by J P Sayle
“Nick, you okay back there? You’re making your lip bleed chewing it like that. Are the painkillers they gave you wearing off?” Aaden’s concerned questions had him shaking off the past.
He released his lip, swiping it with his tongue, tasting the metallic, coppery flavour. He baulked as it hit the back of his throat. Nick swallowed several times. He swiped at his mouth with his dirty sleeve, uncaring.
“No, I’m not okay. How can I be? I think you need to book me a flight home.” His response had the car veering off into the middle of the road.
“What the fuck, Brody! Watch what you’re doing, or you’ll get us killed. Christ alive, man.” Aaden’s angry shout had Nick hide his face in his arm to stop the laughter from escaping when Aaden clung onto the “oh shit” bar at the side of his head.
“Stop overreacting. I did an advanced police driving course. I was distracted for a second. We’re fine.” As Brody spoke, Nick felt his eyes bore into him in the rear-view mirror. He didn’t look up but kept his eyes downcast. He didn’t want him to see his confusion.
Does Brody not want me to leave?
No.
He hasn’t shown any interest.
Yes, he bloody has. Stop pretending the kiss didn’t happen.
Nick closed his eyes, praying the voice of reason would shut up and stop giving him hope, hope that wanted to grow and spread faster than any weed in a garden could.
He sighed and rested his head back. He pulled himself away from thoughts of Brody to a more worrying problem, Christina. It had been years since she’d bothered to mess with him. He remembered all too well what her spells felt like when they sang across his skin.
So, why spell him now?
What was it that had her trying to interfere between him and Brody? Because that was the only thing that seemed plausible.
She had nothing else to gain from messing with him, did she?
Christina
Christina stomped her tiny foot as she watched Max stalk away from her. He’d yet again deflected their conversation from Princess. And it was starting to piss her off.
Why isn’t he just playing ball?
“You know why, Christina. And why you persist in trying to get him to allow you to take over Princess’s soul is beyond me. You had your time. You were able to do whatever you wanted and have. Now that time, it appears, is over. Get over yourself. Don’t you think Max has suffered enough?” Morgana’s rationalisation of the facts had Christina want to scream.
“That may very well be the case, Morgana, but I do not wish for this to be my last cycle, and from what King Manannán has inferred, this will be it for me in this form. So of course, I’m going to look for a substitute. And as much as I don’t wish to be a bloody cat, I have little option. Princess is irrevocably linked to Max, making her damn near immortal, and therefore she is the best choice for me.”
“Please, that is my niece you’re talking about in such a blithe way.”
Morgana’s interruption had Christina’s small brow scrunch up. Her following shot had Christina silently fume.
“And using your magic to harm, you know damn well that will only come back on you, tenfold. What did that beautiful boy ever do to you?”
Morgana’s angry question had Christina fade from Max’s home. She didn’t want to get into a fight with Max nearby. She willed herself back to the Witches Barrel.
Perching on a branch, she surveyed the dark forest below. The scent of pine needles mingled with the damp earth beneath her on the forest floor. She sighed when the fragrance evoked her past life. Her hazel eyes clouded with visions as they searched the darkness for the path that her barrel had taken, on that fateful night, so many years ago.
The pain and agony was as real now as it had been then. Her body bowed as memories had her tiny hands cling to the branches. The rough bark bit into her smooth skin, but she didn’t feel it. So lost in her remembrances, she felt the spikes cutting into her flesh, ripping and tearing as the barrel battered down the hill at a rate of knots.
Christina shivered, and her pulse skittered under her skin, making her push her body into the hard bark behind her. She huffed and puffed to forcibly stop the images. Sweat beaded her brow. Her long tresses stuck to her face. Oblivious to the chilly damp air, she pushed the hair away from her face. She realised her conversation with Morgana had allowed the shutter she used to keep her past lives at bay to open.
She breathed deep. Her hand automatically went to her long tresses, twirling the strands around her finger. The bright sheen of mahogany was caught in the moonlight, making it shine. She smiled slightly at her vanity. She shifted her small bottom on the branch. The slight rasp of material rubbing against the bark broke the eerie silence.
Trying to distract herself, she concentrated on how she could get Max to do her bidding. The voice of warning ringing in her head was firmly ignored.
On the eighth day of Christmas my true friends gave to me:
The art of deception
Brad
20th December
Brad groaned, feeling the warmth of the Aga radiate out into the kitchen. He dropped the shopping bags he held onto the kitchen counter. Giving a grateful sigh, he tugged off his navy microfiber-padded coat. He heard Joe, then Nick, shuffle behind him into the kitchen. Brad shook out his stiff arms, flexing his palms, which now sported several deep grooves. He looked like someone had drawn tram lines on his hands.
He ignored the pain. His dimples winked to life when he turned and saw Nick, all dressed in black, stagger towards him. Nick hobbled and wobbled the last few steps to the counter in the middle of the kitchen. His left arm sported a crutch while the right held two heavy shopping bags. His outfit choice made his white-blond hair stand out as it framed his flushed face, which was screwed up with determination. A face he thought, even when screwed up, looked more beautiful than most catwalk models. It made him wonder why Nick was single. Still not sure how the sharing thing worked between friends, he hadn’t got up the courage to ask, yet.
He was working on that though. Not that he didn’t have much choice with his ever-growing circle of friends. Warmth spread inside his chest. They were all a blessing. A blessing that he knew he wouldn’t have survived without. Their help to get through the list of things he needed to do before Sunday was invaluable.
He would be eternally grateful for their help, especially with Nick being injured. An injury, he’d explained, was because of a certain witchy poo using her juju on him.
Brad automatically seeked out Princess’s velvet bed. He let a relieved breath go at seeing her curled up. Her black fur gleamed colourfully under the Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling above her bed. Her tiny face was turned away, much as it had been over the last few days. It made Brad wonder if she could feel his tension or sense he knew something she didn’t.
Usually, her huffy behaviour never lasted this long. It was starting to panic him and make him question whether she could read his thoughts like Max. A Max, that still remained elusive. And that was making things ten times worse to his overactive imagination.
That thought brought him up short. He stomped over to Princess and stroked her back, hoping for something to alleviate his worry. When she just lay completely still, he threw a worried look at Joe and Nick, who both gave him silent questioning looks.
He’d discussed his concerns while they’d been out shopping, and neither could come up with the answers Brad wanted. Brad pushed back the curls that had fallen over his face, and got up. He wished Greg were here. Maybe he could answer his questions?
After all, he could talk to Max.
The sulk that wanted to follow that thought had his lip poking out before he could stop it. He knew it wasn’t Greg’s fault he had a different connection to Max, but it still irked. He stomped back to the full counter, looking at the stuff scattered across it. He puffed out a breath, which made his fringe lift before it flopped back into his eyes. He swiped at it as he surveyed what he already knew were full cupboard
s.
Where the hell am I going to put all this stuff?
Brad narrowed his eyes, thinking about the culprit that had given him this headache. And where was said culprit? At work, that’s where. Yeah, that would be right because where else would he be? Martin was probably lording it over his staff. Staff, who were planning to invade his home on Sunday afternoon and eat all the stuff he bought.
Brad shuddered at the thought of all those people invading his home, his sanctuary. This is what sex does to you. It enticed him into madness. Never mind Martin had turned into a complete knob over the size of their bar bill from Sunday night. It just added to his woes over the car. None of it were helping Brad to control his temper.
Hadn’t he tried not to let Martin’s hurtful comments get to him?
Yes, I bloody well have!
Brad nodded while he remembered reminding Martin several times that he’d chosen to pay the bloody bar bill.
Have I not even tried to forget the other baby situation?
Brad silently seethed.
Two babies, I don’t fucking think so!
He sucked on his teeth. Martin was still being a dick about his car. Hence why he hadn’t spoken to him about inviting everyone for Christmas dinner. Not that he was worried about that conversation? No. Okay, maybe he was a little worried. However, it was the conversation from Sunday night that wouldn’t give him any peace and had him all of dither.
Brad sucked on his lower lip, chewing it. He wondered if he could talk about what was troubling him. He watched Joe rifle through the shopping bags, pulling out yet more groceries. He finally noticed Joe hadn’t bothered wearing any of his new clothes. The ripped jeans and tatty black hoodie were a testament to his continued stand-off with Stuart.
The sound of rustling had him looking at Nick perched on a chair at his large kitchen table. His broken foot balanced on one of the other chairs while he blithely sorted through the bag of decorations they’d bought for the party.
His inexperience of all things family and friends had Brad at a loss how to go about speaking freely, now. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pale blue jeans. He had a moment of indecision when a sudden thought struck him. He smacked his forehead when it hit. They’d already shared so much together.
He let go of his teeth and stepped closer to the two occupied men. “Err, you know what we talked about the other night…” He hesitated when Joe’s face became a lovely shade of crimson and Nick avoided eye contact. His whole attention was now riveted on the bag on his lap.
He was not sure if he should go on when his heart rate accelerated, making his chest ache.
Joe broke the silence that had fallen. “Yeah, I argh… haven’t… spoken to Stuart yet.”
Joe held up his hand when Brad went to interrupt.
“It’s because we still aren’t speaking. You know, since he was a total dick after the boys found us Sunday night. He had a cheek, on the way home, to give it all. ‘I was worried about you after the Joel debacle’.”
Brad hid his snigger behind his hand at Joe’s perfect imitation of Stuart. All the while Joe seemed oblivious to the humour he was causing as he stomped in front of Nick and him.
“Fucker made me feel about two inches tall. Anyway, I don’t think there was any need to throw that at me. Was there?” Joe eyes darkened, sparking with anger through his rant.
Brad went to answer, but Joe motioned for him to wait.
Joe’s eyebrows rose. He chewed on his thumb as if considering something. Brad was convinced he could hear the cogs turning in Joe’s mind. The light of enthusiasm in Joe’s chocolate gaze had Brad wonder what he was up to.
Brad shuddered under what could only be described as an evil grin when Joe started talking.
“I know. I’ll use that to bribe him. He knows he’s in my bad books. And he’s been trying to get out of them since last night. I refused to have sex with him and slept in the spare room.” Joe shot them both a massive grin. “Let’s just say he was grovelling big time this morning. So I could totally see how that could work in our favour.”
Brad gave Joe his full consideration. “Does that really work? You know, with them being all dominant? I’ve never done that before. If Martin wants sex, then we have sex.” Brad grinned when Nick interrupted.
“Oh my God! You have so much to learn.” Nick patted the seat next to him, encouraging Brad over to the table. Joe followed suit.
“Joe and I are going to introduce you to the world of withholding. It’s a powerful weapon and should only be used when you really want something.” Joe gave Nick a nod of approval, so he continued.
“Withholding sex is the essence to getting everything you want from a dominant. They see themselves in charge, but really, that’s not the case. Brad, you have all the power.”
Brad’s brow shot up as he interjected. “How can that be? Martin, you know, err, likes to be in charge in the bedroom.” Brad tried not to squirm. His cheeks pinked up under Joe and Nick’s inquisitive stares.
He barrelled on. “I may be able to touch him any way I want. Okay, when he leaves my hands untied, but he is always the boss. He dictates when and what we are going to do.” Brad finished on a rush, glad that he’d managed to get it all out before he caused a fire with the heat pouring off his face. He tugged at his jumper when it clung to his back.
“So let me get this straight. You like the kinky stuff and let Martin control what happens in the bedroom?”
Brad nodded while Nick continued talking.
“If you wanted to stop or didn’t like anything, would Martin stop?”
Brad nodded straight away. “Of course, he would. He doesn’t want me not to enjoy myself.” The minute the comment left his mouth, it hit him.
Martin would do whatever I wanted, no questions asked.
“There you go. I can practically see the light switch flicking on in your brain. Remember you have to use it properly.” Nick carried on talking.
Brad jumped up and grabbed a pad and pen before returning to the table. He scribbled all the things Nick said, with Joe chipping in. A plan formulated in Brad’s mind. He tapped the pen against his chin, eyeing Joe with excitement. An excitement that had his jeans feeling as if he’d shrunk them in the dryer.
He shifted, asking Joe, “When are you going to use this withholding on Stuart so I can coordinate my plan with yours?”
There was a glint of approval in Nick’s eyes as he sat back smirking at Joe. Brad’s face glowed, this time in pleasure when Nick spoke to Joe.
“I think the student has just surpassed the master.”
“Sod off.” Joe gave Nick the bird and chuckled.
“Okay, sensei. Let’s plan this for Christmas Eve. I should think by then Stuart and Martin will be climbing the walls. I also have a feeling Greg will want in on this. I’m not sure you’ll all fit in our bedroom, but we’ll make it work.” Joe shrugged.
Brad wiggled in the chair, excitement making his cock bounce hard against his zipper. He gave it a nudge. He remembered he was going to have to wait till Sunday before he’d get any action. He gave Joe a quick glance when Joe shuffled around on his seat.
It would seem he is in the same predicament as me.
Brad was sidetracked when Nick interjected.
“It’s a pity that Greg is dating my brother, or I’d defo want in on that action. Maybe you could doctor the tape, Joe, so I could watch after?” Nick’s question had Joe’s chocolate eyes seem to melt into a pool of goo.
“I’ll try, just for you.” Joe paused when Nick gave him a thumbs up. “As long as I get to watch with you. I’d like to see what you look like naked, playing with yourself. I bet you’d be a sight to behold.” The eye roll Nick threw at an unrepentant Joe had Brad’s dimples deepen.
Brad struggled to sit still with the images Joe had created in his head. Getting up from the chair, Brad hid his predicament by pulling down his forest green woolly jumper. He shook his head, hoping to dislodge the pictures of a naked Nick pleasuring him
self from watching him and the others having sex.
Hold your horses there, matey boy. Martin hasn’t agreed yet.
That thought threw cold water over his raging hormones.
Brad gave a small huff, heading back to the shopping scattered over the counter. “Come on, let’s get sorted so I can put my plan of action into play. Martin will be home soon, and I want to be ready.” He wagged his brows at the laughing men still sat at the table. Brad shimmed around the countertop, humming to himself.
Martin had better watch out!
Let’s see which baby he prefers the best after I get through with him.
Brad stilled as he heard the front door open a couple of hours later. He drew in a deep breath, hoping it would calm his skyrocketing pulse. He gripped the wooden spoon he was using to stir the pasta sauce, remembering Joe and Nick’s words of encouragement.
I hold the power. I hold the power!
Then why do I feel like I’m gonna pass out?
Brad let out the breath he’d been holding. Letting his lungs fill up, he took several quick breaths when the sound of footsteps got louder. Brad forced his shoulder blades back. He could do this. He could!
He acted nonchalant when Martin walked into the kitchen. He gave him a quick smile over his shoulder, pretending to be busy. Brad wanted to groan when his cock took notice of Martin’s attire. The pale grey fitted suit hugged him in all the right places, showing off his broad chest and long, lean legs. The charcoal shirt and matching tie seemed to make his dark hair and azure eyes pop with vibrancy. He turned back to the cooker, mentally slapping himself. The urge to climb Martin left him aching and his cock in desperate need of some relief.
Stop right there!
Brad shouted at himself, trying to resist temptation. He missed the first part of what Martin was saying. He clenched the spoon he was holding and prayed for strength for what he had to do next.
“Sorry, I’m late, baby. We’re still playing catch-up with the work Greg missed on Monday. I’ll never understand why he couldn’t come in. A hangover and two black eyes. For fuck’s sake, you’d think he’d had major surgery the way Aaden went on.”
