by AM Riley
Seamus ignored that gorgeous hand. “Well at least you admit it,” he said. Problem was, the Buzzimess fellow was so small he could disappear easily. He could be anywhere, under a table or out the door for all Seamus knew. He slapped the bar with the palm of his hand and sat back down on his stool.
“I’m cursed,” he said.
“Are you?” That Lyre guy was still standing there, his head tilted to one side, studying Seamus, eyes traveling quite obviously over his shoulders, arms torso. It made Seamus sweat just a little to be so perused like something on the dessert tray.
Then Lyre stepped closer. Too close. Right up into Seamus personal space, so that Seamus’ shoulders actually hit the wall behind him. “Not interested, buddy,” he growled warningly.
The guy didn’t get the message.
“His name is… was Joseph Sheehy-Skeffington,” mused Lyre, almost to himself.
Seamus felt goosebumps all up his back. “Yeah?”
“He died. I…I’m sorry I guess … I just… you look so much like…”
Seamus folded his arms across his chest. “How old was he?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“This friend of yours. How old was he?”
“Oh.” Lyre studied the familiar, but strange face. Joseph had needed glasses just to walk across the room. This man’s sky blue eyes were unencumbered. He had the same strong jaw and mouth, the same dimple in his left cheek. The glint of light in the beginnings of blond stubble around his chin and that adorable Irish boy’s nose. But there was a bend in the nose where it had perhaps been broken. A scar near the left eye. Tension in the face that Joseph’s had never held and a cynical manner that was so wholly unlike his lover he was surprised he had initially mistaken him for this man.
He just missed him so. Spending a night in their room had made it worse.
“He was younger than you are now, when he died.” He couldn’t keep the ache from his voice.
“Hey. Sorry,” said Seamus. “So he couldna been the guy I heard of,” he said. The Lyre guy backed off a little bit, sitting on the barstool the gnome had vacated. Something about the way he nodded his eyes shifting down, like every minute he was still hoping for something. Something, cynical around the mouth, like he was laughing at his own hope. Seamus knew that feeling.
“I know what it’s like,” he said. “Sympathies. Can I buy you a drink?”
The guy called Lyre looked around the room, then back at Seamus, and that hint of a smile crinkled around his eyes. “That would probably be a very bad idea.”
Seamus followed his look. For the most part the patrons of the establishment looked either very shocked or very angry. And they were all looking at the two of them. It tickled him for some reason, like after the day he had had, he was the one who pissed everybody off.
“Sounds like a good reason to me.” He gave the Lyre fellow a wink and a grin. If he was going to enrage the local citizenry, least he could do it with a hot looking guy.
Lyre’s eyes crinkled at the corners again, and he gave Seamus a wicked smile that seemed to just wrap around Seamus’ cock and squeeze. “Oh, by all means.”
***
Maeebsef and O’Grady were halfway down the passageway to the Sidhe bar when Maeebsef stopped and leaned against the wall.
“Maeebsef?” O’Grady was at his side. The Fey turned, his skin hot, his eyes hotter, and fastened his mouth to O’Grady’s like a starved man.
“Wait,” hissed O’Grady, holding him off and looking around desperately. “Let us find a place.”
The faerie lights in the back hallway glowed a dull blue over Maeebsef’s porcelain skin. Deep indigo shadows sat under his cheekbones, in the space below his lips. They enhanced the color in his eyes, the purple thick and deep. In seconds, Maeebsef had unlaced his shirt and was leaning against the wall, running the palms of his hands over his nipples and abdomen.
O’Grady’s whole body leapt toward that feast like a lion might leap on a gazelle. Maeebsef gave under him like velvet cloth, his ass filling O’Grady’s hands, one thigh wrapping immediately around O’Grady’s hip, one hand burrowing below the Banshee’s many layers and sliding against his skin.
O’Grady’s mouth attacked Maeebsef’s with such force the faerie’s head banged against the wall. He ground tighter against him, his tongue mapping out the inside of Maeebsef’s mouth, feeling the hardness of Maeebsef’s need, already damp through the tight trousers. O’Grady’s fingers tore at the laces holding the fly closed and slid into tight heat, filled with a long throbbing shaft.
Maeebsef keened into his mouth as O’Grady pulled feverishly at his cock, bucking against him, hands clutching, nails digging in.
This was the way it always was for them these days. Desperate, hurried, giving Maeebsef what he needed. What he needed with ever increasing frequency and intensity and still it wasn’t enough.
Maeebsef cried out now, arching, as his cock spurted between them. But O’Grady didn’t stop, once was never enough now, he set Maeebsef on his feet, and turned him toward the wall, reaching into his own trousers and hoping that what he found there would be hard enough.
“O’Grady!” Maeebsef writhed, bottom twisting and pushing into his hands. “Fill me.”
Gods. O’ Grady was still only half hard. He wet his fingers and pushed two of them against Maeebsef’s hole. The faerie thrust back, gasping, and O’Grady pumped vigorously but within minutes Maeebsef was rolling his forehead against the wall whining piteously.
O’Grady, still chafed and aching from the morning, nevertheless responded to the only one who could ever arouse him, his organ hardening enough to get it inside Maeebsef who cried out with relief as O’Grady slammed him hard into the wall.
Gasps and grunts and the scrabble of fingers, feet shuffling to get purchase, wet sound of flesh thrusting and Maeebsef arched again just as O’Grady felt the burn of another orgasm wringing from him.
“O’Grady…” Maeebsef turned in his arms, still hot, his eyes huge and lost in the strange lighting. He dropped to his knees and began licking O’Grady’s abused cock.
“No, please…” but O’Grady couldn’t deny him. Maeebsef collapsed, finally, against his leg. Sobbing huge breaths into his lungs.
“Here, let me…” O’Grady gathered his lover up into his arms. Kissed the sweating face, smoothed damp hair back. Carefully refastening Maeebsef’s shirt as the Fey kept gulping air, his limbs shaking.
It was as close to comfort as O’Grady could offer him. Words of love seemed out of place after these violent couplings. “Are you better?”
Maeebsef nodded.
O’ Grady held him close. “What caused it this time?”
Maeebsef turned his head against O’Grady’s chest. “The smell of all the humans around us.”
O’Grady’s heart sank. But he held Maeebsef and kept his body steady, his voice calm. “Like the last time?”
He could feel the Fey’s head nodding against him.
“Well, that’s… that’s better, then. We have an idea what’s causing it. We can…” Maeebsef had turned his head into the crook of his arm and was nuzzling with a renewed intensity.
O’Grady shifted the slim body back, putting air between them. “Can you go inside now?”
Thick, black lashes shifted, a shadow over the hollowed cheeks. “I can try,” whispered Maeebsef. O’Grady felt the Gianes long fingers interlace with his. “Stay with me?”
“Always,” whispered O’Grady.
***
This was the way to conduct a surveillance, thought Seamus, knocking back a shot. They’d found a good vantage point, easily acquiring a table by simply walking up to it. The residents of said table scattered as they approached. The Lyre guy’d given the barmaid some kinda big gold token and the whiskey had been flowing ever since.
Seamus let his eyes slide sideways to take in the Lyre guy. He could see quite clearly through the man’s transparent shirt. Lean, but cut. Round shoulder muscles, pecs just full enough to
give a guy something to chew on. Bluish shadows in the weirdly lit room defined a good six-pack. Judging from the cashmere coat carefully folded on the seat beside him, and those fine manners, more class than Seamus ever had been this close to. But still, big and masculine, hands strong, with thick fingers, big wrists. Riley’d been a big guy. That was something Seamus admired, being on the slim but wiry side.
Riley and him on surveillance. Now that’d been something. Seamus poured more whiskey in his glass. They’d been on a watch the first time Seamus had spilled the beans about being gay.
“Yer shittin’ me?” Riley hadn’t jumped out of the cruiser yet; that was something.
Seamus took a deep breath and rattled off the rest of his much-practiced speech. “You can ask for a transfer if you want.”
He couldn’t look. It’d sting too much to see disgust in Riley’s face. Some guy on the street, sure, what the fuck did he care what they thought? But his partner?
That big hand clapped him hard on the shoulder.
“Hey, yer my partner, man. Whatever floats yer boat.” And Riley actually chuckled.
It felt like a benediction from the fucking priest. Seamus let out a long shaky breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. “Well, great. I was worried… hell, you surprise me, Riley.”
“Yeah,” said Riley. “I’m full of surprises.”
He had been. It was about two weeks later on another surveillance. The wind banged trashcans down the alley and rain fell so thick and hard they couldn’t see the place they were supposed to be watching anyway.
Steam filled the cruiser. The smell of man and the burgers they’d eaten in there. Riley’s light scent of ‘Old Spice’. Seamus swore his ass had gone completely numb and he was fighting just to stay awake when Riley grunted and leaned forward to snap open the glove box.
“Fuck it.” He produced a small flask. “Want some?”
Seamus wasn’t a baby, but it shocked him. “On duty, asshole.”
“Fine,” said Riley and tipped the flask back, his throat working hard as he drank. Seamus watched him appalled. Riley’s Adams apple moved up and down and Seamus let his eyes follow it, let them drop a little further to the black curls at the ‘v’ of Riley’s neck.
“You sure?” The flask was under his nose again. Seamus looked up into black, black mischievous eyes.
“Nah.”
Riley snorted and re-corked the flask. Shoved it back in the box. “Well, shit, man. This is the looongest night I’ve ever sat watch.” His big hand slapped his thigh a couple of times. Rubbed at it a bit. Slapped it again. Once. Twice. Seamus found he was watching Riley’s hand, that big knuckled hand with the dark hairs on the backs of the fingers, his thick gold wedding band glinting as he rubbed his fingers back and forth back and forth, hand slowly inching up his leg until Riley was sitting there in the fucking squad rubbing himself through his pants.
“Interested?” His voice was a shock to Seamus, who jerked his eyes up and met that black gaze.
“What?”
Riley adjusted himself on the seat, sliding down and opening his legs. Rubbing harder now, the bulge there becoming obvious.
“Just between partners,” he said, watching Seamus through half-lidded eyes.
And then Riley grabbed Seamus hand and slapped it down on the hot swelling at his groin.
Seamus whimpered. The hand that held his squeezed and then it was like some nightmare or dream or a combination of the two because he was leaning over, Riley’s hand on the back of his head now, urging him down. Another one of those hands opening Riley’s zipper and bringing out a lush red cock, leaking and beautiful, almost black with blood in the darkened squad car. Seamus opened his lips and took it in.
“Thirsty?”
Seamus jerked back to the present. Lyre was giving him a slanted amused look, tipping the empty whiskey bottle and shaking it over his glass.
“Well, who drank all that?” Seamus tipped his head on its side, felt his brains lean-to a little with the motion. Sort of like they were floating. Huh. “Guess I’m buyin’ the next round,” he said, raising his hand to call for service. Several angry faces glared at him from around the room.
“These citizens don’t appear to approve of the NYPD,” said Seamus to Lyre. “You aint gonna be popular after tonight.”
Lyre shrugged. “What makes you think I was popular before? I am trying to find a kinsman, and these people appear to be hiding information from me.”
“’Missing persons’ not much help?” said Seamus.
Lyre blinked at him.
“Yeah. I know. I hear you. Its not...” Seamus gave up, waving it off. He wasn’t in the mood today to discuss the inadequacies of police personnel. Not when he’d found the guy he’d seen at Riley’s shooting walking around the city as easy as you please. The waitress came and plunked the whiskey bottle down on the table so hard it shook. Seamus grinned at her and she buzzed off angrily.
“I’m looking for a guy, too,” he said. “’Nother weird coincidence, huh?”
Lyre’s eyes rested on him, thoughtfully. It gave Seamus a little buzz and zing right where it counted. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Seamus chuckled. “Now you sound like a cop.” He dared to clap Lyre on the back, let his hand rest there a minute. Hard muscle, cool skin beneath that sheer fabric. Fuck. He shifted on the seat.
“Whiskey here’s got a real kick to it,” he observed.
Lyre’s eyes narrowed and crinkled at the corners again. He licked his lower lip.
Seamus’ eyes followed the tip of that tongue. Oh, yeah. Then he remembered.
“Uh, anyway, gotta hang in here until he shows.”
“If you don’t mind, I will ‘hang in here’ with you,” said Lyre. “I find it much easier to sit and wait with company.”
“Yeah,” said Seamus. “Obs without a partner is a drag.” He thought momentarily of Parker call-me-Joe. “And I ain’t got one now, so you’re welcome.”
He glanced sideways at the man, feeling his cock stir again, even though he knew better. Christ he’d tried it, what? Almost two weeks now. His own hand or at the leather house. It was a no go. No use in driving another man crazy and humiliating himself to boot.
He was dwelling on this sadly and wondering if he might try it anyway. When he saw a familiar messy head of black hair towering over the others, making his way to the bar. He sank back a bit into the shadows.
They’d tried to evade him. Seamus snorted and grinned to himself. Amateurs. “That’s him,” he hissed to Lyre.
Lyre turned. When he turned back to Seamus, those grass green eyes were wide, looking almost chartreuse, with those black lashes framing them. “Seamus,” he said. “Are you certain that’s him?”
Seamus cops eyes were following O’Grady’s progress. He couldn’t see his face, but that walk, that filthy black coat. “That’s him.”
Lyre was still looking at him in that peculiar manner. “Seamus, do you believe in faeries?”
Seamus’ eyes stayed on O’Grady, but he cracked a smile. “You gonna tell me you’re gay, hon? Cuz I sorta knew that.”
“What? Oh, by the Saints. Seamus, that man…”
Seamus shot a quick glance at Lyre. Wow, was he pale.
“Seamus, that is not a man. That is a Banshee. And… and he is with the kinsman I seek.”
***
O’Grady’s mind was so full of Maeebsef that he didn’t notice until he was halfway across the bar. He stopped dead and sniffed. The Blood. A clansman nearby. He whirled on the heel of his foot, feeling for the source, but the eyes of the crowd showed him the man before he even sensed him. Everyone was glaring in that direction.
As he came around the table, Seamus Brady stood up. “Boo,” he said. He rocked slightly on his feet, grabbing the table for support. O’Grady eyed the litter of shot glasses on the table. His eyes went from his inebriated clansman to the Fey who appeared to accompany him.
“Who are you?” said O’Grady, his voice
a threatening growl.
But Lyre was looking at Maeebsef, who had wrapped his fingers and hands around O’Grady’s massive arm, like ivy clinging to a tree.
“This is Lyre of the Gianes,” said Maeebsef. “He has come to arrest me.”
Seamus chuckled. He jabbed a thumb at O’Grady. “And I have lotsa questions for you, Big Fella.” He swayed and Lyre reached out quickly to steady him.
O’Grady closed a hand over Maeebsef’s and squeezed. He frowned at Seamus, then at Lyre. Then he beckoned the waitress.
