Close Quarter

by Anna Zabo

  He so needed this. Rhys placed one hand against the shower wall and circled the other around his cock. Every thrust from Silas made him want desperately to come. His balls ached with need.

  Silas pulled him away from the wall and slowed his movements. “No.”

  Payback, no doubt. Rhys’s cock throbbed. He squirmed against Silas. “Please. I need—”

  Teeth nipped at his ear. “I know what you need.” Silas thrust deeper.

  Lightning flashed in his veins. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think enough to put words together.

  Silas spoke into his ear again. “Both hands on the wall.”

  His arms trembled, but he complied. A kiss from Silas to his spine raised goose bumps on his arms and nearly caused his legs to buckle.

  “Good,” Silas said. “Now leave them there.” With that, he flattened one hand across Rhys’s chest, took hold of Rhys’s cock with the other, then started fucking him again. Deep. Hard. Only this time, Silas jacked him off as well, using a completely different set of rhythms—sometimes slow, sometimes fast.

  The deep strokes set Rhys throbbing inside, but the erratic rhythm of Silas’s hand on Rhys’s cock made the want in his balls curl all the tighter. Sweet pain with no relief.

  Rhys lowered his head, crying out between breaths, grinding his hips against Silas’s thrusts in some effort to gain even a hint of control.

  Each time Rhys got close to coming, Silas backed off and changed the tempo. The throbbing light filling Rhys had nowhere to go, but more poured in. His arms shook as every nerve turned to glass. If only Silas would let him break. After the third time, Rhys’s legs did buckle. Silas’s strong arm about his waist kept him on his feet.

  “Silas! Just—” He caught his breath. “Please!”

  “Soon.” Silas’s reply was guttural, almost a moan. “Very.” His fucking changed pace again, this time less controlled. There was no backing away, no more games.

  The aching in Rhys’s balls tightened once more, but this time it broke. Light spread out from the pit of his stomach to each limb and shattered every one of his nerves. He cried out, coming hard and long.

  Silas drove into him, harder and faster, until he came as well, his own cry ragged and loud.

  Rhys wasn’t sure how they were both standing—the greater part of his weight was supported by Silas’s arms wrapped around his chest. Silas trembled against him, his rough breathing blending in with the fall of water.

  The stream had yet to turn cold. Damn good shower.

  After several moments, Silas kissed his shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” Rhys took in a deep breath of warm, humid air and found his footing. Every muscle in his body radiated with pleasure. His skin tingled where water hit him. “So did you fuck me out of your system?”

  A bark of laughter. “No. Not at all.” He loosened his arms.

  Rhys twisted to face Silas. “Told you.”

  That earned him a hard but short kiss. “You’re too brash for your own good.” Silas backed fully under the spray of water. “Had we the time, I’d show you just how quickly I can recover.”

  Wouldn’t that be a night? “What do we do now?”

  Silas handed him a bar of soap. “That should be rather obvious.”

  He took the soap, then poked Silas in the ribs. “Not what I meant. After dinner.”

  Silas turned and rinsed lather off his shoulders.

  Tight-lipped, imperious bastard. “Silas.” He jabbed him in the side. Twice. This time Silas flinched, gasped, and that haughty facade broke with a croak of laughter. Silas caught his hands.

  “Stop!”

  “Not until you tell me what I want to know.”

  Silas brushed his thumb across Rhys’s cheek. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

  Rhys took a breath, but Silas kissed him before he could speak. A light kiss, but enough to stop his questions. Damn it.

  “We,” Silas said, “or rather, I will destroy Anaxandros and the rest of the soulless, as I was sent here to do.”

  “By angels.” Rhys muttered the words. “You work for fucking angels.”

  “Angels don’t procreate.”

  Rhys moved to tickle Silas, but he’d already twisted away, a grin lighting his face.

  Oh, that was good to see. A true smile, not one that hid other emotions. “What will I do?”

  The smile dimmed. Silas wrapped strong arms around Rhys. “You kept me alive. You healed me. You’ve given me more of my element than I could’ve gotten, even standing on land. It’s enough.”

  Rhys settled against Silas and let the warmth and strangeness of the man surround him. He didn’t reply.

  No way in hell Silas would approve of the idea forming in his head.

  Chapter Nine

  Silas studied the impeccable fall of tails over Rhys’s ass. “And yet you can’t wear a suit to save your life.”

  They stood in Rhys’s cabin. While not as ostentatious as Silas’s own, the room still had the feel of luxury, no doubt paid for by some of the millions Rhys had inherited.

  Rhys snorted and continued to tie his bow tie in the mirror. “I practically grew up in a tux. All those concerts.” He finished and faced Silas. “I take it this meets with your approval?”

  More than met. Silas kept his hands in the pockets of his pants to hide just how much he approved. “It’ll do.”

  “Really?” Rhys stepped close and ran the knuckle of his forefinger up Silas’s crotch, right over his cock. “You seem rather pleased.”

  “You are incorrigible.” Silas didn’t back away, didn’t take his hands from his pockets either, lest he start undressing Rhys, and bend him over the nearest piece of furniture.

  The dresser was far too high. The coffee table would work nicely, though. He jammed his hands farther into his pants.

  Rhys grinned and slipped around him. “Cuff links,” he said.

  The evening was one of two formal nights on board the ocean liner. They could’ve dispensed with the tuxedos, had dinner at one of the buffets, and spent the last of the time available in wanton abandon.

  Rhys rooted around a suitcase haphazardly tossed onto the bed. Unlike that ill-fitting suit from the first day, the tux fit him to a T. Dressing like this had been worth the extra time, perhaps even worth not fucking Rhys into oblivion.

  Silas wouldn’t forget the feel of his dick sliding into that tight ass. But there should be other memories too, especially for Rhys.

  Even with all of the element Rhys had given him and even with his phoenix-forged sword, the possibility that he would see tomorrow’s dawn was no more than a slim fraction of hope.

  Five soulless remained. Well, four and Anaxandros. Silas blotted out the memories that came with that name and drew a breath. “Would you like for others to see us?”

  Rhys paused in his search. His expression changed from one of confusion to understanding. “You mean together? No glamour?”

  “Some glamour. My appearance, at least. But no hiding us.”

  “You don’t mind being seen with another man?” Rhys pushed aside a pile of clothes in his suitcase. “I mean, at the bar the other night…”

  Last night. It had only been last night. “If I minded, I wouldn’t sleep with men.” He closed the distance to the bed. “But humans can be very strange about their yearnings, and often react poorly to the desires of others.” He peered into the ramshackle suitcase.

  A glint of silver peaked out from underneath a brochure for the Hofburg Palace. Silas pushed the glossy flyer out of the way and uncovered a cuff link. The other he found nearby, jammed in the corner of the case.

  “Good eyes.” Rhys held out his hand.

  The links were abstract shapes, almost sensual in their roundness, their dips and curves. Silas rolled a finger over one. Then he handed them both to Rhys. “You made these.”

  Rhys returned to the mirror and slipped the links into the holes in his shirt. “How’d you know?”

  “They feel like y
ou do when you’re manipulating element.”

  Rhys paused in his motions. “Sometimes I still don’t believe you. This fae stuff.” He studied his reflection. “And then I look in the mirror.”

  Indeed. Rhys’s fae nature had settled down somewhat, but he did look different than he had twenty-four hours before. Sharper. Brighter.

  “I suspect that’s the new normal for you.” Only time would tell how humans reacted to Rhys. Hopefully Rhys’s human nature dimmed the sliver of fae enough. Or Rhys would find life much more interesting.

  Rhys mock scowled at his reflection. “I suppose it could be worse.” He turned from the mirror and inspected Silas. “What do you really look like?”

  “This,” Silas said. “To you, to me, to anyone with fae blood, I am how you see me, regardless of glamour.”

  “And to anyone without?”

  How to explain? “Fae embody everything humans desire. Unglamoured, we’re a bit overwhelming to the senses.”

  Rhys came close and brushed both lapels of Silas’s tux. “You are the hottest man I’ve ever seen.”

  “But not so hot that you can’t control yourself. There’s a reason Thomas the Rhymer followed the Queen for seven years. He would have followed a King, had one ridden forth that day.”

  “You mean everyone wants you?”

  Ah, Rhys and his randy mind. “Not all attraction is sexual.” He strode toward the door. “Would you like to see?”

  “Love to.” Sarcasm gave Rhys’s words a sharp edge.

  Silas didn’t let Rhys see him frown.

  Rhys stalked behind Silas the entire length of the hallway to the elevators. Once they stood waiting, Silas put his arm around Rhys’s shoulder and brushed his thumb over the soft skin between Rhys’s collar and hair. “I’ve upset you.”

  “No, it’s not…” Rhys pressed against Silas. “Would Thomas have followed you?”

  “No. I wouldn’t have let my glamour fall. My life is of the road and the sword. It’s not one I’d wish on another.” The hum of the elevators greeted the end of his sentence.

  A long moment later, Rhys spoke. His words cut through the empty lobby like a dagger through flesh. “You’re not going to stay, are you?”

  Silas swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. “You are not Thomas in this affair.”

  Rhys shifted. His eyes were bright.

  “If I see the dawn, I promise you seven years. Seven times seven. However many you wish.”

  “If,” Rhys said. “I don’t like the sound of ‘if.’”

  “Neither do I, particularly.”

  “And will you always speak true, Thomas?” Rhys’s voice was soft.

  Silas couldn’t have stopped his chuckle had he tried. “I’m not sure I have much choice. I am, after all, a horrible liar.”

  A soft chime announced the arrival of an elevator. The doors opened to reveal two women on one side of the car and a man on the other. Silas slid his hand to the small of Rhys’s back. “Only I am glamoured at the moment.” Though unnecessary, he lowered his voice.

  A blush crept up from under Rhys’s collar, but he strode forward into the car. Silas followed, letting his hand drop—but not before the others saw.

  Both women smiled, not unpleasantly, and eyed the two of them. Their gazes lingered longer on Rhys than on him. Curiosity in their inspection, but not longing.

  Good. Rhys’s human blood hadn’t faded too much.

  The doors closed.

  One of the women—long dark hair and inky eyes that complemented her burgundy velvet dress—turned her attention to Silas and gave him a knowing grin. “Nice.”

  He said nothing, just smiled back and placed his hand on the small of Rhys’s back again. Rhys’s breathing hitched, and his lovely blush crept farther up his neck. His smile, however, held.

  The gentleman on the other side of them made a noise somewhere between a cough and a growl. He’d moved as close as he could to the button panel.

  Silas stepped backward, using Rhys to partially block the women’s view of him. He tapped a finger against Rhys’s back and nodded toward the man. “Watch.”

  Silas dropped his glamour completely. “Excuse me, is the promenade button pressed?”

  The man glanced back and froze.

  His lips parted slightly, and his pupils widened, darkening his brown eyes. An expression close to worship crossed his face. “Oh my God.”

  Silas rewove the glamour around his body. “The promenade?”

  The gentleman blinked rapidly. “What?” He looked back at the button panel. “Oh. Yeah, it’s pressed.” He gave Silas another look, then inspected his own shoes for the rest of the ride.

  Some fae enjoyed holding humans in their thrall. Silas never had. Take away the will, the mind of another, and what did that make you?

  But that little moment? Oh, that he’d enjoyed.

  Silas drew circles around the small of Rhys’s back. He’d only seen that godlike adoration on Rhys when he’d rammed his cock into him, never just in passing.

  He dropped his hand to stroke Rhys’s ass, not caring that both women could see the act.

  The elevator stopped and the doors opened on the promenade deck. The man scooted out of the car.

  The other of the two women chuckled. She wore a blue-and-black tea-length gown, and her short hair had been bleached white. She entwined her fingers with those of the first woman and raised them for Silas to see. “Whatever you did, thank you,” she said. “He looked mortified.”

  In answer, Silas offered them a small shrug and a wide smile. The women exited the car.

  Silas nudged Rhys forward. “This is our deck as well.” He steered Rhys toward the Sea View restaurant.

  “Okay,” Rhys said. “You made your point. He certainly didn’t want to screw you. It was like he’d just seen an angel.”

  Silas chuffed. “Angels cause quite a different reaction than fae.”

  Rhys shook his head but said nothing more. Silas let the silence continue, let Rhys digest what he’d seen, what he’d learned.

  On large tables near the window, sunlight turned the china to gold as the maître d’ showed them to their table for two in the center of the dining room. Only when their server had taken their orders, poured water, and brought Rhys a steak knife did Rhys speak again. “They don’t mind you being gay, the angels?”

  Rhys might not be entirely human, but he’d certainly been shaped by them—and by Americans at that. “I don’t have a particular compunction about sex with women. Men merely provide different challenges and different expectations.” Silas ran a finger around the top of his water glass. “If the Messengers have an issue with that aspect of my nature, they’ve never mentioned it.”

  Rhys stared at him. “You’re bi?” A hint of uncertainty touched his voice.

  It was always this way with humans. What type? How many? Who? All the questions another fae never asked because they understood. “Fae love and take pleasure with whomever the spirit moves us to.”

  Rhys looked down at his silverware. “It must be nice.” Anger there, bitterness.

  Silas had seen that too, many times, but not the deep fear that Rhys held underneath. Rhys was waiting for Silas to discard him.

  That wouldn’t happen. Not now. “Seventy times seventy years, Rhys. If you’ll have me.”

  It took a bit of time for Rhys to look up. “You’re serious?” Hope flushed his cheeks and honeyed his voice.

  “Very.” Silas reached across the table and took Rhys’s hand.

  “Why?”

  Love, Silas wanted to answer, because in many ways he had become True Thomas, unable to lie to Rhys.

  The word never made it past his lips. It caught when his throat closed, when his breath failed to come, when his blood turned to ice, and then burned.

  Anaxandros walked into the restaurant. The sun hung in the sky, golden in its descent. These two disparate images clashed in Silas’s head, stilled his motions for less than a heartbeat.
r />   That moment of inaction let Anaxandros reach Rhys a fraction before the tip of Silas’s sword would have met the soulless’s flesh.

  He pulled the blow when the soulless’s hand closed around Rhys’s neck. Silas stood frozen, sword in hand.

  Rhys’s eyes were wide, his hands nearly as white as the tablecloth they pressed against. He tried to rise, but Anaxandros pushed him back into his chair.

  There was no blood. Not yet.

  Sunlight filtered through the windows, though they were in shade.

  Impossible.

  “Quintus Silvanus.”

  Terror ripped through Silas. It was Anaxandros who stood before him, holding Rhys’s life in his hands. Time hadn’t changed one iota the soulless he’d once called master. Taller than his own six feet and far broader, he looked like frozen gold. Blond. Pale. More angular than any fae. Coldly beautiful. His eyes were black, his teeth very sharp.

  His deep voice still made Silas’s arms shake and his insides liquefy. He said nothing, could say nothing. The tip of his sword wavered six inches from Anaxandros’s chest.

  Anaxandros smiled. “Sit down.”

  Silas almost did, nearly bent to that will. Blazing fury overrode fear and kept him on his feet. “Let him go.”

  The words came out in Latin. He refused to speak in the soulless’s tongue.

  “Such a pretty boy.” Anaxandros drew a talon up Rhys’s cheek, leaving behind a line of blood. “Do you enjoy raping him, Quintus? Sucking down his energy when he screams under your cock?”

  Rhys shook beneath the soulless’s touch, a deep anger burning in his forward stare. Only then did Silas realize Anaxandros had switched to English.

  He switched languages as well. “Let him go.” The tremor of his hand didn’t extend to his voice. “If you harm him, I’ll cut you down right here.”

  Anaxandros laughed and the sound sliced though Silas like screeching metal.

  No one else in the dining room noticed.

  Once more, the soulless changed tongues, this time to Latin. “Sit down.”