by AM Riley
“Huh,” said Seamus. “Good to know. Can I come in then?”
With a weary sigh, Lyre stepped back, letting the door swing wide. “Who am I to argue with my elevator?”
He crossed the room and stood in exactly the position Seamus had last seen him in this room, gazing out the window.
The window had been cleaned. Seamus glanced around the room. Dust was gone, a fussy embroidered coverlet on the bed. “You moved in,” he observed, keeping his voice neutral. “You plannin’ ta stay?”
“For a few days. The boy needs me close by.”
“A few days?” Seamus observed the little roller coaster of emotion working in his belly and frowned. “And then?”
“I’ll go home,” Lyre said, his back to him, raised those handsome shoulders in a shrug.
“Which is where?”
Lyre turned then. And God, those eyes were exactly the color of fresh mown grass in the spring. “You ask too many questions, Seamus.”
“I’m a cop.” Lyre was wearing some loose pajama-like pants, a sleeveless shirt that pulled tight across his chest. Seamus had to lift his chin to keep his eyes on Lyre’s face. “I ask a lot of questions. Pay attention. Notice things. You want to know what I’ve noticed about you?”
Lyre’s shrugged as if he didn’t care, but he watched Seamus with a kind of fear. “I’m sure you will tell me.”
Seamus grinned. “You pretend I don’t get to you, the way you get to me. But I do, Lyre, don’t I? I get to you bad.”
Lyre shook his head. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Well.” Seamus leaned against the fireplace mantel, folding his arms across his chest. “I do, actually. Been reading a bit. Computers are a modern miracle, you know.”
Lyre watched him intently. And couldn’t Seamus just stare into those pretty green eyes for hours?
“Well, for instance. You don’t exist. Amazing isn’t it. I mean, when I had your cock in my mouth I coulda sworn… But, hey, the public records don’t lie.”
“Seamus, I’ve told you.”
“Yeah. Faeries. I looked it up. And, hey, amazing again. They look like men. They act like men, when it suits them,” said Seamus, eyes narrowed. “They even fuck them.”
Lyre looked away.
“Gotta love Google,” said Seamus. “Don’tchya?”
“Course it don’t mean nothing to them, because faeries can’t LOVE anybody. They don’t have hearts, do they?”
“That’s not true,” murmured Lyre to the window. “The Folk can love. It is not wise to do so…”
“Really? Hmm.” The soft creak of a foot on the wood floor and Lyre felt Seamus right behind him. His heat a solid force against his back, his words a warm whisper at Lyre’s ear. “Seems like neither one of us makes a habit of doing the smart thing.”
“Seamus,” warned Lyre. Long arms wrapped around his waist, Seamus cock hard and snug against his backside.
“Been waiting for you to show up for weeks now,” said Seamus, squeezing him. “We need to talk.”
Lyre couldn’t take a breath to speak.
“Lyre, no-last-name, whoever the fuck you are or think you are… you drive me crazy,” Seamus said in his ear. Lips touched Lyre’s neck. “Did from the first minute I saw you. And the way you react when I touch you… I think you feel the same way.”
He rocked his hips forward, letting his hands slide down Lyre’s torso, meeting over his cock. He squeezed gently and rumbled a laugh against the back of Lyre’s neck.
“Been hard since I walked in this room. So’ve you.”
“Seamus that doesn’t mean anything. Please.”
“Don’t you fucking tell me it don’t mean nothing,” growled Seamus. “I’m fucking tired of being told I don’t mean nothing.” His arms around Lyre tightened. “Don’t tell me that,” he whispered.
“Seamus…” Lyre worked himself free enough so he could turn in the circle of Seamus arms and look into his face. Oh, Maab, and wasn’t that a mistake? Seamus voice was growly and confident, but he looked so scared. The pupils of his eyes were huge, his mouth a tight line as he tried not to show his fear.
“I’m not saying you don’t mean something to me…you… you do,” said Lyre. “Of course you do. But the desire it’s… complicated. It’s wrong.”
“Wrong?” Seamus looked up at him.
“It’s like an addiction,” said Lyre. He wanted to kiss that mouth into softness, those eyes into trust. He wanted to…
“I heard of that,” said Seamus. “Those movie stars get that. Sex addiction.” His voice was sarcastic, but he was shaking in Lyre’s arms, and when his hand crept up to touch Lyre’s face, fingers trembling, Lyre turned into the touch, lips on Seamus' fingers, tongue tasting the palm of his hand.
“Jesus, fucking Jesus,” breathed Seamus. And Lyre had to kiss him.
Seamus surged up against him, hands tightening around his shoulders, pushing him back, but Lyre met his strength with strength. Made him separate long enough to whisper.
“Do you know what I want, Seamus?”
Seamus' eyes were wild, frightened. “No?”
Lyre opened Seamus' shirt slowly, tracing the shadow of his collarbone, letting his touch trail up Seamus' neck, to his lips.
“I want to make love to you,” he said.
Seamus swallowed. “Yeah? Never did that before,” he whispered.
Lyre wanted to cry; instead he took Seamus’ face between his hands and kissed him.
***
This was nothing like he’d ever had with Riley. Seamus felt like he was rocking at the bottom of a boat. Soft hands on him, soft lips. Lyre saying things to him. All sorts of things, dirty and sweet. And oh Jesus fucking Christ, he was so turned on. “Lyre…” Was that his voice sounding like that?
Lyre’s hair brushed around Seamus face as he nuzzled and licked at his ears. His hands seemed to be everywhere. “What do you want, Seamus?”
“What…what do I want?”
Lyre’s eyes were glazed with desire, his lips red. Seamus felt a soft touch at his temple, Lyre stroking the pulse there. “Yes, Seamus, what do you want?”
“I want…”
Lyre rocked against him and their cocks slid together.
Seamus moaned, hands flying over smooth skin, his hips trying to buck, but Lyre’s weight held him still. He wrapped his arms around that strong back and held on.
“You,” sighed Seamus into Lyre’s shoulder. “I want you.”
“How do you want me?” Lyre writhed against him, his fingers sliding up and down, painting sensation over Seamus belly, caressing Seamus balls, his cock, rubbing at his hole.
“I want to be inside you,” whispered Lyre at his ear, and his fingers made little circles there. Seamus’ body tried to follow the sensation, hips moving instinctively. “Would you like that, Seamus?”
“I tried that, once,” Seamus said. “It made me feel…” burning, aching, empty, loss… “…sad.”
Lyre’s hands were magical. They played up and down Seamus’ torso like he was a stringed instrument. His lips touched Seamus’ cheekbones as if to kiss away tears. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” he said. “Will you let me show you?”
“Okay,” said Seamus like a wondering child. He grabbed Lyre’s face in his hands. “But I want to see you,” he said.
“I can do that,” said Lyre. He soothed Seamus with his hands, feeling the man’s muscles shaking as he stroked him. “I won’t hurt you Seamus,” he said. “You can relax.”
Seamus shook his head, his thumb brushing Lyre’s lips, his legs moving restlessly as Lyre petted him. “Can’t ever relax, too dangerous.”
Truer words were never spoken, thought Lyre.
“You’re safe in this room, Seamus. Believe me.” Lyre kissed the soft skin at Seamus throat, licked his collarbone, let his mouth travel south along the line that ended in Seamus' navel.
Seamus' belly tightened as Lyre licked at the indentation there.
“Fuck. Lyre,” Seamus' fingers played across the top of his head, touched his ears.
“Relax, Seamus, let me make you feel good.”
“Better than this?” chuckled Seamus, hips moving urgently. “Can’t imagine that.”
Lyre’s head slid down, licking and nipping, his fingers painting swirls in the places his tongue and lips had wetted. He brushed Seamus' balls and let his fingers slide farther back. Seamus whined and rocked under his touch.
Lyre whispered, “Relax,” and let his tongue run over Seamus' hole.
Seamus gasped and shuddered from his ankles to his belly. “What? Lyre…”
Lyre kept licking, letting his tongue point, poke in, his fingers following slowly.
And he pushed Seamus' legs back and up.
“Oh God,” cursed Seamus.
Lyre plunged his tongue in deep, thrusting it in and out, licking the soft skin around and then plunging in again until Seamus, moaning and rolling his hips, was holding his legs open on his own and begging.
Then Lyre pushed his wet fingers inside.
“Oh,” said Seamus, head lolling on the pillow. “Oh, more…”
Lyre chuckled. “Just a moment.” He levered himself on one elbow and found something in a drawer. He had trouble opening the oil, his hands were shaking so badly.
“Hey,” Seamus wrapped his fingers gently around his wrist. Lyre looked up at him. The look on the Seamus' face could only be described as ‘tender’.
“You okay?” asked Seamus.
Damn. Lyre felt scared to death.
“Maab, yes,” said Lyre, huskily. He poured the oil on his fingers and Seamus felt two fingers where before there had been one. He laid back against the pillow, feeling Lyre’s hand, rubbing and poking rubbing and pushing in gently.
“Th..thats’ so good,” he said, surprised. A chuckle and a kiss, Lyre’s body hot on top of his. Then the pressure increased, more pressed inside. It should have hurt, said Seamus’ thinking mind, but it just felt warm and full.
“More,” he said. “Fuck, Lyre, I want more.”
Lyre’s breath was palpable on Seamus' cheek as he positioned himself. Seamus steadied him, petting the long back, feeling the tremors run through Lyre’s body.
“’S Okay,” he patted him. “Okay, hon.” And Lyre pressed in.
“Ohhhhh,” the moan was in harmony. Lyre took in a long, shaky breath.
“Seamus,” he said, his voice a kind of wail. “I… you feel so …Oh, Seamus.” He opened his eyes and looked down into Seamus’ face, and Seamus Brady of the clan O’Grady looked up and saw the soul of a faerie opened wide and shining down into him.
“Let me feel you,” he commanded. And Lyre moved, at first slowly and then with more power, their eyes locked, bodies heating and slick with sweat as the bed began to rock and Seamus felt his balls tighten, his trapped cock aching.
“Soon,” whispered Lyre, kissing Seamus, eyes rolling. “Oh. Oh gods…”
Seamus felt his climax begin deep inside, like a blast inside a mountain, the power of it tearing through rock, or some ancient substance older than rock even. Gasping, Lyre pulled his mouth from Seamus’ and jerked against him.
Seamus’ body was filled with Lyre’s seed, his ears with his cries, his nose with the scent of him and he yelled up at the ceiling as if his balls would explode with the power of it.
He could still hear them both breathing hard as he came down, feel Lyre’s chest heaving against his. Like a plane bursting above the clouds, Seamus felt suddenly free, as if he might cry and laugh simultaneously. He wrapped his arms around Lyre’s back, spreading his hands across the smooth muscle. “Baby, that was…”
Lyre raised his head, looking down at him with wide, stricken eyes. “Seamus…” the hand that caressed his cheek was shaking. “Oh gods…”
Seamus smiled, his eyes happy. “Kiss me,” he commanded, fingers around the nape of Lyre’s neck, pulling him down. When they separated, his expression had gone serious. He petted Lyre’s neck, gazing up at him. “You know what else I read, there on the internet? Faeries can’t lie.”
A shiver went all down Lyre’s spine. “It’s true,” he said. “We cannot. But, Seamus…”
“So I have a question,” said Seamus softly. His fingers clasped Lyre’s chin, his eyes dark and just throbbing “How…” Seamus swallowed. “How do you feel about me?”
Lyre closed his eyes. “Don’t ask me that question, Seamus.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to answer it,” said Lyre. “Obviously.”
Seamus chuckled and brushed his thumb across Lyre’s lips.
“Lyre of the Gianes,” he said gently. “I demand to know the truth.”
As if unable to stop himself, Lyre’s lips opened. He snapped them shut but they opened again. “I love you,” whispered Lyre, as if confessing a crime.
“But, then…” pure joy washed over Seamus' face, his hands caressed Lyre’s back, closing around him, but Lyre slid out from under his touch and sat up.
“That’s the point,” said Lyre, his face averted.
“What’s wrong?” asked Seamus, though he didn’t need to ask. It was written all over Lyre, his expression, the set of his shoulders. A mistake. This shouldn’t have happened.
“No,” said Seamus, and he grabbed Lyre and gritted his teeth to keep from shaking him. “No, you listen to me. That was… this is special, this thing. Don’t you tell me it’s not. You can’t … you can’t just toss this away.” You can’t just toss me away. “I love you, too,” whispered Seamus, his voice stunned.
“I know that, Seamus,” said Lyre. Feeling like he was leaving skin behind in the process, pulled himself farther away from Seamus, hugging his knees.
"But, we can…” said Seamus eagerly, hand reaching to caress him. Lyre moved from under his touch. Stood.
“I can’t,” he said.
Seamus lay in shock. The air still seemed to throb around him with the magic of what they’d done together. “Why?” and it shamed him how much like a little boy’s his voice sounded.
“I can’t go through that again,” said Lyre. He picked up a shirt and went to the bathroom doorway. Flicked on the light. “Excuse me,” he said and shut the door behind himself.
Seamus swallowed back whatever was trying to crawl up his throat, to fill his eyes with water. He picked up his boxers and got them on, then stood there staring at his socks. Right. Dress and get out. Fuck, he should know this routine by heart right? Blindly, not thinking more than necessary, he dressed and picked up his things and slipped out of the room.
He was halfway down the hallway to the elevator when heard Lyre locking the door. But he just kept going, zipping his jacket as he walked, and telling himself the emotion he was feeling was anger. He’d let himself be used like some fuck-toy, like a man-sized rubber doll. He was stupid fuck who couldn’t learn his lessons.
He got in the elevator and punched the “G” button hard, noting again that there was no fourteenth floor.
Damned Faeries.
***
O’Grady was accustomed to feeling extremes of emotion. Grief, horror, loneliness. They were the tools of his trade, one could say. But the emotion he felt now, standing in his own tiny den with bare feet on the cold wooden planks, was one he had little experience with.
Maeebsef sat in a nest of jewel-toned blankets, his long legs bent easily into a lotus posture. Bluish white skin glowing in the lamplight, glints of fine hair flickering as he dragged the brush through it. When he paused, long fingers tangled in the gold, and looked up at O’Grady, his violet eyes were peaceful. Serene.
Gratitude, thought O’Grady. Everything he looked at a treasure, a gift he hadn’t expected. He shivered. “Can I get you anything?”
“No. I don’t need anything.” Maeebsef smiled, that open happy smile that O’Grady had not seen for such a long time, and stretched out his arms. “Except you. Sit with me, O’Grady.”
O’Grady came to him, bringing
the lute and they curled together, O’Grady with his back to the headrest, big thighs spread out to encompass Maeebsef who fit between them perfectly, narrow hips wriggling to find their place, broad back pressing into O’Grady’s chest until he felt that ache that had been living next to his heart suddenly fill. He closed his eyes, fingers wandering over the skin of Maeebsef’s shoulders, mind already drifting, as Maeebsef tuned his instrument, humming a tune under his breath.
“What shall I play?” the Fey’s voice was a sweet whisper.
