catching on his lip. It was messy, and Kevin loved messy, loved desperate, loved the needy way Peter pulled on him. The quick, shallow strokes built a warmth in his gut that threatened to billow into something more, but they weren't quite enough, and Kevin rocked into Peter's hand, equally desperate and messy and needy.
"Nuh, Peter, please," he whined, shifting his grip, and the glazed, fuck-hazy way Peter stared at him made his cock throb.
"Don't stop, for the love of God," Peter gasped, and then he shuddered, head falling back, mouth open, and the face he made when he came was unbelievably hot.
Kevin dragged in a breath like a sob, stroking Peter through it until he went limp, his draw on magic gone slack, and then he wrapped his come-sticky hand around Peter's knuckles. "Come on, come on!" He was so fucking close, sweat pooling between his shoulderblades, magic bleeding from his pores, and right on the edge, ready to fall. But—"Peter, please, please, please …"
Peter reached up to kiss him, licking into his mouth like he was claiming it, and that was it, Kevin's world came apart at the seams. It hit him hard, shattering every shred of restraint he had left, his self-control spilling between their fingers in hot pulses.
He collapsed, the relief of release overwhelming, and Peter was still kissing him, one damp hand pushing up under Kevin's shirt to curl possess
ively around his side, his kisses turning sweet and slow, accompanied by these low, soft humming noises that Kevin agreed with completely.
Something light settled on the back of his neck. It went cold, wet, and then there was another, on the shell of his ear.
Kevin opened his eyes, blinking because—
It was snowing. Inside the room.
Oh shit.
Chapter 11
Every ward in the room flared to life because Kevin had done magic and fuck, holy fuck, this wasn't happening.
Peter blinked, frowning with concern, his mouth open to say something—his gaze skittered sideways, and Kevin saw the exact moment when Peter realized what had happened and what it meant. His expression twisted, going through Kevin like a knife.
Kevin scrambled back, half-fell off the couch, grabbing at his jeans and, oh God, he was sticky and disgusting, and now was the absolute worst time for this conversation.
Peter shoved himself upright, staring at Kevin as though he'd just sprouted wings and a tail, which was pretty much what had happened, wasn't it? Peter glanced down at himself, at the mess on his belly, and the way his face … Kevin had never seen someone look so utterly revolted. It caught in Kevin's throat, threatened to choke him, because Peter would hate him, must hate him, and that was unbearable.
"I'm sorry," Kevin said though it wasn't enough.
Peter's eyes snapped up, dark with betrayal. "You … all along?" He lunged forward, then, uncoiling to his feet, and Kevin took a step back. What would he—"A witch?" Peter was livid, the black tendrils of his aura thickening and reaching out. Kevin panicked, stumbling backwards into the book-cage and pulling the gate shut. It locked automatically and the second set of wards snapped into place, a circle of protection and absolutely useless against a witch-hunter.
Peter must have known this; he buttoned his trousers, neither looking away from Kevin nor blinking, and then he came forward to lean his palms on the mesh of the cage, dissolving the wards and the circle without a word. He looked calm now, stone-faced, but the writhe of his aura gave the lie to it. This was fury, a cold hard kind of fury that frightened Kevin more than shouting could have. Peter's aura reached in, syphoning Kevin's magic, and it was different now because instead of filling himself Peter just vented the stuff, letting it scatter harmlessly into the air. It made Kevin feel sick, weak, feverish, and when he was empty Peter just held him like that, expressionless and cold.
"I never suspected you." His voice was even, low. "Your magic levels aren't much above normal. And it doesn't feel—" He grimaced, fresh revulsion rippling across his face, turning Kevin's breath to clay in his throat. "You lied to me about the boy in the stone garden. He's in your coven."
Kevin had to answer that. "No. No, he's not, I don't know him, I swear."
Peter didn't react. "You do have a coven, though. You can't be alone here, there's too many magical nodes for someone so weak in it to defend."
It stung, to hear that again, from him. "I'm not alone."
Peter settled his weight against the cage, fingers tightening in the mesh until his knuckles turned white. "Who are they?"
"I'm not telling you that."
"They're coming for you, though." It wasn't a question. Peter's eyes narrowed, considering. "What did you mean to do with me?"
"Nothing!" Kevin sucked in breath but it stuck somewhere in his chest, and the next breath felt like a sob. God, his heart hurt, so damn much. "I just … you wanted me. I wanted you back. I still—" but Peter didn't let him finish.
"You already knew about Cordelia."
"We knew there was a warlock," because what difference did it make what he told Peter now, now that he knew, now that he would … what was he going to do? "We knew someone was killed with magic up at the Cairn, and then someone was attacked in the Grove. And Ar—" but he checked himself, "we found the kid in the garden same time you did. All we knew was there was a warlock killing witches, and a witch somewhere they were hunting. So we were looking for them both, to stop her and to help him."
Peter regarded him flatly. "You used me for information."
Kevin couldn't help the noise he made. He realized his jeans were still open, then, and busied himself doing them up, fastening his belt, and it meant he didn't have to meet Peter's eyes. "Yeah. And you're a witch-hunter. We didn't want you, you know, burning anyone at the stake." He did look up, then, to find Peter watching him with something strange in his face Kevin didn't recognise, somewhere between two things and neither. Whatever that was about. Kevin wiped his hands on his jeans, feeling gross and sick and stupid. "We're on the same side."
His eyes widened, incredulous. "Do you expect me to trust you, after you deceived me?"
"Oh, 'cause I was going to just introduce myself. 'Hi, I'm Kevin, by the way I'm a witch.'" Kevin realized his hands were shaking. Jesus, he was shivering. Peter was still draining him, not letting him refill, and he wasn't supposed to be like that, not so low. This was dangerous. "You called us monsters! What was I supposed to do?"
Peter flinched, but then—"So you seduced me? What a fool you must think me, twice tricked by witches."
"I didn't seduce you! You came looking for me!"
"And that wasn't because you enchanted me?" The cut of Peter's glance was dismissive. "I may be a fool, but I'm not a fucking idiot." Kevin flinched, and—"Undo it, at once."
"What?"
"Your spell. Glamour, illusion, enchantment, whatever it is. Undo it from me."
"I haven't … for God's sake, I don't even know how."
Peter's face twisted savagely and he yanked on the cage gate; it clanged, but the deadbolt held. "Then why do I feel this way?"
Kevin couldn't breathe. "What way?"
"Like this," he hissed, unhooking his hands to slide them down the cage door, palming the mesh almost like a caress. "This weakness for you. As though—"
They both felt it at once, the heavy weight of another ward circling the building. Peter's head snapped around, and then he was away from the cage, hovering silhouetted in the doorway. In his distraction he let go of Kevin's magic and it surged back into him, like blood into a numb limb, leaving him all over cramps and prickles, and he had to catch himself before he keeled over.
Peter looked back over his shoulder, regret flashing across his face, but then he was gone, beads swinging in his wake.
Kevin couldn't help it, he sagged against the cage-door, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. That couldn't have gone worse. It was still going wrong, because any second—
The back door slammed open, and Bella stormed in, magic boiling off her like steam. It washed over Kevin, pulled him in, wrapped him up, but it hurt, tangy and wrong, and he instinctively pushed it away. She jerked as if stung. "Kevin!"
"I'm sorry," he said, because he was, and also, "I'm so stupid, I'm sorry …" He tried to link with her but the magic just scattered, leaping away from him. "Bella, I don't—"
"What the hell happened?" Artemis was full of magic too, but he was distracted, doing something complicated with a piece of string. "Your hunter, I suppose it was, tore through that ward like cardboard. Did … did you make it snow in here?" Now he was paying attention, reading the magical fallout but not understanding it. "Why would you do that?"
But Bella understood. "Shut up, Artie," she said, already keying the cage door open. She was still full of magic, still glowing, but she kept it to herself, pulling Kevin into a hug that was just wool and warmth.
"No, don't touch me, I'm gross," he protested but she just hugged him until he gave in, nosing into her hair because … everything was so wrong.
"Are you all right?" she asked him gently.
"No," but he was, wasn't he? "I mean … I'm not hurt," except, "I just …"
"It's okay," Bella told him, and he couldn't bear her pity but he wanted it all the same. "You're okay, little brother. You'll be fine."
Artemis peered at him, and then, horribly, at the couch. "What happened?"
"What do
you think?" Bella snapped.
"Sex," Artemis said, wrinkling his nose. "Why would you do that, though? Did you flare-off? You should have known better, Kevin, I've told you before to be careful."
"Artie," Bella pleaded. "Just shut up."
Artemis looked so bewildered it was almost funny. "I just don't understand why."
"No, you don't. So please be quiet." She rubbed a hand down Kevin's back, and it was soothing, sort of, but it didn't help much. She eased her magic around him, not firm enough to irritate, just enough for him to feel it. "So, he knows now. What did he do?"
"Nothing. He just … he's angry and he doesn't trust me. He thinks I spelled him into it," and Kevin sunk his face in her neck, wanting everything to just go away. "Can we get out of this damn cage?"
She backed up, drawing him with her, and nearly down onto the couch but … no.
"I wouldn't sit on that if I were you," he said, embarrassed.
Bella rolled her eyes. "I'm trying not to think about it."
"I'm not thinking about it," Artemis said primly. "Kevin, what did you tell him?"
"I didn't tell him anything! Except about the warlock and how we're trying to stop her. Not about you, though; he knows you exist but I didn't tell him anything about you."
"Of course not." Artemis looked shocked at the suggestion. Then he frowned. "We should go. It's not safe here."
Bella nodded, pensive. "Neither's the house. If he asks anyone where you live, Kevin … and anyway, we're in the phone book."
Kevin glanced guiltily from one of them to the other. It was all his fault. If he hadn't been so stupid … and he still wanted Peter, could feel the tug of him even now, wanted to go to him and, and what? He couldn't apologise. There was nothing he could do. And now he'd put everyone in danger. Bad enough there was a warlock out there, but now a pissed-off witch-hunter was after them too. Maybe. If he really would come after them. Kevin had no idea. He hadn't learned much at all about how Peter did what he did. Some kind of spy I turned out to be.
