Healing Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  He picked up his glass of chablis and took a sip. “Hmm, nice. I’m glad the server suggested it.”

  Dafydd, looking uncomfortable, did the same. He’d surprised Ric by ordering wine instead of something non-alcoholic. The server had carded him, of course, and had eyed the fake ID Val had produced for Dafydd with skepticism. No surprise there. The official word was that Dafydd was twenty-two, but he obviously appeared to be far younger. Ric wondered how long that would be the case. It was one more question to ask Harry. He’d started compiling a mental list and it was getting longer every day.

  “Hmm, not bad, although my experience runs more to reds than whites.” Dafydd glanced around the terrace area that Ric had chosen for them. It was roomier than inside, and a flight of stairs leading down to the street was right behind Dafydd. A form of escape hatch that Ric assumed would put Dafydd more at ease among a crowd. “It’s pretty here, and I appreciate how you chose a spot with both a view and elbow room.” He shot Ric a smile.

  Gratified that he’d done well by the man he loved, Ric returned the look. “I’m glad you like it. I want you to enjoy the day, Dafydd.” He gestured toward the harbor, which was on full display, given the location of the restaurant. “I love this view. I’ve never come to this place before. It was always too much of a family spot when I was a single guy on the prowl.”

  Dafydd opened his mouth then had his attention taken by the baby when the boy threw his sippy cup on the floor. “Idris! We don’t do that. This is a nice place, so be a good boy.”

  In response to his father’s rebuke, Idris only bounced his legs and clapped. Dafydd shook his head, picked up the cup then grabbed his napkin to clean up the milk that had dribbled out onto the deck’s flooring.

  The server came running up before Dafydd had a chance. “Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about that.” Crouching down, the man swiped at the liquid. “This is nothing compared to the spills we get. The treated wood can handle it.” He beamed up at Dafydd.

  “Oh well, you’re that kind to help.” Dafydd sat back and took an awkward sip of his wine.

  The server tickled one of Idris’ feet before standing. The baby giggled and bounced some more, proof that he was like any other human and not some strange alien. “Are you giving your dads a hard time, little man? Where are you from, by the way? I just love your accent.” The guy was staring right at Dafydd and giving him a coquettish smile.

  Ric’s blood pressure rose a notch and he leaned on the table with his elbows.

  Dafydd’s gaze slid over to Ric before answering. “Wales.”

  “Oh.” The server—what had the little fucker called himself? Parker? Yeah, Parker—placed his hand over his heart. “I’ve always wanted to go there. It sounds so romantic. Is it beautiful?”

  Ric hadn’t thought of himself as the jealous type, and yet here he was, tamping down the urge to shove back his chair then jump to his feet to toss Parker over the railing. He had to let go of his glass of wine, lest he break the stem.

  Dafydd tilted his body closer to Ric’s, the small gesture being the one thing that throttled back Ric’s growing rage. “It is, yes, although you’ve got plenty of that here. I like it better than home.”

  “Hmm, I guess the grass is always greener.” Parker was apparently a poet-philosopher, too. Ric wanted to dump Idris’ sippy cup over the man’s head. Something of his feelings must have showed in his face. “I’ll go check on your order,” Parker said before hurrying away.

  “Here,” Dafydd said to the baby, “be a good boy and eat this.” He broke up a piece of bread and scattered it on the highchair’s tray.

  Ric forced himself to calm down. There was no need to ruin the day with pettiness before it got started. Picking up his glass, he sipped his wine while staring out at the harbor.

  “Are you angry?” The question, asked with such obvious trepidation, forced Ric to refocus his attention on Dafydd.

  He could see the worry in the boy’s eyes. “No, of course not.” He reached over to grabbed Dafydd’s hand and immediately regretted his rash movement when Dafydd jerked, although he didn’t pull away.

  Too ingrained not to resist. He couldn’t stop that ugly conclusion from popping into his head.

  Dafydd dropped his gaze. “Please don’t lie. I could see it in your face. Is it because of Idris acting up?”

  “No,” he was quick to reassure him. “Idris is a toddler, and that’s what they do. They throw and knock things over and generally make you crazy. I won’t be surprised if he has a major meltdown for no discernable reason before the day is out.” He shrugged. “It’s normal, and while it’s irritating, I’m sure, it’s part of the package.” He gently lifted Dafydd’s hand and kissed the inside of his wrist. “If I appear mad, I apologize. It’s jealousy, plain and simple. Parker’s attention to you irritated the crap out of me.”

  Dafydd stared back at him, wide-eyed and flicking his tongue over his lower lip. “Why is that, then? Shouldn’t I have answered that man when he asked where I was from?”

  “Of course, you should have.” Closing his eyes briefly, he shook his head. “I’m making a hash of this.” He huffed out a breath. “It’s the server I’m mad at. He’s flirting with my…you.”

  He edited his words at the last second, not wanting to appear overly proprietary when his instinct was to stand and pee his chablis in a circle around Dafydd.

  Dafydd smiled. “Really? That’s it? You’re not worried that I want that, are you? I’d as soon he not speak to me at all. Men’s attention unnerves me.” Dafydd’s cheeks pinked up. “Besides, he’s not to my liking. I’m attracted to more masculine men.”

  “Oh.” Ric’s heart kind of sank at that admission. “That kind of lets me out of the running.” He chuckled nervously.

  “Don’t be daft, mun. You’re exactly my type. It doesn’t matter if you’re not so large like the…others. You’re bigger than me and your muscles are impressive.”

  Ric stared at him, looking for signs of empty flattery. He saw only sincerity. No, more than that. There was a genuine interest in Dafydd’s look.

  “Thanks,” he said with an uncharacteristic shyness.

  “It’s none of my doing. I only state what I see. That server-man’s attention bothers me. You’ll take care of it, won’t you?”

  Ric’s chest all but puffed up at the request. Damn, he hadn’t ever thought of himself as the macho type. And yet here he was, acting possessive and proud over Dafydd’s compliments and his handing the reins of control to him. He vowed to himself that he would never take advantage of that trust.

  When Parker returned with their food, Dafydd kept his head down and left it to Ric to answer the server’s questions and order more milk for Idris. Both Ric and Dafydd tucked into their lunch, pausing for the occasional mundane back and forth that all couples had during a meal. The baby was given macaroni with butter and Parmesan to mess about with, and his sippy-cup privileges were returned to him. No one was surprised that it landed on the ground again. Ric merely laughed, picked it up and wiped it off before putting it back on the tray. It was all perfectly normal.

  They passed on dessert with the promise of getting ice cream later. Then, after strapping Idris into his stroller, Ric took control of steering the thing through the crowded sidewalks of the tourist town. He worried about how Dafydd would handle the crush of people and was delighted when the boy slipped his arm through Ric’s and walked tightly to his side. He couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin off his face as they ambled around.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon checking out the shops, something Dafydd had never done before, naturally. It was fun watching him react to all of the myriad kitsch available. They bought an ‘I am crabby’ T-shirt, along with a stuffed lobster, for Idris. The baby’s expression adorably mimicked the one of the crab on his shirt, while he elected to chew on his toy’s claw.

  They bought ice cream cones from a small place that made their own. Ric quickly devoured his then parked the boys on a bench in the sq
uare to eat theirs. It was all part of a hasty plan to keep them occupied while he dashed back to a store where Dafydd had admired a green sea-glass bracelet. Dafydd had insisted it was too ‘dear’ to buy. Ric’s credit card tended to agree with that assessment, but he was determined to buy his love something suitable to remember their time together. Upon his return, there was no more room on the bench, so he knelt beside the stroller instead.

  “Here… I want you to have this.” He took the bracelet out and clasped it around Dafydd’s slender wrist. “Perfect,” he said, then licked away the line of ice cream melting down the cone Dafydd held. It wasn’t quite a proposal, but it would do for now.

  Dafydd blinked rapidly at him. “You shouldn’t have,” he said in a low voice.

  “I wanted to.” He stood. “It made me happy. Do you like?”

  Dafydd’s cheeks pinked up fetchingly. “I love it. You know I do. Thanks…and all.”

  Before Ric could reply, Dafydd jumped to his feet and planted a sticky kiss on Ric’s cheek. He surprised him further by returning for another, this time on the lips. And it was Dafydd’s tongue that begged entrance, plundering Ric’s mouth.

  A quick learner.

  He could have stayed there forever, tasting the sweetness that was both ice cream and pure Dafydd. He would have spent the next few minutes, certainly, doing so if someone calling his name hadn’t caught his attention.

  Reluctantly breaking the kiss, he turned to see a couple of old summer friends, Joey and Greg, strolling up in their Speedos and flip-flops. “Hey, good to see you.” He didn’t really appreciate the interruption and was aware that Dafydd stiffened by his side.

  The guys stopped in front of them, hips cocked and wearing mirror expressions of obvious curiosity, if not cattiness. They went through the formality of hugging and air-kissing before Ric reached for Dafydd, only to find that he’d retreated to the bench and was trying to wipe Idris’ face with a tiny napkin.

  Greg eyed the scene. “Good heavens, Ric, I didn’t know you were into twinks—and breeding ones at that.”

  For a split second, Ric thought his friends actually knew that Dafydd had given birth, then logic stepped in and he realized they were simply being snarky.

  “Talk about robbing the cradle,” Joey added. “Do they take turns in the stroller?”

  There had been a time not long ago when he would have viewed the world the same way. All that had mattered to him besides practicing medicine was getting laid and having a good time. Things had changed dramatically for him. There was no denying that. And he found that he liked it—no, loved it. Spending the day lying in the sun then clubbing at night no longer held any appeal for him. This was what he wanted—a family. There was no reason to deny it, to himself or others, nor did he need to justify his plans by insisting it was based on what was best for Dafydd.

  He made a point of turning his back on the two men and going to stand behind Dafydd. He placed his hand on his shoulder and said, “This is Dafydd, my partner, and Idris is our son.”

  A noticeable shiver ran through Dafydd yet he said nothing other than, “A pleasure.”

  Joey and Greg stood with mouths agape for a few seconds. “You’ve been domesticated?” Joey asked finally.

  Ric grinned. “Yup. You should try it.”

  Greg pointed at Idris, who, despite his father’s efforts, was painting his face with chocolate ice cream. “It looks messy.”

  “It is,” Ric confirmed cheerily. “Wonderfully so.”

  “We’ll take it under advisement. See you around, Ric.” Looping his boyfriend’s arm, Greg sauntered away with him in tandem, their twin pert asses swinging provocatively.

  They held no allure for him whatsoever. “Sorry about that.”

  Dafydd twisted his head around to look at him. “No need to apologize on my account. It was you they were insulting, mun.”

  “Not from my perspective.” He gnawed at his lower lip. “I hope you don’t mind what I said, you know, about our being a family.”

  Dafydd’s expression softened. “No, it was nice, like, wasn’t it?”

  Sometimes Dafydd’s Welsh speech pattern left Ric unsure of how he truly felt. This time, though, he decided to take it on face value.

  He leaned down to give Dafydd a quick kiss. This was becoming a habit that he could get used to. And honestly, he could survive on Dafydd’s kisses for a very long time, even though he did hope for more at some point. “Yes, it was. Let’s get Idris cleaned up and get back to the ship. I think we could all do with a nap.”

  “Good idea. This one could use a good scrubbing, as well.”

  There wasn’t much they could do to clean Idris’ face with napkins. Giving up, they headed back to the ship. Once again, Dafydd took Ric’s arm while Ric pushed the stroller. They really did look like a family, and more importantly, felt like one. Ric knew a moment of inner panic at the notion that it could all change in an instant if Dafydd wanted it to. Then he told himself to settle the fuck down. There was no sense in getting ahead of everything. He needed to appreciate the here and now, focus on what he had and trust that the rest would follow.

  With most everyone else on the upper deck hanging around Malcolm’s small pool, they encountered only Val lurking about as usual as they made their way over to the back stairs. Through the tinted glass of the saloon, he could see Malcolm and Brenin in an intimate embrace. He hoped the Highlander and his boy were weathering the effect of Brenin’s captivity on their relationship. His own experience told him it was not going to be anything easy or quick.

  At the top of the stairs, Dafydd hauled Idris to his hip. Ric folded the stroller. Before continuing down the stairs, however, he had to ask the question burning in his mind.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?”

  Dafydd stared back at him with wide eyes. “Don’t be daft, mun. It was the best day of my life.” With that, he carried Idris away.

  Ric watched them descend to the lower level before shaking off his surprised glee and following.

  * * * *

  Brenin melted against Malcolm’s chest with the man’s hard dick fully embedded. Thank God his lover was an alien with an inhuman amount of stamina. Brenin had been demanding sex every few hours since the early morning. Malcolm had accommodated him each and every time with boundless energy. Brenin’s ass practically swam in the man’s cum, like now, with the sticky fluid drying on their conjoined laps. He didn’t care. He needed the contact, the reassurance and the distraction. It didn’t matter that they were sitting in the saloon with the raucous sounds of the others enjoying themselves outside before they set off for Boston. With his kilt splayed out around them, they were sufficiently covered, not that anyone would care.

  This time, Malcolm had fed from him, at Brenin’s insistence. His man needed the energy boost, plus being drained of blood along with the cum made him more fuzzy-brained and he wanted that mental bliss. It kept him from dwelling on his fears arising from the fact that evil resided below. It didn’t matter how much Malcolm or the others reassured him or his own logic told him that Petru couldn’t escape—the terror lurking within threatened to erupt at any moment. A shudder ran through him, despite the effects of his most recent orgasm.

  Malcolm’s loose hold tightened a bit—not to constrain but to comfort. “Easy, laddie. Did I take too much?”

  Brenin nuzzled his neck. “No. Not enough, maybe. The way I feel, it’s tempting to have you drain me dry.”

  “Och, now.” Malcolm rubbed his chin against Brenin’s head. “Never say such a thing. I should have ended that arsehole back in the cave. I’ll do it now to spare you this pain.”

  “No.” Brenin forced his head up and he peered into Malcolm’s troubled eyes. “I won’t ask that of you. I don’t want to make you into something you’re not—a stone-cold killer.”

  “Nothing about my feelings for you are cold, my bonnie lad.”

  The fierceness in the man’s gaze made Brenin shiver in an entirely different way. He clenched his hole
and felt an answering pulse from the thick cock. It swelled, stretching his channel more with the promise of another vigorous fuck.

  “I love that you’re willing to kill for me,” he said in a breathless voice. “I shouldn’t, but I do.” He stretched to kiss Malcolm with a hunger that started with his tongue and ended with his teeth. He tasted blood and went back for more, appreciating how it boosted his energy.

  Malcolm allowed him the freedom to take what he wanted then lapped his own skin to close it when Brenin pulled away. “Does it make you feel better?”

  Brenin nodded. “Stronger.”

  “Good.” Malcolm tucked some of Brenin’s hair behind his ears. “My offer stands. If it is to be done, then it best be soon because I need to prep the ship to get underway.”

  Leaning back, Brenin rocked, liking how the small movement pressed Malcolm’s dick against his prostate. His poor cock was wrung dry, yet the pleasure was still there nonetheless. He cupped Malcolm’s pecs and ran his thumbs across the nubs. “No. It’s wrong, and besides, if he’s right about Dracul, we need him.”

  “You understand, laddie, that if he helps us, Alex has promised him his life. I can’t go back on that. It’s one thing to go against Alex’s promise now, but after Petru fulfills his end of the bargain…”

  “Aye, I ken.” He giggled when he realized what he’d said. “You’re rubbing off on me. If I’m not careful, you’ll make me forget I’m a Welshman, mun.”

  “Dinnae you worry, laddie, I’ll remind you, like.”

  They shared a laugh over their crossed idiomatic expressions and accents. For a while, Brenin forgot his worries.

  “Oops, sorry! We’re not looking,” Mackie said, as he backed out of the saloon with his eyes shielded. Quinn, Demi and Jase were behind him.

  “Oh, come back,” Brenin called out. “Malcolm has work to do anyway.” He lifted off his lover’s cock, missing it immediately, and un-straddled him. Wetness trickled down his thighs. He made a face. “Guess I need a shower.”