by AM Riley
“You are not he,” said Lyre.
“Shut up,” growled Seamus, and rolled him so that Lyre was now helpless, Seamus pushed the tunic up and ran his palms, then his lips, across Lyre’s chest, his belly. Roughened fingertips twisted Lyre’s nipples, Seamus' teeth closed on skin.
It should have hurt but it only sent jagged sensation through Lyre’s body and he moaned and arched, one hand in Seamus' hair, the other clawing at his shoulder.
“Yeah, like that,” said Seamus, and he spread his body over Lyre’s. His shirt was open, his chest hot and sweaty against Lyre’s. His hips jerked against Lyre’s, cocks thrusting through the fabric. That pressure was so good, Lyre’s eyes felt like they would roll back in his head.
“Look at me,” ordered Seamus, his rough fingers catching Lyre’s chin. Lyre saw stars in the canopy above him. Stars and those eyes, hot and frightened.
“Seamus?” Something was wrong. This shouldn’t feel so huge, so significant.
Seamus looked equally overwhelmed. “Least you know my name this time,” and his lips were on Lyre’s again, tongue stroking Lyre’s so he could barely breathe. He felt Seamus' hand stretching his waistband, those rough fingers tore at the placket of Lyre’s trousers and Lyre felt the air against his cock, a hand gripping it firmly.
“Oh gods,” he gasped. And heard Seamus chuckle.
The body Lyre held in his arms writhed against him desperately, and he slid his hand down to find Seamus cock, damp with precome, and heavy.
Seamus whimpered, hips jerking. His cock slid like a piston in Lyre’s hand. Seamus grunted, biting down on Lyre’s shoulder, hard, as his body stiffened and wet warmth spurted over Lyre’s hand. Then Seamus made a wild sound, bending to savagely feed off Lyre’s body. Mouth making a tingling path from his navel to his need.
“No,” gasped Lyre. Then, “Oh!”
Seamus growled, whimpered, suckled and swallowed. He sounded like a hungry animal, afraid that this meal would be taken from him. His tongue pressed against the bottom of Lyre’s organ, his teeth scraped the top, he lunged down and Lyre could feel the soft warm palate of Seamus throat closing around him.
Seamus' mouth released him long enough for the man to hiss, “c’mon, give it up for me…” his breathing harsh. Then Seamus swallowed him down again, a vibration in his throat, tongue moving…
Lyre felt the earth tip sideways.
After a minute, he opened his eyes. Seamus was still at his groin, fingers almost painfully gripping his hips, mouth just resting on Lyre’s spent cock. His face was flushed, damp, and dirty. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, as if he prayed. Lyre looked about himself. He’d managed to roll them into one of those spaces in the Grove that the Folk created to hide themselves from humans. Sticks and dirt and leaves, the ground soft with pine needles. It was safe, but not really clean.
Lyre and Seamus were both covered with the debris. “Here,” he said, struggling to sit up. “Let me help you get clean.”
Seamus opened his eyes then and raised his head, looking up at him with a stricken expression. “Who the fuck are you?” he whispered.
Oh, Maab help him, what had he done this time?
Seamus scrambled to his feet. His shirt and pants were open, but he still wore his boots. He looked around, holding his pants up by the waistband, and found his gloves.
“Seamus,” said Lyre, reaching to help the man dust twigs and leaves off his back.
Seamus jumped a foot and batted at Lyre’s hands. “Stay OFF me.” His voice was tight. He zipped up his pants; backing away from Lyre, watching him like he thought the Fey would pull a gun.
“I’m sorry…”
“DON’T.” Seamus jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you fucking apologize again.” He buttoned up his shirt, smoothed his hair back.
“You have dirt on your face,” said Lyre.
Seamus rubbed at his cheek, still backing away. The man’s eyes were hot and Lyre wondered if he even knew there were tears in them. Every time Lyre moved, Seamus reacted slightly, as if they were pugilists squaring up for a fight.
“So,” Seamus dragged his sleeve across his face again. “So, now what?”
A breeze whirled down the path, tiny tornados of leaves caught up in it. The trees vibrated with the call. Lyre sighed. “Seamus, I am wanted. I have to go.”
“What?”
The last Lyre saw before he touched wood and walked through was the steed dipping to nuzzle Seamus stricken face.
***
Okay, that settled it, thought Seamus, releasing his shoulder holster and hanging it next to his jacket. He kicked the closet door shut with a satisfying thud. He was off men for life. All men, human, faerie, or alien. They were all the same. Seamus whumped his fist into the refrigerator door and grunted with the sensation… They whapped you with their stun guns. Every time.
He carried the orange juice carton into the living room with him and plunked down on the sofa. From now on he was sticking to the Playboy channel and his hand. At least he could trust that. He looked at said hand and used it to pick up the remote from a cushion next to him.
He pressed the “on” switch repeatedly until he realized that the batteries must be dead again. Or still.
“Fuck.” Seamus threw the remote down and bounced up from the couch, pacing restlessly. Man, his apartment was small. It took just five long, agitated steps to get from one side of it to another. After his third circuit, Seamus figured he’d either get out of there or start walking the walls as well.
It wasn’t his shift but the only place he could think of to go was work. Well, that and a certain apartment that did not exist.
A rap came at his door. And then a ghoulish voice uttering his name. Aw, for Christ’s sake. He threw open the door. “Now what?” he barked into the face of his Banshee.
O’Grady blinked. He wasn’t exactly accustomed to this sort of response from clansmen. Fear and screaming being standard.
“I heard you were looking for me…”
***
“That him?”
O’Grady’s pupil-less eyes rested on the suspect for a few contemplative seconds. “Yes.”
Seamus and O’Grady were crammed into Seamus' old Honda, idling in a twenty-minute zone and watching a guy on the sidewalk.
About five-foot ten, medium build and complexion. Dark hair. Nothing outstanding in his features. Guy stood in front of a newsstand, fist crammed into the pockets of a jacket, perusing the magazines in front of him.
Not doing a damned thing that would give Seamus reasonable cause.
Seamus’ internal engine was in about sixth gear, ready to plaster the guys face into the pavement, maybe rip out a few internal organs. He vibrated in place, tapping out a tune on the steering wheel. “C’mon, dirtwad,” he muttered. “Hold up the vendor, rip off a magazine. Something.”
O’Grady’s marble eyes rolled. “I thought your purpose was to deter such activities.”
“My purpose is to find a legal reason to question the suspect. Even better, a legal reason to kick him in the head a few times.”
The guy was dirty all right. Nobody looked that nervous for no reason. Seamus glanced around up and down the sidewalks. Well, okay, everybody walking the streets looked that nervous, but Seamus’ famous instincts were screaming. And it wasn’t just because his Banshee had ID’d the guy.
“Bet he’s got a list of priors long as my leg,” said Seamus, adjusting his rearview mirror.
“Why don’t you arrest him?”
“For what? I have to see him DO something, O’Grady.”
O’Grady’s disheveled form assumed a posture of indignation. “I have told you what he did.”
“Yeah, yeah,” absently Seamus patted O’Grady’s bony knee. Then he looked at his own hand. Creepy. “I need a human witness or a warrant, Big Guy. Never thought I’d say this, but I wish I was still on leave, I could take the time to tail him.”
“I see,” said O’Grady, looking mystical. He wavered.
“
Don’t you bug out on me now,” said Seamus. “That guy pulls a runner I could use your… whatever it is that you have that makes you find people.”
“I’m only thinking I know of someone who might be able to help.”
“Yeah?” Seamus bounced a few times more. “That’d be great. Aw, fuck.”
O’Grady was gone.
“Christ on a cross,” the suspect paid for his newspaper, damn it, even thanked the fucking vendor.
When the air bucked inside the car again, disgorging O’Grady, Seamus barely blinked. Then he saw Lyre in the back seat.
“Oh,” he said, flatly. “You.”
“Good afternoon, Seamus.”
Seamus didn’t reply to Lyre’s greeting. He looked at his Banshee. “This your idea, O’Grady? Cuz I gotta say I don’t see much help here.”
O’Grady looked as embarrassed as a ten-foot one-thousand year old Banshee is capable of looking. “I thought you were friends. Lyre has stated…”
“You could say we’re friends,” said Seamus. “Waddaya call it? Fuck buddies?”
“WHAT?” roared O’Grady.
“Just the two times,” said Lyre quickly. “Seamus and I…”
O’Grady was glaring balefully at Lyre. Seamus checked his vocabulary definitions against the expression on O’Grady’s face. Yep. Balefully. That was what it was.
“You should know better,” said O’Grady.
“Yeah, hon,” said Seamus mockingly. “You shoulda known better.”
“Seamus, I can’t…”
“No no no. That part comes later. FIRST you say, Seamus suck my dick. THEN you say, Seamus I can’t…”
“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?” yelled O’Grady.
Lyre glowered at him. “Seamus, I’m sorry if you felt mistreated…”
“You remember my name? I’m touched.”
Lyre’s eyes flared pure green fire. “You are the most cursed human being I have ever met.”
Seamus laughed, but O’Grady drew himself up so that he was about twelve feet filling the car and looming over Lyre. “Withdraw that statement,” he said in a voice that echoed with command.
Lyre’s eyes went very wide.
“Lyre of the Gianes, withdraw that statement.”
“I… I withdraw it,” said Lyre meekly, staring at O’Grady.
Seamus smirked, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the suspect preparing to leave the newsstand. “Gotta boogie, bogeyman,” he said, slapping O’Grady’s arm.
He started the engine.
Lyre leaned forward on the seat. “Let me help you, Seamus.”
Seamus ignored him.
“Please,” said Lyre. He put a hand on Seamus arm, and Seamus immediately jumped back, slapping the hand away hard.
“I’m only trying to help,” said Lyre.
Seamus frowned. What the hell was Lyre up to, trying to make him look like the bad guy? “Fine. You wanna help? I need someone to tail that suspect. I need to know where he goes, who he talks to, where he works where he takes a piss… You think you can do that?”
“Of course, Seamus, I can…”
“Then I need that someone to come down to the station and look through the books and I.D. the guy and any associates he may have. I need that someone to be visible and not dressed like some kinda faerie.”
Seamus glanced back at Lyre in the rearview mirror. Lyre had withdrawn and sat, arms folded, in the corner of the back seat.
“You think you could pull that off, blondie?”
Seamus spun the wheel and pulled into traffic, making a sound of dismissal. “Nah, I didn’t think so.” He stopped for a light. The suspect stood amongst the throng at the curb. Seamus drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“I can do that,” he heard Lyre say, very quietly.
Seamus rubbed his mouth with his fingers. He had the swing shift and he and Parker call-me-Joe were doing an evening mounted patrol in the Park. He wouldn’t be able to survey the suspect for days, possibly.
“This is important,” he said.
“I surmised as much.”
Seamus twisted in his seat and looked at Lyre. The Fey still had his defensive face on, cool and stiff. “Thanks,” said Seamus. He stretched his arm over the seat back and offered his hand.
Lyre blinked at him. Then he stretched out his hand and grasped Seamus’.
They shook solemnly.
“Well, there we are then,” said O’Grady cheerily. “So, I’m thinkin’ I’m going to …” O’Grady gestured vaguely.
Neither faerie nor man noted his departure.
The hand Seamus held in his was very warm. He could feel the shape of the air between them. That helpless look in Lyre’s eyes wasn’t helping any.
Seamus jerked his hand away, clearing his throat roughly. “So.” He pulled up to the curb and pressed the button that unlocked the back door. “You wanna get out? I’m gonna be late.”
He watched the Fey step from the car and walk right up to the suspect. That invisibility thing really made surveillance easy, he guessed. Seamus pulled out into traffic, saw Lyre’s head turn once as he passed.
Those chartreuse eyes burnt in his mind for hours afterwards.
***
“Hey, what’s going on at the desk?”
Parker call-me-Joe straightened in his chair and craned his head to see over the crowd of bodies in the squad room.
“What?” Seamus turned to look. They were stuck writing reports all day and any distraction was welcome.
For a lot of reasons, Seamus didn’t pay much attention to the female patrol officers or station personnel. But now he couldn’t help notice a definite knot of them clogging the aisle.
Above their heads, white-blond curly hair. Seamus jumped up from his desk and shouldered his way through the crowd.
Hair hanging over the ears, black cotton shirt over jeans, Lyre looked like you’re average guy. Your average drop dead sexy blond guy from planet hard on.
Damn.
“Officer Brady!” Lyre turned to him and a couple of women almost fell dead at the sight of those tight jeans on that beautiful ass. Lyre held out his hand. “I’ve come to look at pictures of that man as I said I would.”
Seamus peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Good job,” he croaked. He regarded Lyre’s offered hand as if it might bite him. “You got someone to set you up?”
He most definitely had. Seemed the women were fighting over who got to bring him the mug shots. Lyre was escorted to a desk, an assistant standing helpfully by in case he needed help turning pages or something.
Lyre opened the book, a serious look on his face. Thick black lashes lowered over those eyes. A Styrofoam cup was placed at his elbow.
“Mint tea,” said a deputy assistant, flirting like all get out.
“Thank you,” Lyre smiled up at her and Seamus swore he could see the wave of the heat of that smile pass through the crowd of women like the blast from a bomb.
“Where’d you find him?” asked Parker, conversationally, when Seamus had come back to his desk.
“He knows a guy that was at the scene of Riley’s shooting.”
Parker stopped what he was doing and looked at him intently. “I don’t remember talking to anyone who…”
“Before you came on,” said Seamus briskly. He saw more questions crowding into Parker’s eyes, and he flipped open a folder and frowned down at it. Clicking his pen. “That guy we pulled over on thirty sixth,” he said. “What was his number?”
***
Seamus realized he had been staring at the same box on his arrest report for over ten minutes. He sat back and let himself gaze at the top of Lyre’s head where the Fey still bent over the mug shots.
It was easier to feel attracted to assholes. There’s just less risk in it. Lyre was definitely shaping up to be NOT an asshole, and it was making Seamus feel both annoyed and vulnerable. And really horny. He’d been twitching in his seat since the guy had walked into the station.
