Healing Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  “It is.” He was perhaps too quick to reassure. Determined to bring them both pleasure on his own terms, he glanced around for an expedited solution to their need. “Come on.”

  Jumping up, he let go of Malcolm’s dick in order to grab his hand. Then he guided his lover across the room and headed toward the guest bathroom off the kitchen area. No one paid them much mind, probably because some of the other couples were already cuddling in prelude to making more intimate good-byes. As they passed Val and Mackie, the alien was hooking a leash onto his boy’s collar. The glassy look in Mackie’s eyes told even an inexperienced lad like Brenin that the submissive was heading down into what he called subspace.

  “Come on, boy,” Val said as he yanked on the leash. “Let’s go play before you trash poor Malcolm’s pretty boat.”

  Malcolm chuckled, although he didn’t pause to respond. As he always did, he let Brenin lead him to the where and the how of their sexual encounters. The loo was almost as big as Brenin’s bedroom had been back when he was a normal boy living an ordinary life. After tugging Malcolm in, he quickly shut and locked the door. Then he closed the lid of the toilet and gestured to it.

  “Sit there.” He wasn’t surprised by his breathless tone. He was as aroused as his lover, his hard dick tenting his kilt in the mirror image of Malcolm. This was the constant dichotomy of his life, the wanting and the fearing at the same time. The only way through it was to take command and please himself. Somehow, whatever he did was enough for Malcolm—or so the man said. And he did a convincing job of it. Brenin had to believe, though, that a man as virile and commanding as Malcolm chafed at the constraint.

  Malcolm sat as ordered, practically quivering with desire. Brenin didn’t make him wait. He knelt and shoved the man’s kilt up to his waist, exposing the rampant cock that glistened with pre-cum. The sight of it always caused saliva to pool in Brenin’s mouth as he concentrated on how tasty it was. He pushed himself between his lover’s legs, which parted like the Red Sea, and took Malcolm’s dick and balls in each hand while lowering his mouth.

  The initial burst of tangy, salty cum hit his tongue and he paused for a second to savor the taste. Lobster had nothing on the treat that was Malcolm. Brenin moaned around his mouthful, taking the shaft in as far as he could. This was no act on his part, either. He did love giving blow jobs—when it was his choice. There was a power in it, making his man shake and groan as he was now. He was in control. Malcolm would only come when Brenin decided he was allowed to. If he thought the guy was getting ahead of matters, all he had to do was squeeze the base of the thick cock and that would put a stop to it. He loved, as well, Malcolm’s grunts of frustration when he did so.

  Not that they played that game this evening. Knowing they had little time before spending the night apart, neither of them wanted to draw this encounter out. At least, Brenin didn’t, and he could read Malcolm’s moods quite well now. The man kept his fingers wrapped around the folds of his kilt and not on Brenin’s head. It was those little touches, how he thought ahead of what might please Brenin or upset him, that reaffirmed Brenin’s love for him. There really was no question about that. It was more the problem of chasing away the lingering effects of Dracul’s brutality that kept getting in the way.

  He wouldn’t think of that now, however. Instead, he feasted on the cock, using his lips and tongue to lavish it with attention. He moved his hands along the smooth shaft and swollen balls in a coordinated rhythm that he’d honed in the last couple of months. He knew what he was about, and knowledge was its own kind of power. Each time, he tried to swallow more of the silky hardness, knowing he’d never manage to deep throat someone as thick and long as Malcolm. His fingers met his lips, though, about halfway and he counted that as a win.

  Malcolm stuttered out a breath. “Och, laddie, what you do to me.”

  Encouraged, Brenin smiled around his mouthful of cock, sank down as deep as he dared and swallowed. At the same time, he squeezed the balls and loosened his grip at the base of the shaft. Cum flooded his mouth in the next instant, but he was ready for it. He opened his throat and let it slide down, pulling back only when he felt as though he might gag. And still, he kept sucking and swallowing until Malcolm’s entire body went lax and barely a drop remained in Brenin’s mouth.

  He let go of the shaft slowly, sliding his tongue around every inch he could reach to lick it clean. When he was done, he sat back on his heels and heaved a big sigh. “All right, then?” He smiled at his own question, the look of bliss on Malcolm’s face all the confirmation he needed.

  Malcolm opened his eyes a sliver. “You took my very breath away, as you well ken, laddie. The only issue I have now is, how do I reciprocate?”

  Brenin understood that it was important to his man that he not go wanting. And with his kilt hanging off his standing dick, it was hard to argue he wasn’t in need of tending to. He considered jerking himself off with the sight of Malcolm sprawled in front of him as inspiration, then decided that wouldn’t be nearly satisfying and might give Malcolm the idea that he truly didn’t want his touch. That was not the case.

  So he stood, his passion making him more graceful than he would have expected, and hiking his kilt up past his straining cock, he shuffled between Malcolm’s thick, splayed thighs. He didn’t need to say anything, and the silent communication somehow amped up his arousal. With their gazes locked, Brenin lined himself up with Malcolm’s lips, which opened slowly, widely, welcomingly. When the head of his dick entered Malcolm’s mouth, he shoved it all the way in.

  Malcolm was ready for him, the way Brenin knew he would be. Unlike Brenin, he had no trouble swallowing the entire cock down to the root. His lips pressed against Brenin’s pubic bone while tight throat muscles massaged his cock in an undulating wave that made Brenin come with dizzying speed. He gasped as he slammed his eyes shut, and he blindly reached out to grab Malcolm’s broad shoulders to steady himself.

  He uttered a cry, uncaring who heard. For those brief seconds, where waves of his orgasm washed over him, he was free of all his worries. At that moment, it was only him and his lover, taking pleasure in each other. There were no fears or doubts, no hesitation in the way that he clung to the man who’d given him back his life—the man who’d become his life.

  “I love you, Malcolm.” Brenin almost sobbed out his declaration. Hot tears sprang up, making him hold on all the tighter and more desperate.

  Malcolm worked Brenin’s dick until it was dry then released it gently. He wrapped him in a loose embrace and rubbed his cheek against Brenin’s chest. “I ken, laddie, I ken. And I’m here for you, always.”

  Brenin believed him. He did, and yet he couldn’t help but wonder, For how long?

  * * * *

  Too many people. Too much laughter. It reminded Dafydd of the kind of sick merriment that had often occurred in Dracul’s castle. Back then it had almost always been over some poor soul’s degradation, terror or even death. Knowing that this gathering was of a different sort hardly mattered to Dafydd’s damaged nerves. Added to that was Idris starting to fuss because of the noise, perhaps, or the lateness of the hour. It gave him a good excuse to leave, except that while he made his hasty goodbyes, it wasn’t with his room in mind. He wanted to escape to the roof. Of course he did, weak and pathetically broken person that he was.

  “Aren’t you coming for the sleepover at the yacht?” Demi asked the question from where he perched on his lover’s lap.

  This idea of a bunch of boys spending the night together, gabbing and doing God knew what until the wee hours of the morning made no sense to him. What did he know of such things? It was a modern concept, to be sure, and one for those who needn’t get up early to toil. Besides, the very idea of going from one small, noisy party to another set his teeth on edge.

  He jiggled Idris and tried for a smile when he answered. “No, thanks. I have to get the boy down and I’m not sure how I feel about spending time on the water, truth be told.” He wasn’t making that part up. His jou
rney from Wales to Scotland was a blur, given that he’d been mostly unconscious for it. What he remembered of it wasn’t pleasant.

  “I’ll be happy to take care of him,” Lucien said, coming up.

  Oh, but that was a tempting offer, except it came with a string attached that he didn’t want. “No. Thank you, all the same. He’s my responsibility and I’m that tired, I am. Good night.”

  He made haste, not wanting to discuss the matter further, avoiding everyone else as much as possible. That included the human doctor. Ric. Yes, he was there, as well, and that was no real surprise. Whatever was going on—and something surely was, given how the men had huddled earlier—the doctor was part of their world now. His dark eyes with their obvious concern shining through had sought Dafydd out during the meal. Despite having deliberately sat as far away from the man as he could, Dafydd had felt the weight of that attention all evening. It disturbed him, but not so much as his own wandering gaze. How many times had he sought out Ric, tracking his movements? Just one more good reason to leave.

  Relief washed over him the moment he stepped into the hallway. Lucien had followed him out of the suite anyway, though, and caught him by the elevator. Being changelings, they were evenly matched in strength and speed. That was true despite the fact that Dafydd no longer partook of the alien blood, while Lucien almost certainly did. Dafydd kept wondering when he’d lose the good parts of his forced conversion from human to whatever the fuck he was now.

  Lucien held out his hands. “Please. I can see you’ve reached your limit for the day. However well-meaning everyone has been to include you in our social activities, I know it’s taxing on you. It bothers me occasionally, I must confess. I get flashes of the time in my life when the sound of men laughing meant nothing good for me.”

  Dafydd knew there was some story there, yet he hadn’t bothered to ask the details. He didn’t want to know them. He had his own horrid memories to deal with, and unlike Lucien, no real way to vent. No, that wasn’t true. There were plenty of folks who would listen if he asked them to. His mind flashed on Ric again, and he forced the image away.

  “I’m fine. Really. Now,” he added, “Idris is my responsibility. You do too much as it is.”

  Lucien kept his arms outstretched. “I do no more than I want. If you push yourself beyond what you’re comfortable with, it won’t do you or Idris any good.” He beckoned, like a siren in the sea.

  Dafydd held out for only a second more before handing over an increasingly fussy Idris. The boy settled instantly, as if he knew that Lucien was a better caretaker.

  Because he is.

  “Thank you.” He dropped his gaze. “You’re right, of course.”

  “It is not a failing, Dafydd. You are too hard on yourself. Give it time. You are really doing a remarkable job, considering all that you’ve been through.”

  Dafydd said nothing, knowing how wrong the kindly man was about everything. He thought of the bliss that awaited him on the roof and wondered what Lucien would have to say about that if he ever found out. Not doing so well after all, hey?

  “I’m going to take some air. I’ll see you later.”

  “A good idea. I’ll stay with the boy until you get back. No hurry.”

  Dafydd didn’t bother to wait until the man had gotten into the elevator before turning and racing to the stairs. He took the steps two at a time and, bursting through the rooftop door, ran straight to his stash. He popped a pill into his mouth, then fuck it, two, and was reaching for the brandy to wash it down when he heard soft footfalls behind him. On instinct, he whirled around, braced for a blow. His heart beat jack-rabbit fast and he swallowed the pills dry. His body’s reaction didn’t slow, even as he saw who it was.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Ric offered up a smile as he approached. “I saw you leave Idris with Lucien and was worried something was wrong.”

  Dafydd made no attempt to reassure the man. Everything was wrong, after all. He merely stood breathing harshly, one hand clenched around the almost-empty bottle of pills, the other grasping the liquor bottle by its neck. His flight-or-fight instinct having been beaten out of him, he stood frozen, waiting for the doctor to do something that he could react to.

  Ric stepped closer and frowned. “What do you have there?” He peered down at Dafydd’s left hand. “Is that a bottle of pills?”

  Dafydd raised his chin in a show of defiance that he knew could land him into trouble. “And what if it is? Harry gave them to me—for my nerves, which are bad, don’t you know?”

  “I understand.” The man’s voice was soft and kind, which only served to grate on Dafydd. He wasn’t used to kindness and had yet to learn how to accept it with grace and gratitude.

  Ric gestured to the left. “That’s obviously liquor, though. Are you mixing the two?”

  “So what if I am, mun? It’s none of your concern.”

  That shut Ric up for a few seconds. A sorrowful look passed over his face, but Dafydd refused to feel bad about it. “You’re right in that it’s none of my business, perhaps. I am concerned, though.”

  He got even closer, enough that his features were easy to discern in the moonlight. “Please, let me be of help.”

  In a rash act of defiance, Dafydd tucked the pill bottle into his front pocket before opening the brandy and taking a long swallow. He kept his gaze on Ric, nevertheless—a matter of habit. The liquid burned a trail down his throat, making his eyes water. He didn’t let up until his lungs screamed for air.

  He remained as he was, glaring at the doctor while breathing heavily. Fatigue washed over him, egged on by the medicine and the brandy. His eyelids drooped and he swayed a bit.

  “You want to help me, then?” He pulled the pill bottle out and shook it. “I’m getting a bit low on these. Care to get me more?”

  Ric closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t write prescriptions anymore. I’m a pathologist now. Besides, it’s unethical, if not illegal, for a doctor to proscribe medicine for friends and family.”

  “That lets you off in my case. I’m neither to you.” Dafydd winced inwardly at his cruelty. Oh, how well I’ve learned Dracul’s lessons.

  Ric looked at the skyline around them before coming back to stare at him. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I would like to think we’re friends. I certainly think of you that way.”

  Dafydd scoffed. He couldn’t help it. “Don’t lie to me. I’m not some gullible fool, haven’t been for about four hundred years or so.” He dared to walk forward until they were a meter away. “I know what you want.” He pointedly stared at the man’s crotch before taking another swig of brandy.

  Now Ric’s face crumpled in obvious misery. Dafydd’s heart squeezed in sadness and guilt and yet he didn’t take the words back. He was afraid that if he started to apologize, he’d devolve into that sniveling, frightened boy he’d once been, begging for mercy. It didn’t matter that Ric was nothing like Dracul or that the situation was different. On this occasion, Dafydd did have something to be sorry about. After living so long in the world of a monster, he had lost the ability to interact with someone in a normal way.

  Long minutes of silence stretched between them, in which Dafydd wondered why this man stayed in the face of such a bitter dismissal. Finally, the doctor took in then let out a deep breath.

  “I do want you.” The confession was made in a low voice laced with pain. Dafydd knew that sound very well indeed. “I know it’s wrong, but there it is. I won’t come again. You don’t need my unwanted attention with everything else you’re dealing with.” He turned to go.

  A new kind of panic hit Dafydd, almost literally knocking him over. “Wait! That’s it?” he asked when Ric stopped and looked at him with questioning eyes. “I act like a fucking cunt and you just let me?”

  “Don’t call yourself that!” The order snapped out of the man’s mouth with the force of a whip. Dafydd flinched, despite his ill humor. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have used that tone with you. I simply meant that
—”

  “I know.” Now impatience overrode everything else. “Although why you should bother to care about how I feel or what I say or what I do mystifies me. It’s not about the sex. I know that. There are plenty of pretty and willing boys down in the club. Why do I matter?”

  “Oh, Dafydd.” Ric reached out for a split second before snatching back his hand. “Sorry. I know I don’t say your name right.”

  “You do well enough, mun.” His head swam and he staggered.

  Ric was there—of course he was—to catch him and hold him steady. Dafydd stiffened a moment from the touch before relaxing again. There was too much swirling around his system for him to remain anything other than limp.

  “I’m that tired,” he whispered.

  “Come and sit down.” Ric’s touch and tone were so very gentle that it was easy to allow the doctor to guide him to a sitting position in the very spot he usually occupied.

  Ric tugged both bottles and the cap from Dafydd’s lax grasp and closed up the brandy. “This is really a dangerous thing to do. How many pills have you taken?”

  Dafydd let his head lull against the cement wall. “Two.”

  There was a sigh. “And I saw you consume a good third of this brandy on top of it. Do you do this every night?”

  Dafydd gazed up at the stars. “No. Yes,” he amended for reasons that he couldn’t understand. “Mostly it’s one pill and not so much brandy.”

  “For how long now? Since you arrived?”

  Dafydd shrugged. Thinking was getting too hard. He yawned and, drawing his legs up, rested his chin on his knees. “I told you back in Wales that I needed to die.”

  “I’ll tell you again. No, sir, not on my watch.”

  Dafydd smiled at the fierceness in the man’s reply then closed his eyes. “I’m terribly broken, you see.”

  “You’re alive and you’re free. That means there’s hope. And you have Idris to think of. You want to raise him, don’t you?”