Fresh Meat

by Megan Derr

  Eventually, though, they had to break apart because clothes had become an impediment. Wyatt squirmed off his lap in a way that left Deacon whimpering, and with a bratty little grin set to work undressing. Inch by inch, that beautiful body was bared, trim muscle and moon-pale skin that Deacon couldn't wait to get his mouth on.

  He was distracted, though, by all the scars that riddled Wyatt's body—burn marks, long gashes that would have required stitches or extensive healing magic. Lash marks, knife wounds, bullet scars… Anger and dismay washed through him. "You've been through some rough times. What happened?"

  Wyatt shrugged. "Some of it was my father, then later my aunt and uncle. The rest was one kind of trouble or another. I'm hard to kill, though, as they all find out in the end." Shadows flicked in his eyes, but they vanished as Deacon reached out to run his hand along the side of one thigh, eliciting delicate shivers that were an utter delight to feel against his hands. "You next. Want help?"

  "Wouldn't mind it," Deacon conceded. If he did it himself, it would take twice as long and wouldn't be remotely sexy. He started to stand, but only got pushed back down and eager fingers at the fastenings of his jeans.

  Before he could get a single word out, his jeans and boxers were gone, and in the next breath his shirt was off and he once more had a lapful of Wyatt.

  "That's much better," Wyatt said, and kissed him hard, rubbing against him, skin soft and warm, cock hard and leaking, rubbing against Deacon's and making them both groan.

  Deacon cupped Wyatt's rear, mourning the loss of his arm more than ever but determined not to dwell on it.

  "You're so stupidly sexy," Wyatt panted out. "We should move to the floor so I can get at all of you better."

  Deacon groaned at the loss of Wyatt pressed up against him but went without further protest as he was dragged to the shaggy rug in front of the fireplace. It was sinfully soft against his back but had nothing at all on the feel of Wyatt's hands and mouth as he proved to be a man of his word, doing his level best to get at all of Deacon. He started at the bottom, pressing soft kisses to the tops of his feet and the sharp bones of his ankles, then trailed up his calves, tracing the lines of them with his deft fingers and chasing them with his mouth, then further up to bite and suck at the soft skin of his inner thighs, making Deacon jerk and moan.

  He buried his fingers in the soft rug as Wyatt's mouth teased up and down the length of his cock, fingers cupping and rolling his heavy sac. "Wyatt—"

  But the infuriating brat just moved on, pressing a stinging kiss to one sharp hipbone, then trailing his tongue along the scars that spanned Deacon's gut, where a goblin's claws had once grazed him. He kept going, dragging his tongue along Deacon's chest, then switching to wet, sucking kisses and sharp bites. He dragged his thumbs over Deacon's nipples, then nibbled at his collar bone and left a mark on his throat that would be impossible to hide.

  "You're—" Deacon broke off with a moan. "A brat."

  Wyatt just chuckled and kissed him, sprawled across him, delightfully tormenting and a perfect fit. "So I'm told."

  "Are you going to let me have a go at you?" Deacon asked.

  "Maybe next time," Wyatt said with a grin. "I've been wanting to do this for a long time, and not even you are going to distract me from my goals."

  Allah have mercy, Deacon was not going to survive this.

  Wyatt went back to work with that evil mouth of his, kissing up and down Deacon's arm before switching to kiss what was left of the other, which made Deacon's eyes sting. He was a long way from being used to it in the everyday, let alone during something like this. If he hadn't been so caught up in Wyatt, he might have worried more about it—but Wyatt made it easy to forget about the rest of the world, which Deacon hadn't been able to do since he took up the mantle of Captain.

  Then Wyatt was back to kissing him senseless, rubbing against him, cock leaving damp smears on Deacon's overheated skin. "Can I ride you?"

  "That's a stupid question," Deacon replied, biting at his lips. "But we don't have lube."

  Wyatt gave him one of those I can't believe you think so little of me looks and vanished briefly. He returned with a tube, something fancy and expensive looking, and resumed his place straddling Deacon. Slicking one hand, he stroked Deacon's cock, the faint smell of roses filling the air around them.

  Deacon groaned, maybe whimpered, his hand clutching at Wyatt's left hip. "I'm not going to be able to hold on much longer, you evil brat. If you want to ride me, get to it."

  Wyatt just grinned, tossing his head slightly to get his messy hair out of his eyes. His beautiful skin was flushed pink all the way down to his shoulders and the top of his chest, and his eyes were so vibrant and aroused they practically glowed.

  He rose up and reached back with slick fingers to work himself open, leaving Deacon shuddering and whimpering, biting his own lip to keep from coming. "One of these days, I'm going to tie you down and have my revenge, minx."

  "Not much for tying, but I can hold still and obey, mostly," Wyatt said with a laugh.

  Deacon's reply was lost as Wyatt took hold of his cock and slowly, achingly slowly, lowered himself down.

  He was panting as he said, "You feel even better than I thought you would."

  "So do you," Deacon replied, shuddering with the effort to hold still. "Move before I die."

  Grin fierce and half-wild, Wyatt braced himself and finally started moving. His hair was a messy, brilliant red-gold cloud around his head, save for a few strands stuck to his skin with sweat. More sweat dripped down his chest as he rode Deacon's cock, thighs flexing and bunching as he rose up and slammed back down, taking Deacon deep, riding him hard. His nails bit into Deacon's skin, guaranteed to leave stinging marks that Deacon would savor as they slowly faded.

  Their pants and groans filled the room, and there was nothing in Deacon's world save the enthralling man riding his cock, the eager light in those too-blue eyes, and the hungry smile that reminded Deacon so much of Pentacle when he was being particularly possessive.

  If there was a better place to be than claimed by Pentacle and Wyatt, Deacon never wanted to know it.

  Letting go of the rug, he wrapped his hand around Wyatt's cock and stroked it with quick, firm strokes. "Come on my cock."

  Wyatt obeyed, moaning Deacon's name as his climax consumed him, head falling back to display the long, lovely lines of his throat. Deacon followed him almost immediately, unable to hold back any longer with Wyatt's body tight around his cock, the smell of sex heavy in the hair. He groaned long and low as his climax took him, the world whiting out momentarily.

  When he finally came back down, he had an armful of sweaty, sated Wyatt pressed along the length of him, heavy breaths washing over Deacon's skin. Deacon kissed his brow and skated his hand along Wyatt's back and side.

  Wyatt kissed his throat. "Wanna try out the desk next? Or maybe I could bend you over the couch."

  Deacon groaned, cock trying valiantly to come back to life. "Stop it. Give an old man a chance to recover, brat."

  Wyatt chuckled and shifted enough to kiss him properly. "I guess we could take a nap first. I think I've been awake for most of two days."

  "Don't do that," Deacon said, scowling—scowling harder when Wyatt just laughed.

  Heaving to his feet, Wyatt fetched a blanket that was draped over the back of the couch, then returned and cuddled in again, settling the blanket over them. "I have you to tire me out now, it'll be fine."

  "Who's going to tire who out?" Deacon grumbled but smiled as Wyatt just snickered more.

  Deacon drifted off still listening to him laugh.

  *~*~*

  When he woke, it had gotten dark out, though there were still shades of purple and blue in the sky. Wyatt was missing, but the gas fireplace had been turned on. Wyatt had also left him sweatpants and a t-shirt—and at some point cleaned him up. Deacon couldn't remember the last time he'd slept through anyone but Pentacle being that close to him. Well, minus when he'd lost his arm and Amr ha
d spelled him to stay asleep.

  Pulling on the clothes, including socks, he went in search of Wyatt. His lover. The thought sent warmth and a cautious happiness curling through him. Who would have thought the brat kid who drove him nuts would become his lover.

  Where had he gone? And where was Pentacle, for that matter?

  Deacon headed upstairs and wasn't remotely surprised when he found them in the same place: Wyatt's room, with Wyatt in the midst of chaos on the floor and Pentacle watching him from the bed while gnawing on a giant bone. Deacon looked away, tamping down on the sharp wave of panic that wanted to rise up. "What are you working on?"

  Wyatt didn't respond immediately, focused on whatever he was bent over. That was fine, though, because Deacon had plenty of time to admire the way his damp hair fell around his face, how good he looked in a clingy tanktop just a few shades darker than his eyes, the way his lips formed a sort-of pout as he concentrated.

  After a few minutes, Wyatt looked up with a hesitant smile. "I was doing some more tweaking of your present. Needs just a touch more fussing, but it's more or less ready, I think."

  "I told you I didn't need a present," Deacon replied with a smile. "I'm happy you came; that's all I need."

  "Well, too bad, you're getting one anyway." Bobbing his head, so nervous the color had leeched from his skin, Wyatt scooped up whatever was hidden by a bunch of equipment and other stuff Deacon couldn't identify and held it out for Deacon to see.

  An arm. It was an arm—metal, or metal-looking, in a hollow, filigree style, with a pentacle, the Mordred crest, and even a stylized dragon worked into it. The fingers were long and delicate-looking, almost like lace, set with jewels, the tips made of what looked like bone.

  Deacon swallowed. "You made me a new arm?"

  "It's my fault you lost yours. It seemed the least I could do," Wyatt said. "Plus, I'm one of the best alchemists in the world, so this arm is better than what anyone else could make for you."

  "I don't doubt that," Deacon said. When had he started finding that arrogance endearing instead of annoying? He was a ridiculous sap. "When can I, uh, try it on?"

  "Now, if you want. The little tweaking I have left to do requires it."

  Deacon nodded, abruptly overcome with anxiety. But he went and sat on the edge of the bed, and Pentacle shifted to curl around him, his bone thankfully nowhere in sight. At Wyatt's bidding, he removed his t-shirt and set it aside.

  Wyatt stared at his chest, a familiar spark in his eye, and Deacon couldn't not drag him into a long, wet and thorough kiss that left them both breathing heavily. "Stop looking at me like that, or this will never get done."

  Shifting and adjusting himself, Wyatt muttered, "Don't kiss me like that, or it'll definitely never get done."

  Deacon chuckled and let him go, ignoring the nerves that were rising up again. "Let's go, greatest alchemist in the world."

  Wyatt's brow furrowed in a stupidly adorable way as he set to work. First he set to attaching a setup to Deacon's shoulder and stump that padded it and would help secure the arm. He fussed with all of that for nearly half an hour before he pronounced it 'satisfactory for now.' Deacon had expected it to be uncomfortable, from the look of it, but once it was all in place properly it actually felt just fine. Like the arm itself, it was beautifully decorated in that filigree metal style, with runes that meant practically nothing to him but from what little he could read, had to do with comfort and movement.

  Next came the arm itself, snapped and buckled into place, shimmering as whatever magic Wyatt had laid came to life. He opened up a leather fold of tools and set to fussing with things, mostly the joints in the elbow, wrists, and fingers.

  "What are the tips?"

  Wyatt looked up and took the delicate screwdriver from his lips. "Imp horn—freely offered for lots of money. Some of them, their horns get so long it causes them pain, so they're willing to sell off what they remove themselves. There's a handful I do business with. They like working with me because I always pay what they ask without argument, and I don't put it to nefarious uses. It's durable and will help resist magic and strengthen the magic already on the arm. The grooves I carved will improve grip and weather use better than other materials."

  "You're a man of countless wonders."

  Wyatt gave him that shy smile again, instead of responding with the expected obviously, and ducked back to his work.

  About half an hour later, he touched a beautiful fire opal set in the back of the hand and the arm shimmered again—and jolted. Deacon jumped slightly, hand clenching reflexively—hands. He stared in wonder as the artificial hand clenched just like his left hand. Deacon uncurled the fingers, then ran his thumb along his fingertips, spanned them out, then curled them in again.

  He didn't realize he was crying until Wyatt brushed the tears away and kissed him softly.

  "This—this is amazing, Wyatt. You really are incredible. I mean, I knew that, but…" He pulled Wyatt in close—with both arms—and kissed him deeply. "You're wonderful. It's beautiful. Thank you."

  Wyatt's cheeks went pink, eyes as sparkling as stars. "It's not quite finished yet. I'm not satisfied with the response times, and—"

  Deacon cut him off with a kiss, twisting to push him down into the bed and get his hands—hands, he couldn't believe it—under that clingy tanktop.

  Nearby, Pentacle rumbled, and then the weight on the bed changed as he shifted. "Play with Vanilla?"

  Pulling away, Deacon met Wyatt's gaze. "Well? Can Pentacle join in?"

  Wyatt went red, and he licked his lips. "Uh. Sure. Threesomes are a new thing, but I'm game. Isn't that how you knights and all do it?"

  Pentacle growled and moved in as Deacon pulled Wyatt into a sitting position, pressing up against him from behind and biting at his neck. Wyatt let out an adorable squeak, eyes wide, pupils blown.

  Deacon smirked. "Play, dragon."

  Rumbling in approval, Pentacle quickly divested Wyatt of his clothes and then pulled him flush against his chest again, circling his arms around Wyatt's chest and returning his mouth to that long, pale throat. His happy rumbles filled the room, and Wyatt groaned, probably from the way those rumbles reverberated through him.

  Deacon idly stroked his own cock as he enjoyed the sight of his dragon playing with his lover. Another unbelievable first, another component of clan life he'd thought he'd never know because of Mordred's curse. If he didn't know better, he'd swear he was dreaming.

  Pentacle seemed to know Wyatt deserved tormenting because he visited it on him for ages, touching, claws scoring, teeth leaving marks that would last for days on that delicate skin.

  Every time Wyatt tried to get in some touching of his own, Pentacle just growled and held him still, though never so firmly that Wyatt felt trapped or bound.

  "Move along, lizard," Deacon said.

  Giving him a look, Pentacle obeyed—by toppling Wyatt forward, eliciting a startled yelp, and putting his tongue to work. Wyatt moaned, head dropping between his folded arms.

  Deacon shuffled forward, more than ready to participate. Wyatt's eyes shone, as boundless as the sky and as deep as the sea, and he licked his lips before eagerly taking Deacon's cock. He swallowed easily, taking Deacon deep into his throat, sucking hard and working the underside of Deacon's cock with his tongue, his moaning from Pentacle's ministrations just adding another delightful layer.

  "You're perfect," Deacon groaned out. That just got him more. He was not going to survive having Wyatt as his lover, but what a way to go.

  Pentacle rose up, amber eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction, and slicked his cock with lube he'd gotten from who knew where. He thrust into Wyatt, who groaned around Deacon's cock, looked up briefly with hot eyes that only begged for more.

  Picking up on Deacon's thoughts, Pentacle gave what was wanted. Caught between them, Wyatt absorbed every bit of pleasure and attention like it was his due. He was a far cry from the man who'd seemed flustered and hesitant every time Deacon was nearby, from the man who
'd relished eviscerating goblins and practically bathing in their blood. This Wyatt was happy and safe, which was the only way Deacon ever wanted to see him.

  "Come," he ordered them. Pentacle came with a roar, and Wyatt with a long moan around Deacon's cock. Tightening his hold on Wyatt's hair, careful not to hurt, Deacon thrust in deeply one last time and spilled down his throat.

  He withdrew gently as his cock softened and pulled Wyatt up to kiss him deeply, loving how he tasted of Pentacle, of him, of them. Drawing back, he cupped Wyatt's face in his hands and rubbed his thumbs, one flesh, one shining metal, over his lips. "You're beautiful."

  Wyatt turned a lovely shade of rose. "Like you're a chore to look at."

  Pentacle bit Wyatt playfully on the shoulder, then leaned over him for a kiss that Deacon happily gave.

  "Come on," Deacon said when he was finally able to drag himself away from the delightful tangle of kissing and touching they rapidly fell into. "I need a shower and then some food."

  Shifting, Pentacle led the way across the hall to Deacon's room, into the ridiculously large shower where he set the water to 'unbearable for anyone but dragons.' Deacon fixed it, ignoring Pentacle's pouting, and set to scrubbing.

  He should have known it would just lead to more sex, but far be it for him to complain about being used thoroughly by Pentacle before returning Wyatt's excellent blowjob. He was definitely getting used to this element of knightly tradition.

  By the time they were done, the water was turning cool and Deacon was tempted to just go back to sleep. Back in the bedroom, he pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved tee to ward off the cool evening.

  He'd only just pulled on socks when his phone went off—follow almost immediately by Wyatt's doing the same. Frowning, Deacon snatched his phone and accepted the call. "What's wrong?"

  "They somehow figured out where you are, and they're coming for you," Amr said. "Help is on the way but get ready."

  Deacon didn't swear, but it was a near thing. He hung up with Amr and turned to Wyatt, who'd already ended his own conversation. "I'm guessing you were told we've got company coming?"