Healing Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  Brenin teased the dick some more with his hand before tugging it toward him and lifting up. He’d become good at this, positioning the tip right outside his puckered hole, rubbing it back and forth, making both him and Malcolm a little crazy before sticking it in. His wince morphed into a smile as he slowly impaled himself on the shaft.

  The girth of the thing stretched his channel all the way up. His dick jerked, spurting a bit of pre-cum, as the silky length of Malcolm’s cock caressed Brenin’s prostate. Oh, such delicious pleasure. To find it after all that he’d experienced was a wonder, and he was determined not to lose it. He sat flush on Malcolm’s pelvis and stayed there. His only movement was to clench his hole in a pulsing rhythm designed to make Malcolm’s eyes cross.

  He succeeded.

  “Och, laddie, if you’re trying to test the limits of my control, you’re doing a grand job of it. Please, for God’s sake, move!”

  Brenin laughed but wasn’t so much of a sadist that he didn’t heed the plea. He began to rock, then buck, up and down, riding the shaft with a proud skill he’d mastered. True to his promise, as always, Malcolm made no move. He let Brenin set the pace and did nothing more than arch his back and groan in pleasure. Brenin knew the man wanted more, needed more, and he wanted to give everything to him.

  Lurching forward, he slammed his palms on either side of his lover’s arms. “Take my vein, Malcolm.” He twisted his head to one side to expose his neck.

  The strike came fast, yet almost tenderly, as much as possible considering that Malcolm’s fangs sank deep into Brenin’s flesh. It made them both climax. Warm cum splashed into his ass while his own cock sent sticky fluid onto his stomach. There was no way to milk it dry with his hand without collapsing, but that was okay. He felt the orgasm with no less intensity, curling his fingers and toes and opening his mouth wide on a silent scream.

  The tugging at his vein reverberated through every nerve-ending. It sent him into a languid state that turned his muscles to jelly. He collapsed into Malcolm with the surety that the man would hold him without binding him. In this state of coital bliss, there were no worries, only peace. He let go of…everything.

  He came back to himself in the familiar position of being sprawled on top of Malcolm, his ass empty and his cock and balls depleted. Malcolm traced lazy circles across his back. He did the same on Malcolm’s chest for a few seconds before pushing up to rest his head on his palm.

  “Did I sleep long?”

  “An hour or so. Do you want to freshen up in the loo before retiring?”

  “Not yet.” He eyed his lover. “Perhaps I’m not done having my way with you.”

  Malcolm chuckled. “Och, well then, we’ll just lie here until you’ve made up your mind.”

  It would have been easy to either go to sleep for the night or numb himself with Malcolm’s dick again. Instead, he screwed up his courage to have the talk he’d mentioned earlier.

  “I think I need some help, Malcolm. You know…professional, like Doc MacPhee has offered. Even though she’s not a psychologist, she’s a good listener and she can prescribe medicine.”

  “I thought you didnae want to take pills.” Malcolm hesitated a second before carding his fingers through Brenin’s hair.

  “I didn’t, but I hate how I feel, and I really hate how you have to be so careful with me, like just now. You shouldn’t have to worry that something as simple as your brushing back my hair will freak me out.”

  “Brenin, it’s—”

  He put a finger to his lover’s lips. “No, hear me out. This thing I’m grappling with—PTSD or whatever—is not going away by wishing it so, and I’m not sure time alone will help. Plus, I don’t want to be passive about it.”

  He changed position to look at Malcolm more squarely. “Harry gave Dafydd something to ease his anxiety. I think they’re short-acting, and maybe that’s not what Doc MacPhee was talking about. It got me thinking, though.”

  He didn’t add in any details about his deal with his friend or how Dafydd was unwisely mixing alcohol with it. That was something Paz was hopefully dealing with.

  “If I want a life with you, Malcolm, I have to be willing to work for it.” Flopping down onto his back, he added, “That includes drinking your blood more regularly.”

  Malcolm rolled to his side and peered down at him. “You dinnae have to, laddie. We have lots of time.”

  “I want to, and the time starts now. Give me your vein, Malcolm. Please.”

  With only a brief hesitation, Malcolm scored his own wrist and held it to Brenin’s lips. “Drink as much as you’d like, my love.”

  Brenin flicked his tongue out to lick at first, then, wrapping his lips around the torn skin, he sucked as if his life depended on it. Because it did.

  Chapter Eight

  “It’s ridiculous, mun, for you to sleep on the floor,” Dafydd whispered into the room at large. “Idris’ crib takes up so much space that you’re like a pretzel down there.”

  “I’m fine,” came the equally quiet reply. “And you should be asleep. Plus, you’ll wake the baby.”

  Dafydd hung his head over the side and peered into the gloom. “It’s not enough to control my pills. You think to tell me when I have to sleep? And Idris is like a log once he’s down for the night.”

  With a sigh, the doctor rolled onto his side and looked up. “I am not trying to rule your life, Dafydd. I simply meant it’s like one in the morning and I’m exhausted. Stay up all night, if you want, but please don’t disturb me.”

  Dafydd made a face that he knew couldn’t be seen. “I was only concerned about your comfort.” He huffed and flopped back.

  “That’s sweet of you, but really, I’m fine.”

  Dafydd stared up at the ceiling. “Sweetness has nothing to do with. It’s a matter of knowing how hard my life can be when a man who is chopsy from lack of sleep controls it.”

  There was a long sigh. “Oh, Dafydd, you know I would never hurt you, don’t you?”

  He wanted to say he knew no such thing. It was hard, though. The earnestness of this man was too obvious to deny. Dafydd didn’t have it in him to be quite that mean. “Not intentionally, no, but not allowing me my nightly ritual isn’t exactly a kindness. I can’t sleep after all. I need another pill and some Scotch to wash it down.”

  “No, you don’t. Tell me, how do you feel?”

  “What do you care?” he shot back. When no answer came, he relented. “Calm, I suppose. Not sleepy, though, and that’s the point.”

  “Those pills are meant to do just as you describe—reduce anxiety, not put you to sleep. It was the booze, frankly, that was causing you to pass out. I bet you’ve been waking with a wicked hangover. Plus mixing the two can actually bring on the symptoms of PTSD that Harry is trying to help you cope with.”

  “So you say.” He resisted the urge to pound the bed in frustration. Know-it-all!

  “I’m going to stand.”

  “Why bother to tell me?”

  “In order not to startle you.”

  Damn the man for his consideration. He glowered at the figure that rose on the side of the bed. Bare-chested as he was, the doctor’s trim yet toned physique was easy to see. Dafydd’s eyesight was keener than a human’s, plus the moonlight shone in through the small windows of the cabin. Try as he might, he couldn’t work up too much anger. Quite the contrary, and the bit of pull he felt toward his new jailer irritated him.

  “May I teach you a technique that’s very effective for getting to sleep? It works with daily anxiety, too.”

  “Suit yourself. You don’t have to wear those silly pants, either. I’m used to seeing men’s naked bodies whether I want to or not.”

  “They’re called sleep pants, and I’m being courteous to you. I’m not going to dangle my dick in your face without invitation.”

  “You’ll have to wait a bloody long time, then. Eternity,” he bit out, hating his waspish behavior yet unable to rein it in.

  “I understand, and that’s fi
ne. May I help, please?”

  “Like I said, suit yourself.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. The idea is to isolate small parts of your body from your head to your toes, tensing each one before relaxing it. Do you understand?”

  “I suppose. Will you help?”

  “Of course. I’ll walk you through it.”

  “Are you going to do it standing there?”

  “Where else? Do you want me farther away?”

  Dafydd wrestled with the ridiculous notion rattling around his demented head before blurting out, “No, closer. Come lie down next to me.”

  “Dafydd, I don’t think—”

  “Well, neither do I, mun, but there it is. Being in this floating bedroom is giving me the shivers. I think, maybe, your being here helps. It’s stupid, I know.”

  It was, too. The last thing he should want was a man lying beside him, crowding him against the wall, blocking his escape. And if he thought of it in terms of Dracul or any of his vicious men—or even some theoretical man—panic threatened to overwhelm him. It wasn’t so with this particular man, however, and the why of it mystified him.

  “Not stupid. You’ve been dragged around a few times since Wales. I’m partly responsible for that. I can well understand your unease. I’m surprised my presence helps, yet also pleased to be of service. If you’re sure?”

  By way of answer, Dafydd scooted over to make room on the bed. But he stared at the ceiling as Ric climbed up and lay down beside him. “How does this work, then?”

  “We start with the head. Tighten up all of your facial muscles as hard as you can. Really scrunch them up. Now relax them again. Do the same with your neck, except be careful to keep your head and face relaxed while you do so. It’s hard. Do your best.”

  Dafydd followed the instructions, although what he really concentrated on was the tone of Ric’s voice, low and soothing. Quietly encouraging. A balm to his nerves. Calm washed over him. By the time he’d finished scrunching up his toes, he’d drifted into the waiting darkness that for the first time didn’t seem so scary.

  * * * *

  “Good morning, Dafydd. Ric, if you’re finished eating, Alex would like for you to join us for a meeting in the pilot house.” Harry’s invitation was delivered with a relaxed air.

  Dafydd’s stomach tightened regardless. He didn’t much like the idea of again being among all those aliens in a small space. What could they want with Ric anyway?

  “I am,” Ric replied. “Dafydd?”

  As his breakfast plate was scraped clean, the only possible answer was, “Yes.” His appetite had been keen after the most restful night he’d had since he could remember. Ric’s silly technique had helped. As had his presence, although Dafydd didn’t much like analyzing the whys and wherefores of that revelation.

  He started to gesture toward Idris, who sat happily in his highchair, gorging on pieces of scrambled eggs and pancakes, but Harry had anticipated that possible delay.

  “Demi, you’re on Idris duty for the next hour or so.”

  “Yes, Papa.” The hybrid bopped over and took the seat next to the baby. “Hey, Idris, how’s breakfast going?”

  The baby held up a fistful of food. “Yum!”

  There was nothing for it, then. Dafydd stood and followed in Harry’s wake up the saloon steps and on to the airy room where the yacht was controlled. He could feel the steady presence of Ric behind him. That did help, which in turn soured his mood. There seemed to be no end to his conflicting feelings for the man. Now was not the time to dwell on any of that, however. He needed to stay alert for whatever this meeting was about.

  All eyes turned to them the moment they entered. Dafydd shrunk back on instinct, bumping right into Ric. The man said nothing, nor did he move out of the way. Instead, he placed his palm lightly at the small of Dafydd’s back. It had the surprising effect of anchoring him. These scary men who echoed Dracul’s worst characteristics weren’t hard to face with Ric guiding him forward, staying at his back. Dafydd straightened his shoulders and didn’t avert his gaze as he usually would.

  Alex waited until they had joined the group around the table before speaking. “Thank you for coming. This meeting is mostly about prevailing on Dr. Paz for more help, but we also hope Dafydd has information that will prove useful.”

  “I’m game,” Ric replied, “so long as it doesn’t involve putting Dafydd at risk.”

  The hard edge to the pleasantly stated words made Dafydd smile. He’s protecting me. He shouldn’t have been surprised, and he wasn’t. It just made him happy to experience this new sensation of someone having his interests at heart. It didn’t even matter if it was all part of some scheme to get into his bed. He understood those dynamics. They didn’t frighten him. More, deep down, he didn’t believe that was the case.

  “Not at all, dear Doctor. We merely realize that Dafydd was made privy to Dracul’s modus operandi and that extra knowledge could prove useful in bringing down what’s left of his organization.” Alex stared at Dafydd with kindness. “He underestimated you, didn’t he?”

  Dafydd lifted his chin, proud to be able to answer. “He did, yes.”

  “His hubris got the better of him.” Alex tapped a print-out on the table in front of him. “What we need to do before exploring these smuggling caves is confirm whether this Mr. Moran, elderly as he may be, was and continues to be coopted by Dracul. So, the question is, can we do that without making him suspicious? Is there an easy way to make him think that someone such as Dr. Paz is in on the game in order to get him to spill his secrets?”

  Ric leaned forward, keeping his palm in place. “You want me to pay dear old Scotty a visit?”

  “If you don’t mind,” Alex replied.

  “Not in the least. If nothing else, these older men who were out and proud even before being gay was no longer illegal are often interesting guys to talk to. I don’t mind dropping in on him for a chat.”

  Alarm shot through Dafydd. “What if the caves are being used now? Won’t that mean whoever it is you seek is staying with this man? Ric would be in danger if he goes nosing around.”

  Ric slid his hand up to gently cup the back of Dafydd’s neck. “It’s okay. I won’t be entirely alone, right?”

  Val shook his head. “Nope. Duncan is arriving this afternoon and he’ll be your back-up. Plus, the rest of us will be here—listening, as always. If it looks dicey, we’ll be there pronto.”

  Dafydd gasped. “How fast is that, exactly? You can’t fly, mun. And what use is a human compared to your alien strength? You think even that cop could be of help? Ric’s neck could be torn open in a blink of an eye. I’ve seen it done plenty, I assure you.” His breath started coming in great, heaving lungfuls. He blinked against his tunneling vision.

  Ric’s thumb around his neck moved in slow circles. “Easy. It’s all right. There’s nothing to panic about. I’m here and safe. Nothing’s going to change that.”

  The soothing words barely registered. A whimper passed his lips and he found himself turning to Ric and pressing against his body. He laid his forehead on the man’s shoulder and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. His heart raced and thudded against his chest, hard enough to burst.

  Ric held him loosely in an embrace, running circles again across Dafydd’s back. “Shh, it’s okay. Honestly, guys, didn’t it occur to you to speak with me first?”

  “My apologies, Doctor,” Alex said. “We misread the…‘situation’ between you.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  “Perhaps you would like to escort Dafydd down to the saloon and we can continue our discussion with only you.”

  “No!” Dafydd pulled away and glared at the others. “You’ll not make plans without me.”

  Ric cupped his face. “Of course we won’t. Would you like to sit down?” When Dafydd shook his head, he continued, “Then we need to know that dear Scotty is alone in the house when I approach him.”

  Dafydd didn’t question his impulse to turn in Ric’s arms so that he faced
the others and could lean against him. The doctor’s touch was proving to be more effective on his nerves than any amount of pills and liquor.

  Val raised his eyebrows before saying. “We can do that. When he arrives, I’ll show Duncan how to work the heat-seeking equipment. I’ve modified it in particular to pick up traces of our physiology. He can do a recon before you approach the house.” The man’s gaze homed in on Dafydd. “Does that work for you?”

  Being asked his opinion, to have it be counted as relevant, was a new experience. He almost believed he was imagining it.

  “Yes,” he replied in a shaky voice that made him wince. “That will do,” he added more firmly.

  Alex clasped his hands together. “Excellent. Now, to the issue of how the doctor gains entrance. Any suggestions?”

  Dafydd gnawed at his lower lip as he considered what might help. “Usually, they used force and threats, nothing subtle or collegial.” Ric patted Dafydd’s hip where his fingers had landed, a subtle gesture of sympathy. “But Petru had always advocated a softer approach when they were setting up plans that were more long-term and uncertain. He used a combination of bribery and flattery—sex, too, of course, except it was the kind one would want to experience again.”

  He made a face, couldn’t help it, then moved on to the part they were really interested in. “He called these boys ‘brown dwarfs’. I had no idea what it meant, at first, and frankly didn’t care. Eventually I looked it up and got the celestial reference, although I don’t know why he thought it was so clever. Anyway, I expect if Ric can somehow work the words into his greeting, this man would think of him as being an ally. Assuming he’s one of them to begin with.”

  Ric’s warm breath tickled his ear. “If he isn’t, I’ll merely sound a bit odd. Either way, I hope he’s in the mood for company.”

  “It’s settled, then,” Alex said with a nod. “Nothing much can be done before Duncan arrives. Thank you both for your time.”

  Dafydd knew a dismissal when he heard one and was glad of it. Ric must have as well. He turned Dafydd and guided him out of the pilot house and back to the saloon. Every touch, every move, was free of any kind of demand or high-handedness. Ric’s behavior demonstrated caretaking, which wasn’t surprising. No, the amazing thing was that Dafydd instinctively perceived it in that benign way. He would have thought no amount of familiarity could change his view of the world in general—and men in particular.