Darkness Like A Dream
By:Britefeather
Walt is about to do a 180 in his grave. Inspired by the works of
Christine Morgan and Lady Johanna Constantine. Under 18 read no
further.
Plot?
*
"Dare."
Fox thought. "Ok. I dare you to -- Give me a back massage."
"That's not a dare." Discontentment was written on David's
face.
"But you do it so well, and my back's hurting."
"Fine." She rolled over on her tummy and let his gentle hands
work their magic. His thumbs pressed into the base of her neck
and began making circular motions with just enough pressure to
loosen the stiffness there. She sighed happily and sank down into
her pillows, letting him slide lower. Strong fingers pushed into
her vertabrae until she felt a satifying pop. He started tickling
her sides with the barest pressure, using only the tips of his
fingernails to trace patterns on her skin.
"Mmmmhmm. That's perfect."
He chuckled deep in his throat and continued his leisurely
journey. Fortunately her clothes were long gone, having been
quickly removed about an hour ago. Nothing prevented him from
massaging her waist, or from reaching beneath and reverently
stroking the thin white scar on her belly, her only visible
stretchmark.
He knelt behind her, his legs straddling her knees and now he
bent forward. She shuddered as he placed a cool kiss at the base
of her spine, his beard scratching, without pain like a cat's
tongue.
"Feeling better?" he breathed against her skin.
"Much."
"Good." He rubbed his cheek across her buttocks, then used his
hands to caress them tenderly. Like he was working dough, she
couldn't help thinking and laughed.
"Does that tickle?"
"No."
He slid one finger inside of her. "Does that?"
"No," she gasped.
He withdrew it, then tickled her intimately. "How about now?"
He was making the most delightfully damp circles and she
squirmed. "Yes," she bit out and grasped the sheet.
His continued strokings caught her tongue in her throat as he
brought her to the edge, left her mewling in pleasure as he
pulled away completely.
She rolled over, more than ready to take him inside of her and
finish what he'd started.
Instead she saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, an
astoundingly patient expression on his face like he was waiting
for something. Fox wasn't in the mood to wait. Actually she could
say with all her heart that waiting was dead last among the
things she wanted to do right now. "David --"
He smirked evilly. "My turn! Truth or dare?"
"You're a sadist."
"You knew that when you married me."
She was still breathing hard. "If you don't finish I'm going
to be a young, beautiful, and very rich widow."
"Your father would be pleased."
"I'm not into pleasing my father. You --"
She took the situation in hand. The situation perked up almost
instantly at her careful touch.
"So you are awake. I thought maybe you'd forgotten me."
It was his turn to have trouble speaking. "He didn't forget.
He just needed a rest after the last dare." Another questioning
stroke elicited a gasp from David on cue.
"How about we take care of this poor guy?" David said nothing,
but climbed quickly back into his former position, facing her
this time. She guided him in with no effort, letting his
quickening motions bring her back to the edge, then sighing as a
delicious pressure filled her and warmly released.
He continued pushing into her, well on the way to his own
climax. After a few seconds' recovery, she rocked her hips back
and forth beneath him, watching his face as it grew more
determined, almost as if he were in pain. His eyelids fluttered
as he shivered all over, filling her deeply with himself. A silly
expression covered his face like it usually did, making her smile
as she kissed him.
"Like I said, you give good backrubs."
He held her as he rolled onto his back. The silly grin had
been replaced by utter contentment. "Have I mentioned lately that
I love you?"
"Yes. But you can tell me anytime you want." She ran her
fingernails over his biceps, then kissed his collarbone before
she rested her head against it. "Your turn."
"Truth or dare?"
She giggled throatily. "I'll stick with truth. I don't think
you're up to another dare yet."
"'Oh, ye of little faith,'" he replied. "Let me think."
The truth part of the game was just as much fun as the dare
but in a different way. She'd started it back when they'd been
seeing each other about a year. They had run into an old flame of
his whom he'd very nearly married. The woman, Deanna, was
pleasant enough and didn't seem to hold a grudge over old
relationships, but it had told Fox there was much she didn't know
about her new lover.
The game fixed that. The rules were easy. No question that you
don't want to know the honest answer to. No dare you wouldn't do
yourself, keeping in mind the obvious differences between their
anatomies. It was an easy way to find out things about each
other, and to experiment with things both had wanted to try but
had never presumed to ask. She wasn't positive but she was fairly
sure Alex had been conceived during a particularly imaginative
game involving mint tea, whipped cream, and the back seat of the
limo.
"I have one. I know who your first was. Who was your first
virgin?"
"Haven't had one."
Disbelief filled his voice. "None?"
"None. And from what I've heard, I would have noticed."
"Probably, but -- not one?" He couldn't seem to get past it.
"No cherries for this sundae." She smiled sweetly. "Yet."
"What's that 'yet' for?" He didn't look worried. Just amused.
She settled against him again. "You could meet with a freak
accident and die tomorrow. And you know I'd remarry eventually."
He snorted. "And how are you going to explain it to this new
husband of yours when his stepson turns him into a newt? Hm?"
"Good point."
"You could marry Owen. He wouldn't bat an eye."
"This is true. He is rather handsome when he's not acting like
he's trying to make a diamond. And he could do lots more when we
play 'Truth or Dare.'" She stared thoughtfully off into space.
"Don't get too into this. I don't plan on dying anytime soon.
Or ever."
She laughed and hugged him. "You're cute when you're jealous.
You have nothing to worry about. I think he might be my brother.
Imagine that."
"I have." He was lost in his own thoughts for a while.
"My turn," she said after a few quiet minutes. "Truth or
dare?"
"Let's stay with truth."
She had read his face carefully since the end of the last
dare, had been reading it for as long as she'd known him. She
couldn't ask a question that she didn't want to hear the answer
for. This question she wanted answered.
She asked.
He paused for a very long time, and she wondered if she'd
finally found the one boundary not to push. Then he answered, as
she had suspected he might.
*
Breakfast had become an unusual ritual for the four of them
since the return of the gargoyles. Alex of course needed to be on
a schedule but the other three nominally human residents of
Castle Wyvern were generally free to do as they pleased, sleep-
wise. This meant that breakfast could be served any time from
four am to nine pm, depending on which circadian rhythm was
guiding the day's activities.
On this particular day, breakfast was at nine-thirty am, most
of the previous night having been spent in the company of the
gargoyles. Going to bed at three am was fine. Doing so and then
getting up at six was simply not going to work on a long-term
basis. Business meetings that would be scheduled at eight-thirty
sharp in any other company were pushed to a more reasonable
eleven o'clock. Power lunches were either held mid-afternoon, or
abandoned altogether. Dinner was whenever the time presented
itself. And every change could easily be blamed on Alexander,
which was much easier than trying to blame it on the new statuary
anyway.
Owen had arranged today's schedule accordingly. Since Gates
was on the West Coast, the Microsoft telecon could easily be held
at noon. The Gen-U-Tech Board meeting was at ten, but it was to
be held on the fiftieth floor of the Eyrie. The only difficulty
in making that meeting would be if the elevator broke down.
He made a few last notes then set the schedule by his
employer's plate to scan over as he ate. For Fox he called up the
Times. That would keep her engrossed for the better part of an
hour. The baby's nanny had already seen to his breakfast and had
taken him back to the nursery for playtime. His mother would
probably opt to spend most of the day with him once she'd had the
proper level of caffeine, at least until 2pm when she was
scheduled to meet with the Zoning Board. Having a private airport
would make things ever so much simpler on them all.
He watched dispassionately as his employers entered the dining
room. One glance at their tired but happy expressions told him
how they'd spent their time after retiring the night before.
Morning. Whatever.
Fox smiled and nodded at him. That was new. Usually she wore
an "If you bother me I will hurt you" face before her first cup
of hazelnut.
"Good morning, Owen," she said in a pleasant enough tone to
make his eyebrows rise.
"Good morning, madame." He served breakfast silently and
efficiently as the couple looked over their reading material.
Xanatos was only peripherally interested in the schedule, had not
even asked about it. Fox had flipped directly to the comics,
which to his knowledge she had never done before, then left them
unread.
"Owen."
"Yes, sir?"
"Why don't you grab a plate and sit down?"
"I've already eaten." This was definitely under the category
of Very Strange. The Owen-part of him was unnerved by it. The
other, older, puckish part of him clapped his hands together
inside himself in anticipation of a new game.
"Then sit down anyway," said Fox. Had she learned that tone
from her mother? He could not refuse. He sat.
"Have I done something wrong?"
"Of course not," said Xanatos, dismissing the idea the same
way he would speculations that the world was being carried on the
back of a turtle.
Fox opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She tried the
same thing again, with the same result. Finally she met his eyes
and asked, "Are you my brother?"
He had been anticipating this question or its like since the
day Alex had been born.
"No. Children of Oberon traditionally refer to one another as
'Cousin,' although in most cases it is not entirely accurate,
either."
"But we're not related."
"No."
"OK. Just wondering." She returned to her newspaper, bending
intently over "Dilbert."
Right. Just wondering. He shook his head. He had never hoped
to understand his Queen, and it appeared that would pass to
understanding her daughter. He prayed that Alexander would make a
bit more sense to him.
*
Things changed after that, subtly but noticeable to him
nonetheless. Fox had always been cordial to him. Now she went out
of her way to be kind. Xanatos did the same, asking his opinion
on decisions rather than just using his knowledge. Baby duty was
shifted to the nanny alone, save when he was tutoring.
There were other things as well, more concrete but less
tangible. Fox's clothing became nicer, though not apparently to
anyone outside the household. Instead of dressing to fit whatever
she was doing, and letting her own aura of beauty cover the rest,
Fox started wearing outfits that were more innately attractive.
One might even say revealing, were one not working for her
husband and in immortal terror of her mother. And she wasn't the
only one. The two of them were at some kind of game. He wished
that they would take it back to their room.
For a while.
*
One particularly early morning, when Alexander woke them with
his cries, he'd made his way to the nursery only to find Fox
already there, consoling her son and quite nude. His human body
reacted before his fay mind could stop, and even the mind was
unable to prevent the images flashing behind his eyes, inspired
by that before him.
His Queen's attire had always left little to the imagination.
Form among their kind was something to be worn and discarded. A
bit of exhibitionism was hardly worth batting an eye, or whatever
appendage was useful. That fact had never prevented the
adolescent fantasies in the heart of the night, as more than one
young fay, male and female alike, dreamed of being clutched to
Her Majesty's azure breasts.
Fox had suckled at those breasts, once upon a moon, and her
body was visibly that of her mother, full and firm and inviting.
He felt the taste of apples on his tongue as pressure grew in
places he'd thought himself controlled.
She didn't even turn her head as he fled the room to his own,
nor did she follow when he slammed the door and rested his
forehead against it, panting.
The madness slowly passed, but sleep eluded him for hours.
*
Fox slipped back into bed once Alexander was fast asleep.
"He saw me," she said simply, wrapping her arms around David's
throat and kissing his jaw.
"Good."
*
He'd avoided her since the night he'd seen her in the nursery,
finding other things to do when there was even a chance he might
be left alone with her. Xanatos wasn't helping, practically
ordering him to work with Fox. Couldn't he see? The more time he
spent near her, around her, the more he smelled the perfume she
touched to her body's pulse points each morning, the more he
accidentally brushed her pulling away on fire, the more he would
think of things best left undared. She was the Queen's daughter,
the boss's wife.
She was also driving him mad.
*
"Owen," said Xanatos, handing him a sheaf of reports, "I need
these looked over before lunch. Can you do it?"
"Of course." He took the papers, glanced at the header. Pack
Media Studios. Oh perfect, said the Puck-part of his psyche.
Guess whom we'll be coordinating with?
As if reading his mind, and he might have been at that,
Xanatos added, "Coordinate on the necessary changes with Fox."
"Sir!" he said, adding more begging in his voice than the
Owen-part would normally have considered in three lifetimes.
"Shouldn't I rather be working with Stephens?" Please?
"Fox has primary control over the project. Do you have a
problem with that?"
He drew back. "No, sir. I apologize." He resigned himself to
spending an afternoon with Fox. Maybe a cold shower before and
after the fact would help the worst effects.
"Meanwhile," continued Xanatos, watching him. Dear Oberon let
him not see the reaction! "I'll be heading to Pittsburg for the
rest of the day. If the meeting with Flan goes well, I may spend
the night there and come home after the meeting tomorrow
morning."
He saw an opportunity and grabbed it like a lifeline. "Sir, if
you'd rather not go, I can go in your stead. You wouldn't have to
spend the time away from home."
"No, I need to be there personally. PR. I need you here to
work on the project."
He'd said it too fast. There was something not completely
honest in his sentiment. Owen glanced at the reports again. He
knew the plans were important, but they were hardly paramount.
Why was he being left here, with Her, when he could have been far
better utilized in Pittsburg?
There were no answers, either within himself or in his
employer's eyes. The afternoon, and possibly the evening,
lingered out before him like a prison sentence.
"Yes, sir," he said almost too quietly for Xanatos to hear
him.
*
It wasn't as bad as he'd originally feared. Even though she
obviously was wearing little beneath her thin dress, which to him
seemed horribly impractical for February, as long as he didn't
actually look at her he was fine. Fox sat to one side of the
large table, he on the other, far enough out of touching range to
give him near-peace of mind. He allowed himself to get carried
into the work.
The studio was involved in reclaiming their name, now that the
Pack was pretty much pondscum in the eyes of the world. This was
no easy task. Some of their underlings had been assigned the job
of devising good PR opportunities for the studio, while working
up shows for syndication purposes.
The project on the table was a media blitz in preparation for
the release of the studio's first program, a coming-of-age sword-and-
sorcery with men in loincloths and women in iron bikinis. The
real name of the program was something faux-medievel; the
production crew, cast, and everyone else associated with the show
referred to it as "Moatwatch 90201."
The proposed blitz involved plastering the actors' faces
across every billboard and magazine in the country, getting
interviews on ET, E! and Rosie, and then the coup de grace.
The coup de grace was their specific project for the
afternoon.
An actor, very well-known, had been hired for the role of the
king several months past. By the grace of several gods, they'd
managed to keep his involvement a secret during rehearsal and
filming. He'd stayed in his trailer, avoided the press, and the
only people who knew about him were the ones involved in the
actual scenes he filmed for the pilot.
A week before the release into national syndication, they were
going to circulate a rumor that he was the star. By air time,
every television in America would be watching, looking for a
glimpse.
If it worked, it would be the biggest debut of any program
either broadcast or syndicated in the history of television. If
it flopped, they were out thirty million dollars. So Owen sat
with Fox in the dining room, poring over the planned leak sites
to make certain they made history.
The hours lengthened, though neither noticed. She led him down
a particular line of reasoning that involved letting the rumor
spill on alt.callahans before anywhere else. She traced the line
of rumor to an outpouring of interest from SF fans across the
Net.
He was impressed. He gathered their brainstorming session
together into one pile, while she went to get Alex from the
nanny. He'd go back to his office, type this up, and retire early
and safe. He'd touched his office door when Fox's voice came
clearly down the hall.
"Owen, can you warm half a jar of the turkey? I'm going to
work on solids with him again." He'd almost made it, too.
"Yes, madam." He put the report on his desk, looked after it
longingly, and went to the kitchen. He found a jar already half-
eaten from earlier in the day, and spooned the remainder into a
microwave safe blue dish. Forty seconds later, Alexander's dinner
was done. He stirred it with a rubber-tipped baby spoon, blew
gently to cool it, and brought it out to the dining room again.
Alex was already in the middle of his dinner.
He stopped, unable to move, watching mutely as the baby, not
so tiny any more, drank hungrily from his mother. She kept her
eyes on him, stroking his head with her thumb, humming. Then she
saw him standing there.
"Thank you, Owen. Just set that down there." He couldn't make
his feet go. "Owen, are you all right?"
He tore his eyes from her, the hot flush he knew was visible
over his features causing even more embarrassment than merely
seeing her. He put the bowl down beside her, so close he could
feel the warmth from her body radiating to his right hand.
"I'll be in my office," he said, and somehow managed to leave
the room.
Behind the safety of his door, he sat in his chair, trying
with desperation to banish the thoughts running through his mind,
of the memory of her in the nursery, of unbidden wonder of what
she might feel like beneath his touch. He burned, he ached, he
wanted, and he could not have.
The door opened.
"Owen, are you all right? You look flushed."
"I'm fine." He noticed, with relief tinged in disappointment
that her clothing had been restored. Not disappointment, damn it!
Relief! She was the Queen's daughter! She was Xanatos' wife! She
was --
She was walking around his desk and sitting on the edge of it,
her dress pulling up to reveal one perfect thigh. Oh gods.
She placed her hand against his flesh one, turned it over,
touched the center of his palm. Her eyes went to his, seagreen to
his cold blue, stayed there as a sharp nail traced a shivery
sweet pattern across his lifeline.
"Fox, please -- " He had to make her stop. He didn't want her
to stop. Xanatos was going to kill him. Titania was going to do
worse than kill him.
The tip of her tongue protruded from her mouth, wetted her
bottom lip till it glistened. He would die without her.
"How long has it been?" she asked him, her hand moving from
his to her own shoulder, slipping beneath the dress.
"It hasn't," he replied, unable to keep his eyes from tasting
her sight, from seeing every curve outlined before him.
"Good." She ran her hands against his chest, unbuttoned his
blazer with deft touches, and pulled it from his shoulders. He
shrugged it off, knowing there was no hope left for him, that the
best he could hope for was a swift death when morning came. She
took his hand again. "Come to our room."
The sun had not quite set. The statues were still statues, and
the detective was on duty tonight. The nanny was with Alex. David
was in Pittsburg. There would be no interruptions.
The remaining sanity he had pulled at him when they reached
the door. The logical Owen-part told him his life ended on the
other side. The Puck-part told him to stuff it.
He went inside.
As the door shut, her lips were at his, seeking his mouth with
a hunger he had only dreamed of, when he had dared such dreams.
His hands moved of their own will now, over her hair, to her
shoulders, to the sides of her thin dress. She pressed her body
against him, her hands shamelessly carressing his neck, his back.
He moaned at her touch as her hands grasped his backside and
squeezed. He knew he had to stop, this was dangerous, and
probably wrong, he was betraying the last few shreds of pride he
had left.
There was no way to stop.
She pushed him down onto the bed, drinking his kisses deeply,
her tongue running over his teeth before she disengaged and began
to taste his jaw. He nuzzled her neck, lapping the salty skin
like a deer, smelling an underlying musk to her that he had been
trying to block out for years but came upon him fully here in the
darkness.
The physical expression of love had never seemed much of a big
deal to him before. The fay took lovers as they chose, not having
the mortal need to give sex the binding cloak, or even the mere
illusion of love. It was there to procreate when they so chose,
and to otherwise enjoy. He had simply never taken part. Until
now.
Fox's hands were at his waist, furiously working at his
trousers, and he was helping her -- helping her! to get them off
as quickly as possible. The sound of his zipper going down sent a
thrill directly to his stomach. He used his remaining strength to
roll them both over, reach down, pull up the hem of her dress. He
was not surprised to find that nothing was beneath it.
Control was beyond him now, if it had ever been possessed of
him at all. He knew what he was doing, but was as helpless to
prevent it as a leaf might be from getting tossed on a wave in a
storm. He was that leaf, and the wave moved deliciously beneath
him, reaching to him, stroking him until all he could do was emit
a kind of strangled yelp.
Her eyes glittered, feral in the darkness. If he had ever
doubted she was one of them, those doubts were gone forever. This
was Titania's babe, true, and just as much heir to the wild blood
singing through her as he was. They were one, in a thousand ways.
He slid within her liquid velvet depths to make it one thousand
and one.
She arched beneath him, fire in her eyes only echoing the fire
engulfing him. Unable to stop, or even slow, he thrust into her
with careless abandon. Yes! This was the secret thing, the hidden
thing, the cries that shook Avalon when its Lord and Lady were in
the throes of passion. This was the thing that the poets had
spoken of in their sordid rimes, what drunken sailors and whores
had sung of in more tongues than Babel. This was the force that
moved the tides of the world, making the rhythm of the universe
push ever onwards into an expanding circle of life and light.
Lightning burst inside his ears as a matching solid wave of
pleasure filled him and poured out into Fox.
He lost consciousness.
When he woke, moments later, it was to see her amused
expression. The joy surrounding his soul transformed instantly
into remorse. What had he done?
"I'm sorry," he stammered, quickly disengaging from her. "I
should never have --"
She grabbed his shoulders, made him stare directly at her.
"Don't say that. Ever."
"But I -- "
" -- Did exactly as I hoped you would."
He bowed his head, then felt silly as she patted it kindly.
"That couldn't have done anything for you." One glance to her
eyes confirmed it. "Forgive me."
A smile touched her lips. "For letting me seduce you? No
problem." She relaxed her hold, instead rubbed his arms through
his sweat-soaked shirt. "But now you do know that you owe me."
"Anything," he said, bowing in hot shame.
Laughter pealed from her. "I'm not after your immortal soul,
Owen. I'm going to teach you how to have fun with this, and how
to make your partner have fun with you."
She kissed him again, not with the same blinding passion as
before, but now with a calm, almost thoughtful air. "Let's get
those clothes off."
She easily slipped her wrinkled dress up over her head before
he could protest, and the sight of her ample bosom stilled any
further argument in his throat. Damn Oberon and his decrees,
anyway. If he was to be human, was he also to be forever cursed
to having these hormonal reactions? Even now, less than five
minutes after spending himself, he felt his heart speed up as
blood began rushing towards his nether regions. How could he
possibly hold out long enough for a woman?
Her hands inside his shirt stopped that train of thought. He
made to grab hold of her, but she shrugged him off. "Not yet,
love. We're going to show you a few things about control." She
continued to disrobe him, humming a tuneless song to herself as
she went. He dropped his hands and allowed her to unbutton his
shirt, move it over his arms and off his body. The cool air of
the room raised gooseflesh, which was only heightened by her
sudden warm breath at the hairs on his arms.
With a little manipulation, she continued pulling his clothing
off, until the only thing left on him were his socks, which he
removed himself.
"Lie down," she commanded, again in her regal voice. He obeyed
without question. She eyed him critically. "Do you mean to tell
me that Preston Vogel looks like this naked?"
"Since I've never seen him naked I couldn't tell you. I
imagine all the same bits are there." She smiled, though if it
was from his weak joke or from the fact that he could tell it at
all, he had no idea.
She sat down on the bed, her body just barely touching his
side. "Have you ever seen a human woman naked?"
"Yes. I wasn't impressed one way or the other." He realized
too late it was probably the wrong thing to say. He covered
quickly, "But I find you most impressive."
The eloquent look on her face told him that hadn't been the
right thing to say either.
"Maybe you'll be more impressed after you get the grand tour."
She took his hand and placed it on her breast. He jerked back,
but when the sky didn't fall, he allowed himself to touch, at
first hesitantly, then joyfully. Another smile was at her lips.
"This is a good place to start." She drew the tip of his finger
over her wine-colored aureole. "This is even better." At his
touch, the soft dark spot grew fevered and peaked and long.
Then she pulled his finger into her mouth. Her tongue made wet
circles around it, followed by a sweet sucking pressure. He
moaned as his mind provided a preview of what it would be like if
it wasn't his finger between her lips.
She pulled his hand away, drawing her legs onto the bed at the
same time. She spread them, giving him a remarkable view of her
secret depths, where he had been minutes before but had never
seen so close.
"This is where to continue." She placed his finger against the
center, already swollen and red, and jerked as he made contact.
"Yes, definitely a good place to continue." He picked up the
idea, moving his finger back and forth across the sensitive spot.
With his other fingers, he brushed against her outer lips and
pulled a cry from her. A rush of moisture covered the dark
pinkness.
Instinct took over as he bent down to taste the salty liquid
coming from within her. When his tongue rubbed the red nubbin,
she made a noise deep in her throat, and grasped his hair.
"Oh God, Owen, that's beautiful." He did it again, was granted
another rush of liquid. The heady smell filled him with longing.
He was hard, ready for her again. Another wet kiss to her soft
lips made her squeal. This time, she was ready. He slid up and
into her body in a fluid motion. For a moment, he stayed there,
relishing the sweet warmth. Then as he started to withdraw for
another thrust, he felt a different warmth at his back. A hand.
He went cold as he turned to see David staring at them both.
He was right beside them, and they hadn't even noticed him
entering the room or approaching the bed. Pittsburg! He was
supposed to be in Pittsburg! Owen remembered hundreds of stories
through the centuries of what happened when husbands found their
wives in bed with other men.
They normally didn't say, "You did it!"
Nor did the wives in question tend to respond, "Did you have
any doubts?"
"You're not going to kill me?" Owen managed. He was still
quite tangled with Fox, and now worked to extricate himself. She
wasn't helping.
"Why would I want to kill you?" asked David, wearing a
perplexed frown. He hadn't moved his hand, Owen noticed, and then
noticed something more. David was ready for bed, his robe tied
around his waist loosely. The rise and fall of his chest exposed
enough skin for him to see the robe was not hiding pajamas.
The hand slid down to rest gently on his bottom, then paused,
a question in the silence.
He'd been set up. No doubt about it; they had played him
perfectly into their game. And he wasn't about to object. Hell,
right now it was pretty damned hard to even think. He nodded
minutely.
David smiled, then worked the belt of his robe free. No. No
pajamas at all.
Owen turned his attention back towards the woman in his arms,
kissing her as the bed sank with new weight. The hand was joined
by its mate, which had something he couldn't see on it. It was
cool, and a bit slimy, from what he could tell by the spreading
motions with which David was applying it to his rear.
He pulled out of Fox a tiny bit, then thrust deep into her. A
moment later, he felt a nudge behind him. Slowly, carefully, he
felt himself being entered with a sliding, gliding gentility.
Friction moved within him deeper, rubbing a distinctive pleasure
into him along with a totally new kind of pain. He felt himself
stretch to accomodate the new thing and for an instant he thought
he might break. Then the pressure shifted. Strong arms moved
around his shoulders to embrace him. David was completely buried
inside of him. And he was completely buried inside of Fox.
They kept it slow and steady. Pulling from Fox brought David
deep into him. Thrusting pulled the other man out and increased
the sweet, grasping pressure around his cock. Above all else, the
maddening rubbing from within, stimulated by the touch and
movement of David's flesh inside his own. Fox's lips were at his
throat, matched by her teeth. David's hot breath was in his hair,
his hands idly wandering over his chest, stroking his nipples to
tiny hard beads.
He heard a groan, realized moments later that it had come from
him.
Fox was the first to climax. Her body tensed beneath him, then
shivered as she screamed her pleasure, only barely muffling it
into his shoulder. Her inner quakes continued, stroking him hard,
as David's own pace began quickening, tiny cries escaping his
throat to be turned into kisses at the back of Owen's neck.
Pressure. There was a sudden intense pressure around him. His
eyes widened at Fox's mirthful look. Somehow she was squeezing
him with her inner muscles, the same that had pushed a baby into
the world not so many months past. There was another squeeze and
he shouted as he came a second time into her.
He stayed conscious this time, was aware of an involuntary
contraction of his own. David moaned loudly, then buried himself
deeply into him. He spasmed. Owen felt his seed shoot into him,
making the opening a little slicker. David bucked twice and was
still.
For a moment, he didn't dare to breathe, to think, to shatter
this strange joining.
There would be repercussions, he thought, dangerous ripples
sent out from this. For obvious reasons, David would not be after
the removal of his life, or certain parts of his anatomy of which
he'd grown fond, but the Queen remained an uncertain threat.
While she did allow her daughter free rein in choosing her
lovers, certainly she wouldn't be as eager to have her coupling
with the Puck. She was far too enamored of her own bloodline to
risk contaminating it with the wild unknown that was his.
The concept of her wrath wasn't as terrifying as he'd thought
it might be. Actually, as the powerful arms around him moved into
an embrace of both him and Fox, he felt near-confident that he
could face any challenge.
Fox coughed and stared up at him. Oh. She was probably getting
squished. David disengaged first and lay beside them. Owen,
feeling some pain now, pulled away from her, and sat up.
Fox pulled herself into a cross-legged position, then
stretched, heaving her breasts in just the right way.
Owen dropped his eyes, not wanting to stare, then, remembering
everything else he had seen, chose curiosity over any lingering
modesty.
He said, "'You did it.'"
She placed her hands on his forearm. "Yes, we did."
"How long have you both been planning this?"
"A few weeks."
"Why?"
"Because," said David, "Goliath would have broken the bed."
The Puck-part instantly gave him an image of Goliath having
engaged in the calisthenics of the past half-hour. "Oh."
Fox began kneading his arm. David sat forward, resting his
chin on his knuckles. "You can still leave. If you want to, you
can walk out and we can all go back to the way things were
yesterday."
Hurt hit him first -- David could forget this that quickly?
They'd gotten their pleasure and would cut him away? No. Many
mortals could do that and he knew these two were as capable as
the rest, even more so. Not to him. He knew what he was being
offered. A way out, a way back. They would keep silent, not tell
Titania nor any other. They wouldn't forget, they would go on.
Was he ready for the kind of commitment they had fallen into?
Dare he open his heart to not merely respect them as friends, but
to love them? The danger was too great. He needed time to draw
back, to think.
But not right now.
"What is option B?"
Fox grinned, the light returning to her eyes, but it was David
who said, "You stay here with us, and we see what happens."
He looked down at the rumpled blankets. Oberon only knew what
would happen next if he stayed. Not in the next few hours -- it
was obvious what would occur during that time. In the coming days
and weeks things would be difficult, adjusting to the new status
of their lives, or maybe not. This could just be another aspect
of life in the castle, an aspect that he did want to explore
further. If he was to be a mortal the rest of his days, it was
high time to find out what that entailed.
David reached for his arm, took it from Fox's touch. Then he
brought the hand to his mouth, and kissed his fingers.
*
Breakfast the following morning was held at noon.
Finis