Séptima Luna

by Gabbo De la Parra

  Resting half his upper body over Angel’s pale, almost rosy back, he brought the limp arm hanging from the bed up. Angel moaned. Malachi couldn’t be sure if it was because of the weight or the change of his dangling limb. He kissed the short hair on the back of the strong neck and pulled the sleeping body flush to his chest.

  “Ouch, my arm is dead.” Angel winced, turning his head to face Malachi. “Hey, be careful with your cuts.”

  “They are gone. Let me have you like this, while I can.”

  “Wow, you only have a little black left under your eye.” Angel shifted to look back into their cell and scooted back so his ass was heavenly nestled in Malachi’s groin.

  Damn pajama bottoms.

  “I like this,” Angel murmured, content.

  Malachi's hand coasted the smooth flank and settled over Angel’s hip, just there, basking in the warmth coming from the thinly covered skin. “You deserve a better moment. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

  “How could you know something like this would happen?” Angel caressed Malachi’s cheek as he turned again.

  They lay crotch to crotch now, and it was perfect. Thank the goddess for his poker face. “Yeah…”

  “You think it’d be too much to ask housekeeping for condoms and lube? I really want to go all the way.” Angel spoke with narrowed eyes, not a whiff of playfulness in his tone. More like someone planning a suicidal escape; although, his consistent grinding hinted of very specific things, the little death perhaps.

  The idea of any of them inside the other was enough to break his straight face, Malachi swallowed hard. “Nothing wrong with asking.” He grabbed Angel’s cock and gave it a tug. “So we save it to see if we’re granted that mercy?”

  Baby blues flashed wickedly. “Smother me with kisses.” Angel dragged Malachi bodily and planted him on top, between his legs, their hard cocks and taut balls snuggling. “I’ve needed your weight on me since forever.”

  “Is that so?”

  Angel grabbed Malachi’s ass and ground their bodies together. “So much astronomer, so little time.”

  Such familiarity rendered Malachi almost witless. “Goddess, you’re…”

  A loud clap exploded as Angel smacked Malachi’s left ass cheek. “Cute and Adorable are forbidden in this kingdom for the next six months.”

  Something inside Malachi’s chest flip-flopped; Angel wanted him around. He murmured though, “Only six months?”

  “Just a starting number.” Angel winked and smooched him fast. “Close season will be extended in direct proportion to your behavior.”

  Separating their bodies, Malachi turned Angel’s legs sideways and caressed the sweet curve of those steel globes. He lowered the white fabric and wetted his forefinger and traced the digit over intimate puckered flesh. “Is this good or bad behavior?”

  A moan escaped and goose bumps sprouted over Angel’s legs and butt. “Oh fuck.” He closed his eyes and hissed, “I don’t know yet.”

  “I can give you more facts.” The fingertip encountered no resistance as it moved softly around the opening of the creamy passage, not conquering, just teasing and gauging Angel’s responses. And what a fine response those mewling sounds were.

  Malachi moved to crouch beside the bed, still linked to a writhing Angel by one digit, using the other hand to pull Angel’s cock and balls back between those magnificent legs. A glorious view. The horizontal smorgasbord tempted him like not many things had in his life.

  “Please, Malachi…”

  His taste buds degusted maddening fluids, and Malachi continued his journey lengthwise the engorged shaft with a thorough stop on a hairless sac. His finger maintained its post on the scorching rosebud, and Malachi took possession of a meaty cheek to install his roaming tongue along for the final assault.

  Spread and probed, Angel uttered incompressible sounds, encouraging Malachi and squirming delightfully. Malachi didn’t have another option than to burrow his face amid heavenly buns and nurture the leaking cock with determined strokes.

  A bang broke their reverie, and his blond torturer entered, arched brow and sarcastic smirk. “Well, well, someone knows how to kill time.”

  “Motherfucker.” the huff seemed more coming from a bull ready to charge than from a boy with a man’s mouth on his hole a minute before.

  Malachi pulled Angel’s pajama bottoms up to cover the precious jewels from unworthy eyes. Angel did a lightning shift and sat, facing the intruder, his eyes like incandescent bullets ready to be fired.

  “There’s no other way to open that door than with a fucking wham?” The growl was more like the Angel Malachi was used to.

  “It’s really fun to startle you, boy.” The man gave Angel a downright leer.

  “We need clean sheets, we made a mess,” Malachi stated in a casual tone to diffuse the volcanic vibes emanating from Angel.

  The go-go boy looked at him, perplexed, and snicker-snorted.

  Thank the goddess.

  “Why, of course, sir; your chambermaid will be here in a minute to retrieve them and bring a complimentary bowl of condoms.” Any more sour and the idiot would be a rotten meal.

  Malachi shrugged. “And fresh fruit. We need fresh fruit too.”

  Angel shook his head, rested his brow on Malachi’s left shoulder, folding the rest of his upper body over him, and sighed in an almost amused tone, “I swear to God, I’m gonna murder that colorless hulk.”

  “Now, now.” Malachi patted Angel. “The big guy is just probably a naughty voyeur, was watching us on a monitor and decided to be closer to the action.”

  This comment fathered two reactions. Angel tensed again and lifted his face slowly, every bit of skin touching Malachi screaming I’m gonna jump the bastard. The goon on the other hand, blanched comically, except for his cheeks that went furiously red. “I didn’t do such a thing,” he blurted, more mortified than offended.

  “So you have cameras or not?” Angel barked, preparing himself to lunge.

  “There are no cameras here, baby. I was just egging this sad excuse of a pain-bearer.” Malachi grabbed Angel’s wrist to keep him in place.

  “You know, I came here, out of the kindness of my black heart, to give you twenty-four more hours of respite and to convince your boyfriend to make you talk.” The blond crossed his massive arms over his chest and cocked his head. “Since you are already healed, I’m considering taking you for another ride this instant.” He took a step toward them.

  “NO.” Angel almost broke Malachi’s wrist trying to jerk away from his grip. “You can’t do that, you promised forty-eight hours.”

  The torturer did a very unmanly and sassy lift of shoulders. “What’s the word of a scourger?”

  “Even the dirtiest scum has some sense of honor somewhere within,” Angel spat. “I’ll make him talk. You catch more with honey than with vinegar.”

  “Yeah, and this Winnie the Pooh had his face on the honey pot.” the man did an eye-roll, accompanied by a circle in the air with his finger toward Malachi. “Sure, why not? I’ll send better food, condoms, and lube. Maybe your ass can do the trick.”

  Before Angel could say something else, Malachi pulled him forcefully onto his lap and covered that pretty pouty mouth with his hand. “Thanks.”

  With a nod, the mountain turned and crossed the threshold. Another resounding bang signaled they were locked in again.

  “Are you aware that in ancient times the warriors were always hard when about to do battle?” Malachi whispered into Angel’s ear and squeezed his seriously engorged cock.

  Angel moved his head sideways (eyes narrowed) and hissed, “Shut up.”

  Hugo studied the chateau. Well, in Italy they called it a villa. Damn Umbrians had to discover a fucking gate and then fight to the death with the even more damn Romans.

  Chico had sent him with this unit so Angel could have a friendly face around. The poor boy must be overwhelmed and scared shitless. They would have to break it to Angel; at least that would help him be awa
re of his surroundings if he survived this stint. Hugo had never lost a charge, and he wasn’t planning on letting this LE be his first.

  Without any other option than doing this in plain daylight, they’d better get moving fast or it would be too late. According to a chatty cleaning girl, who allegedly fucked one of the guards of the villa, the two Americans they had in custody would be moved to another location in a couple of days. Why the forefathers of all guidos had to be such braggers? Hugo had no idea, but in this case it had been to their advantage.

  He gave the signal to the camouflage-clad man to his right. Of the twenty-man unit, ten were excellent snipers armed with tranquilizing darts, and they all carried painful rubber bullets. This wasn’t to be a massacre, and when you don’t have jurisdiction, a pile of bodies is not good PR. Wrapped in Kevlar up to their asses, they were ready to face their enemies’ live ammo.

  The hunk beside Hugo did a circle movement with his finger, and he admired the blazing grey eyes. Hugo had a thing for blond men, and if everything went according to plan, he and Snyder would be fucking the living daylights out of each other later that night, when they did their pit stop in Paris.

  All the outside guards crumbled simultaneously as the snipers did their thing. Grey eyes flashed mischievously at him, and with a nod, they sprang into action.

  We’re coming Angel, be brave.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Trash-ass Hulk made good on his offer and sent everything as promised and (in an interesting twist) also: underwear, decent-fitting khakis, and not-completely-unfortunate T-shirts. No shoes or socks, though. Maybe he thought that if escape was accomplished, they couldn’t go too far barefooted. Big mistake.

  They ate a sumptuous breakfast (it had to be morning somewhere) and rested for a while, side by side, caressing each other and necking like high school boys under the bleachers.

  “Would you stop being so stubborn and tell them what they want?”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  Angel felt like swatting Malachi on the back of his head. “Why not?”

  Malachi stroked Angel’s belly, tracing circles around his navel and dangerously close to a cock that was eager to participate in the festivities.

  “If you grab my cock to shut me up, I swear to God…”

  “Why would I do that?” And yet Malachi chuckled, his scheme discovered.

  “What is it that they need?”

  “I can’t tell you. You’re safer in the darkness.”

  “I spent a lot of time alone in the darkness in my past. What I need right now is light, open spaces and the fucking truth. Something doesn’t add up here, and I have a nagging suspicion this has to do with me as much as it has to do with you.”

  The wandering hand stroked his hip, and Angel growled. Malachi withdrew the offender. “You’re wrong. This shit-trip only relates to one of us.”

  Soft lips covered Angel’s, and Malachi kissed him so thoroughly (not just with his mouth but grinding their dicks and kneading his ass) that when Angel was able to breathe again, he didn’t remember in what Anno Domini he was living.

  Fuck the Common Era, I love my AD.

  What was I asking the cue-ball?

  As his scattered wits rallied to make him focus, he discovered Malachi standing beside the bed. “Come let’s take a shower.”

  All the snails traveling with the commands finally reached his muscles, and Angel wobbled into Malachi’s arms. Maybe there was something in the food because he didn’t feel like himself anymore. Well, he had never been kiss-fucked before, right? Perhaps that was it, just a mind-clouding afterglow.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I think so.” Angel answered not truly convinced, as they entered the bathroom. “Why are you putting me on the tub already, you’re not gonna run the water first?”

  “You didn’t notice yesterday? The water is never cold here.”

  Angel was too worried about Malachi’s condition to be paying attention to water temperature, but that little detail snapped him out of his daze. This meant they were held somewhere warm.

  Oh, Toto, where the fuck are we? Surely not Kansas.

  Fingers, pecks and water poured around him, and he was on his way to Tingleville, Hornia when Angel realized he needed to stop being a passive receiver and start giving. He turned Malachi around and slammed him against the wall, biting a shoulder and cupping a hard ass cheek.

  “I hope you have enough teeth to conquer where your hand is.” Malachi groaned, angling the small of his wide back upward.

  Fuck, Angel was always ready for a good challenge. He rubbed the secret gape between those rocky globes, and his mouth descended, incisors and canines multiplied to the tenth power.

  The more he bit, the louder Malachi became, and what a colossal turn on the rumbling was.

  Teeth stopped their assault. Crouched at eye level with healthy tanned Gluteus Maximus, Angel studied the beautiful tattoo adorning Malachi’s right cheek: no longer than his pinky, a circle flanked by opposing crescents, the moon in its first and last quarter.

  Maid. Mother. Crone. Since he met Malachi and heard about the pentagram and the goddess, Angel had done his homework and learned about other imageries. At close inspection (and he was seriously close, at licking distance, mind you), the tattoo was not made of lines but intricate filigree.

  It reminded him of rice painting, so complete and delicate. For some reason the water sloshing down his face wouldn’t let him discern, Jealousy reared her stupid face, waggling her bifid tongue. Someone must have spent an obnoxious amount of time creating this masterpiece over the prize-winning glute, and that didn’t sit right in Angel’s gut.

  Malachi grabbed the back of Angel’s head and smashed him between granite ass cheeks. “Bite there.”

  He could do that, immerse himself in flesh and forget this unnecessary ache. His name might be Angel but he hadn’t been one. Then why the idea of another man near Malachi suddenly irked him to no end?

  Spreading stone muscle, he did as ordered for a minute or two, Malachi undulating over his face.

  A resolution came to him; Angel spun Malachi around, took possession of the thick cock screaming for attention and gulped.

  Perhaps, choking for a while would take his head to a better place.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “I’m sorry, Chico. It must have been a decoy. They knew we were canvassing the area and offered a temptation.”

  Snyder pumped Hugo’s dick with his eighteen-wheeler of a fist and a wicked gleam in his grey eyes. Hugo sucked in breath as Chico cursed across the pond.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “I hit my hip with the dresser, thanks to you.”

  Hugo heard Chico punching keys; he yelled triumphantly, “Aha! There is a fucking blond beast in that unit—George Snyder. He’s between your legs, isn’t he?”

  A grunt escaped Hugo.

  Chico’s shudder came clearly through the line. “Don’t answer that. Just stay in France. They ought to have Angel somewhere in Europe. No point in you coming back yet.”

  “Damn, Chico. You’re not just a bossy boss but an inveterate snoop.” He chortled, not completely sure if it was because he knew Chico’s nosiness came from a good place, or due to Snyder’s sandpapered tongue along his inner thigh. “I’ll keep it kosher, Chico.” Hugo rolled his eyes; Snyder had taken possession of his dick-head with that pretty sexy mouth of his.

  “I’m pretty sure that meal is not rabbi-approved. No, I don’t wanna know. Just keep me posted.” Chico ended the conversation with another audible shudder.

  “Bad Snyder.” Hugo swatted the blond mercenary-with-a-cause on the top of his head. “You couldn’t wait five minutes?”

  “Your insatiable disposition for blonds is legendary among the arms-for-hire. Chemicals had been involved to gain your graces.” Snyder held Hugo’s dick by the base like a microphone in the middle of a televised interview.

  “A wasted effort, I assure you. If the carpet doesn’t
match the drapes, I know it’s a ruse.”

  “Anyone would think trained men would be smarter in such matters.” Snyder chuckled and then lapped from base to head.

  As much as Hugo found the man with the expert tongue incredibly attractive, his head wasn’t in it tonight. All the excitement of their encounter had been deflated by their failed attempt to rescue Angel.

  Hugo had kept an eye on that boy since the kid was seven years old, a constant guardian to keep Juggernaut at bay. With every victory of Angel, Hugo’s heart had sung, pride swelling inside him like a content parent instead of an obscure protector. He cried with Angel when his twin brother died in that boat accident, becoming a silent shadow at the cemetery. Every time Angel’s father had abused the poor thing physically and mentally just to lock him away in a shed, closer to a dog house than a place to store things, Hugo had gone insane with thoughts of murder and mayhem. Only restrained by his duty to observe from a distance and prevent contact with those who would use Angel to unleash something worse than the proverbial Pandora’s Box.

  Many times, Hugo had considered naming Angel’s father a minion of Juggernaut just to have an excuse to dispatch him and relieve Angel of his tormentor. But that wasn’t the way, everything happened for a reason, and Angel needed such a childhood to be the man he was today. Each good thing in Angel had come from surviving that darkness, and Hugo greatly respected his charge’s strength for that.

  Still, Hugo couldn’t resist the temptation and gave the SOB parent a swift visit during a moonless night, while Angel was away in a boxing competition, during his last year of high school. He made it clear for the man that a very painful death would be his if he didn’t let Angel go as soon as he was legal, making it appear his own fabulous idea.

  “Earth to Hotness,” Snyder murmured, their faces inches apart.

  When did he move?

  “Oh, hey,” Hugo offered, mesmerized by Snyder’s platinum eyes. “I’m sorry. The kid is really important to me, not just a target.”