Curse of the Gianes

by AM Riley

  And he did.

  When Seamus mouth was somewhere around his knees, Lyre started to feel that feverish need in his belly. So when the man licked his balls, and moved on up to his cock, Lyre put a restraining hand on his head.

  “No. I want you inside me.”

  “Oh,” said Seamus, his eyes widening. He stood slowly, hands caressing Lyre. “Okay, then, come on.”

  He tugged at Lyre’s hand and only stopped when Lyre tripped over his trousers, and had to stop to untangle them from his feet. “Seamus, where are you taking me?”

  Seamus led him into a bedroom, pushing him and mauling him simultaneously, until somehow they were both on the bed. He tossed things to the floor, a book, a TV remote, pressing Lyre back until his head lay on a pillow, Seamus above him.

  “Never done this before,” said Seamus, his eyes black, reading Lyre’s. His hand ran down Lyre’s body, eyes following the path of his hand. “You’re so fucking pretty…” he cupped Lyre’s sacks, wrapping his fingers around his cock.

  Lyre shivered and thrust into that firm grip. Seamus gave him a little half grin and bent to nibble. A wet tongue in Lyre’s ear and a whisper. “You want me?”

  “Yes,” Lyre moaned, opening his legs.

  “Jesus,” Seamus said. “Hang on,” and he popped up from the bed and ran into another room, a great crashing and slamming came from there and he ran out again holding a bottle of something clear.

  “Hope baby oil will do it,” he said. “Never tried anything, just read about it…” as he babbled he was climbing back onto Lyre, one arm around him, palm of his hand skimming and tracing with fingers as if he couldn’t believe he held this body in his arms.

  His touch had become so light and careful, like he thought Lyre was made of glass. He kissed Lyre gently. “Want to … don’t know…”

  Lyre could see that someone with experience was going to need to take the upper hand. He rolled onto his belly, spreading his legs and heard Seamus take in a long breath.

  “Christ,” Seamus choked.

  “Please, Seamus,” said Lyre. And he wiggled his ass on the bed. “Make me ready.”

  Seamus moaned and scrabbled about and then there was an oily thumb pressing at Lyre’s entrance.

  Lyre gasped and shivered.

  You like that?” asked Seamus worriedly. He rubbed some more, pressing in on every third or forth stroke. A second finger circling as well.

  “Do you need to ask?” groaned Lyre, arching into the touch, lifting his hips from the mattress and reaching for his own cock. “Seamus…please…”

  Seamus' fingers became more confident. Two pressed in, scissoring and opening Lyre. Lyre gasped against the pillow, pressing into the sensation.

  “Seamus, I can’t wait.”

  Seamus pulled Lyre’s hand away and wrapped his fingers around Lyre’s cock, pumping at an agonizingly slow pace. “You ready for me?”

  The question was rhetorical as Lyre was squirming and thrusting his ass backward, looking for Seamus' cock.

  “Okay then.” The blunt head of Seamus' cock pressed at his entrance and he said nothing at all for some time while he worked himself inside.

  Lyre moaned and twisted and clawed at the mattress.

  “Gggah…” said Seamus finally. “Good…” Breathless deep voice.

  Lyre panted for breath. He felt so full of warmth, the hot hand closed tight around his cock. If someone didn’t move soon, he’d explode.

  “Seamus…” he whined.

  “Yeah, baby, gotchya. Just. Need a sec.” Seamus sounded as overcome as Lyre. But he withdrew slightly, pushed in. Groaned. Withdrew a little more, pushed in. This time with force.

  “Christ,” Seamus bit out in his throat. And then he started to really fuck him. Lyre arched and yelled and tried to keep up but the man who road him set the pace, hand pulling at Lyre’s cock to match his thrusts so that it was only moments before Lyre’s fingers were digging into the sheets, his voice a wail, and his body alight as seed poured from him and Seamus roared triumphantly at his ear.

  “Fuck,” said Seamus, in a soft voice, some moments later. He lay across Lyre’s back, his cock still embedded. He withdrew carefully, peeling the condom free and hurling it in the general direction of a waste basket.

  “You okay?” he whispered, caressing Lyre’s shoulder gently. Lyre murmured. “Never felt anything like that,” whispered Seamus. “Never felt anything like you.” He kissed the back of Lyre’s neck and helped Lyre roll over. “Thank you.” Seamus took Lyre’s chin between his fingers. A gentle kiss. No hunger, just soft and warm and happy.

  The sun was rising. Its filtered light coming through Seamus' tiny bedroom window and casting a silver edge around the side of his face. A light furze of golden stubble on his cheeks and chin. His eyes happy and tired as he smiled down on Lyre.

  “Oh Maab,” sighed Lyre. Perhaps he could continue to tell himself that the lust he felt for Seamus was the Hunger. Or that it evolved from his resemblance to Joseph. But held here in the man’s arms, their bodies entwined, he knew better.

  Lyre turned his head to the side, mind and body still thrumming, looking around the room for the first time.

  It was small and simple. A bed, a dresser. An oval mirror on the dresser and a few framed photographs. An old couple in a black and white print. A sepia toned portrait of a pretty girl in a white lace collar. And a snapshot of two policemen standing side-by-side holding their helmets. The larger, dark-haired man’s arm was flung about the shorter, who Lyre recognized as Seamus.

  It was the room of a man whose affections were simple, sparse, and deep. It was not the room of a man whom Lyre could lightly toss aside.

  “I have an extra blanket if you’re cold,” said Seamus. “Can’t tell you if I talk in my sleep. Nobody’s ever…” He shrugged. Fingers painting Lyre’s face. His lips.

  “This was a mistake,” Lyre whispered.

  The transformation in Seamus face was remarkable. From happiness to shock to anger, just like that. “What did you just say?”

  “I can’t, Seamus. I…”

  Seamus jerked back. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  Lyre stared up at him. Seamus jumped up from the bed, one shaking hand jabbing toward the doorway to the bedroom.

  “What?”

  “You heard me, get out.”

  As in a daze, Lyre quickly swung his legs over the bed, standing, accepting the clothing that Seamus gathered and shoved at him. “Seamus, I’m sorry…”

  And Seamus just lost it. He placed his palm flat on Lyre’s chest and shoved him, once, hard. Lyre stumbled back a step. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” yelled Seamus.

  “I’m sorry Seamus. I tried to tell you. I can’t”

  Seamus never hit people. Cops have too much opportunity for violence, so once you started down that slippery slope, you were in for a shitload of sorry. He’d known cops who’d beaten their kids, their wives. So he never even let himself start. But his fist was cocked behind him, his entire body shaking before he was able to get a grip and turn away from Lyre.

  “Fine,” he said. Head down.

  Lyre watched that back as he finished dressing. He walked into the living room looking back one more time at Seamus, who stood in the doorway. “Lock up when you leave,” he said. And slammed the bedroom door.

  ***

  Lyre had told him it would be some time, but still O’Grady felt every night as if it lasted a hundred years, wishing for his faerie. When the knock came at the door that evening, though, he was almost afraid to open it.

  Maeebsef stood quietly outside their door, waiting with downcast eyes, dark brows wincing as if with some painful thought.

  “Welcome home, my love,” said O’Grady as gently as he could. He knew they were the wrong words when he saw the red flush in Maeebsef’s cheeks.

  “I’m only allowed to visit,” said Maeebsef.

  “Still. Maeebsef, however long it takes. This is still your home.”

  “How
can you…” began Maeebsef heatedly, and then cut himself short.

  “Welcome you home?”

  “O’Grady, you don’t know what I did.”

  “Of course I do,” said O’Grady, keeping his voice as soft as possible.

  “Don’t you care?” asked Maeebsef, eyes flashing. “I fucked so many of them I can’t remember, O’Grady. How can you not care?”

  It felt like a dragons talons ripping his insides, but O’Grady schooled himself to patience. “What do you want me to say?”

  Maeebsef shook his head, hair falling in a sheath to cover his face. O’Grady reached thoughtlessly to push the hair behind his faerie’s ears but when Maeebsef jerked his head away he snapped.

  “Of course I care. Damn you, Maeebsef!”

  That brought Maeebsef’s head up. Wide eyes almost white with fear, the pupils pinpricks. “O’Grady…”

  O’Grady had a voice made to carry grief for a hundred miles. “I cared enough to let you go to… to them. To let you make yourself a whore,” he screamed in Maeebsef’s face. “And I could see it in my mind. All of it, every act. There was not enough alcohol in the state of New York to kill those visions. I saw you…I saw you with men, with any man. Because I couldn’t give you what you needed…” O’Grady spun and knocked a thousand year old crystal decanter to the floor. It crashed like an exploding bomb.

  There was a horrible eerie silence as glass dust settled lazily to the floor. O’Grady suddenly inhaled in a long, ragged breath. “Careful,” he held up a quelling hand to urge Maeebsef to stay where he was. “You’ll cut your feet.”

  “O’Grady,” said Maeebsef softly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Of course you’re sorry. Still, it happened.” And all the strength seemed to leave the big Fearshee. He crumpled down onto the floor, amidst the broken glass, and buried his shaggy head in his arms.

  Maeebsef hovered on the edge of the disaster area, watching O’Grady, listening to the deep harsh breaths and choked back sobs. He came carefully across the room, then. Ignoring O’Grady’s half articulated admonishments for him to ‘take care’, until he could stoop next to O’Grady and wrap both arms around the vibrating shoulders.

  “Come lie down with me,” he said. And O’Grady turned into his arms like a small boy.

  “I lost you,” he whispered.

  Maeebsef kissed the wild black hair. He ran his fingers over the beloved face, stroked the strong well-shaped jaw. Felt the tears there. Felt relief to know they were there. It was natural and right for a Banshee to grieve. It’s part of the healing. And if O’Grady had to grieve, then Maeebsef was glad he could be there to help him through it.

  “Come to bed with me,” he said again, and lifted O’Grady easily and guided him toward the bed.

  “I can’t,” protested O’Grady. “Maeebsef, I can’t give you what you…”

  “You give me everything,” said Maeebsef, unlacing O’Grady’s shirt and pushing it away from his shoulders. Urging him to lift his arms so he could tug off the hairshirt. He pulled his own silk blouse over his head and tossed it across the room.

  He lay down, gathering O’Grady against his chest and rocking him gently. Petting his shoulder as the big man slowly calmed. They lay in the twilight, the hour when all Folk feel the power of enchantment rising like dew from the earth. Maeebsef stroked O’Grady’s skin and watched the lights of the human’s vehicles slide across the ceiling above him, like faerie lights.

  “I’ve told you how attractive I find you, O’Grady.”

  O’Grady chuckled, a soft wet sound, against Maeebsef’s chest. “I assumed it was part of the madness.”

  “But do you know how much I love you?”

  The shaggy head pressed against Maeebsef’s chest, a soft sound coming from O’Grady. Maeebsef stroked his hair, humming. After awhile, O’Grady lifted a damp face and looked into his faerie’s eyes.

  “You know, I think this is the longest we’ve ever lain here…”

  “…without sex?” Maeebsef stroked O’Grady’s hair, smiling into his eyes.

  “You do still want me though?” O’Grady eyelids lowered as Maeebsef’s stroking hand passed to his cheeks, his chin.

  “Desperately,” whispered Maeebsef. And bent his head. O’Grady surged up, capturing his mouth.

  The kiss was sweet, but swiftly became needy. It had been so long for both of them. The rolled against each other, hands relearning the bumps and hollows, tongues remembering the taste.

  “Did you fuck any of them?” asked O’Grady, gasping for breath.

  “No. O’Grady, I’ve never…”

  “Then I want you to fuck me.”

  The violet eyes went dark purple. O’Grady kissed him, whispered against his lips, “I want something that will be only ours.”

  Maeebsef’s moan vibrated inside O’Grady’s mouth and he rolled on top of him. His lithe, muscular body writhed over O’Grady’s as he ran his hands down his sides, his flanks. He gripped O’Grady’s leg and lifted it, exposing the soft skin behind his balls, the tiny untouched pucker there. He slid his fingers up and down, across that spot and O’Grady’s head rolled sideways, eyes closing.

  “Maeebsef. Love,” he said wildly. “The oil.” And his hand flailed to indicate the nightstand. Maeebsef lunged up and found the bottle quickly, popping the top with his thumb while his other hand continued to stroke and caress the strong hot body beneath him. Oil spilt over his hand, making a mess on the sheets as he tried to dribble it and instead poured it all over his lover.

  “Waste not, want not,” he breathed, rolling O’Grady’s oily balls in his hands until the Fearshee groaned loudly and arched up.

  “Don’t toy with me,” he pleaded.

  “Are you begging, O’Grady?” teased Maeebsef, stroking the skin of O’Grady perineum rhythmically, letting one finger brush over that opening on every second stroke. O’Grady moaned and rocked urgently against Maeebsef’s fingers.

  Maeebsef chuckled and pressed in.

  “Oh,” said O’Grady. A surprised grunt. Maeebsef smiled because he knew how this felt, and pumped that one finger slowly in and out until he felt O’Grady relax. Then he slid in a second. O’Grady’s mouth opened. He grasped the sheets, the muscles across his abdomen tensing, those black eyes popping open and looking up at Maeebsef.

  “I feel you,” he whispered, all wonderment.

  “And I you,” said Maeebsef and bent to kiss him, plumbing O’Grady’s mouth with his tongue as he slid a third finger in. O’Grady groaned into his mouth as Maeebsef oiled him up and then his whole body jumped.

  “There?” Maeebsef touched that spot again, pleased to see the fire flaring black and deep in O’Grady’s eyes. That kiss-darkened mouth opening greedily. He stretched and pumped until he thought he could see O’Grady’s molten core and then he pressed the tip of his oiled cock at O’Grady’s entrance.

  There was little resistance. O’Grady’s body telling him what O’Grady’s words had tried to say but Maeebsef had been afraid to believe. That he was always welcome, would always be. Welcome into O’Grady’s home, heart, and body.

  “I love you,” he said against his lover’s lips even as he felt O’Grady’s hips surge up beneath him, his hot cock pushing into his abdomen, his hand wildly clutching at Maeebsef as if he could pull him further inside.

  His slid out and pushed in again. His cock fitting perfectly. Again and again, punching that place deep inside O’Grady where only he had ever been. Where only he would ever go.

  O’Grady wailed like a wildcat and came in hot spurts across their chests even as Maeebsef repeated those three words over and over like some druidic chant, driving his meaning into O’Grady’s body until his heart burst open and shot through his cock, seed and love and forgiveness given and received.

  And he knew he was home.

  ***

  Buzzimess’ theater troupe had closed early and joined the New Year's Eve revelers, and Buzzimess trailed them as they made their victorious end-of-night celebration
as a group down Broadway. Somewhere in the fifth or sixth bar, one of the young men found himself a tall dark handsome thing to flirt with. Buzzimess clambered onto the stool opposite and gave Daer the evil eye.

  Daer’s conversations stopped, mid-twinkle, his smile faltered. “Off with you now,” he said to the youngster, letting his hand trail longingly down that pretty arm one more time. The man looked put out but he wasn’t one to stay where he wasn’t wanted for long, not on New Year’s Eve.

  “I was doing no harm,” said Daer, pouting into his drink as Buzzimess rolled up. “He would have had a lovely night and woken with fond memories.”