by J B Black
His entire purpose in the mortal world focused on learning how to woo a person who he believed would easily and truly love him - someone he could easily and truly love. Was he being selfish? If he placed his happiness on this one person, would he be forcing them into the suffocating mold that they would be allowing him to break?
Too loud. All the voices were too loud. People stood too close. They jarred him. Bright sunlight heated the bricks, gathering sweat on Voski’s brow when Faerie summer never managed to disturb his countenance. Magic itched. Why couldn’t he get in enough air? His hands tingled. Had he eaten too much? Stomach gurgled, threatening to upend. A curse?
“Hey.”
Hands settled heavy on the prince’s shoulders. Listing forward, he allowed Ash to guide him from the crowd to the side and through a portal back to the warlock’s apartment. Setting him on the couch, the shorter man sat beside him, rubbing his back.
“Just breathe,” Ash told him. “Slow and steady. Let the glamor drop. You’re okay.”
Breathe. Slow. Glamor. Everything blurred, and when he dropped his spell, Voski sobbed, collapsing onto his knees as he tried to bring air into his protesting lungs. What was happening? Why did he feel too full and too empty all at once?
Humming softly, the warlock kept on moving his hand in soothing circles. “You’re having a panic attack. Just breathe through it.”
Voski slowly managed to take deeper and deeper breaths, and as if he settled back into his body, he sunk lower, covering his face with his hands.
“I’m gonna grab you some water.”
Before the warlock could stand, Voski’s hand shot out, grabbing Ash’s. “Please. Stay.”
With a sigh, Ash settled back, rubbing circles once more. “When you’re ready, we need to talk about what happened.” Covering his face with the opposite arm, Voski shook his head while his grip of Ash’s hand tightened. “If we don’t, it could happen again.”
Despite his words, the warlock didn’t push. He also didn’t let silence stretch uncomfortable and heavy between them. Soft, half-humming notes left him like someone comforting a child. Ash would be good at that. His hard edges caught in contrast to his periods of laid back acceptance, but in this moment, the image of him with a child in his arms seemed impossibly clear to the fae. He would look beautiful, cooing softly to soothe a distraught baby.
The awkwardness of the thought - sudden and invading Voski’s mind - pulled him the rest of the way back into his body. “Am I wrong?”
Ash’s warm eyes met his emerald without hesitation. “How do you mean?”
“If my mother rushes me to meet my mate, she would have the chance to shape them to how she wants them and me to be, but if I wait for our natural meeting, then I do so with the hope they will be fortified to reject the expectations on what is and isn’t appropriate. I - I want my mate to free me from the false smiles and the twisted truths. Pure fae are so rare, we can lie now - gods and magic users bred in, but they also are so skilled at dancing around the truth,” Voski explained, and as the words poured out of him, he couldn’t stop the flow. “I hate it. If I had a sibling, I would give up the throne without hesitation. As it stands, those who are in line for it after me are so vile that I could not in good conscience leave Faerie in their care.”
With a shuddering exhale, the prince straightened. He never believed voicing his thoughts would lighten the burden upon his shoulders. Kept locked tight inside or shared, his position remained the same, yet even as he sat up, Ash held his hand. Just the touch of another - the quiet acceptance of him at his weakest warmed Voski’s soul. This was all he wanted. Someone at his side who would not be horrified when he broke down. A person compassionate enough to hold him close and offer him comfort underneath the weight of his duties to Faerie.
Tilting his head, the warlock offered him a small, reassuring smile. “Do you want me to help you forget? Or do you want me to help you fix it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I can distract you with a good movie and some pizza, or we could talk about this more,” Ash told him, letting his free arm drop from where it patted the prince’s back to rest on the couch behind him. “Or we could hit up a club. Sometimes a pounding base and being caught in the thrum helps.”
Three options had never overwhelmed Voski like this. Studying the warlock’s face, he tried to find a clue there for what the other man wanted, but those warm honey eyes just waited patiently for him to decide.
“I...I don’t want to be around people,” the prince murmured.
Ash nodded. “Movie?”
“Tell me what you would do.”
Biting his lip, the warlock glanced away. “Take it with a grain of salt, but I’d just do what I want. You’re the prince. If the others are horrible, your mother probably feels the same way.”
“But if I do what I want, there could be war,” Voski told the magic user. “Fae aren’t known to change.”
That hand - those long clever fingers entwined with his own and the arm wrapped around him radiated warmth. In this small apartment, they sat with their legs pressed against each other. Close and considering the future together. Voski never wanted to move.
“Fae aren’t really fae anymore, are they?” the warlock pointed out.
Voski’s brows furrowed. “Blood might have thinned, but the way of life remained.”
To call it a way of life seems an insult. There had been many kingdoms of fae throughout Faerie in the days of Voski’s great-grandfather. Grief for a mate almost lost inspired him to war. Land after land fell, and those which remain fell under the stoicism and fate-driven culture of his great-grandfather’s fraction. As warlike as his mate, Voski’s great-granddam tempered only the fate-focus, but the pair adored each other to the point where it would have been more surprising if the public hadn’t idolized fated mates. While Voski fully believed in the beauty of fated mates, he had never managed to master stoicism.
“You’ll be king. Solidify your power and make changes slowly then,” Ash retorted with a shrug.
Their eyes held, and the warlock’s sincerity shook the prince. With his piercings and dyed hair, he rebelled with his every move, and even when he guarded himself - keeping something secret only glimpsed in the disapproval in his eyes, it came in such a way that the elite of Faerie would gossip about it behind their bejeweled hands.
Giving the other man a small smile, the fae shook his head. “You’re far braver than I.”
With a sigh, Ash shifted, and the warmth of his body drew closer before he shifted away, and when he brought his hands back, Voski longed to keep hold, but he found himself too cowardly to even do that. The cold came back. Not nearly as stifling. His lungs didn’t protest, yet they ached. He yearned to press into the warmth of another’s body - Ash’s body. For the first time since his mother left, the prince pushed down his emotions. He had no right to put the burden of his neediness upon the warlock. Pieces of himself - more than anyone else came so easily before those expressive golden eyes. Voski ached to tell him everything. To fall before him, clinging to the other’s legs as he professed his every sin.
Even after Voski’s whispered confession, Ash frowned, looking like he longed to argue, but just as the fae pulled back, swallowing his longing and distrusting the ease with which his soul longed to lay itself bare for the warlock, the shorter man took a deep breath and nodded.
“This is definitely a pizza night,” Ash declared, and he sprawled, tugging out his cellphone. “Oohhh - mozzarella sticks too. And brownie bites!”
He kicked his feet up, undoing his boots and tossing them back before depositing his bare feet in Voski’s lap. Just as his touch had grounded the fae earlier, the weight chased the panic away before it had a chance to take root.
As the warlock rated his favorite pizzeria’s menu, Voski hummed now and then, but his eyes remained on the legs. The fine arch of the warlock’s delicate feet. In near constant motion, Ash arched and flexed, drawing attention to the narrowness of
his ankles before they disappeared under his dark trousers. Their tightness showed off the smooth curve of his calves.
Swallowing, Voski settled his left hand upon the warlock’s left, brushing his thumb against the arch. Ash chuckled, but he didn’t flinch away. His cheeks pinked, but when their eyes met, he sat up, leaning closer to the prince.
“You don’t have siblings.”
Voski blinked. “No...I don’t.”
“Have you ever been tickled? Your mother doesn’t seem the type, and if the rest of fae is as stuck up as her, you missed out on a key torment of childhood.” Ash grinned slightly off-kilter. On a fae’s face, it would’ve been a purposeful smirk, but on the warlock, the expression had Voski’s heart skipping a beat.
Swallowing, he trailed his thumb over the graceful arch, watching the way Ash shifted and bit back a laugh.
Voski released a soft huff of air. “If it was torture, I’d be glad not to experience it.”
“Fine,” Ash drawled, falling back onto the couch. He stretched, and the arch pulled up his shirt, revealing a glimpse of his flat stomach. “What about the movie? Romance again?”
With a shrug, the fae feigned consideration for only a moment. “Why don’t we watch your favorite movie?”
“My favorite…” Ash pursed his lips. “I don’t think I have a favorite.” Holding up his hand, he summoned the remote, scrolling through his online library of films. “I mean, there’s so many to choose from. I’m not sure...oh! You are in for a treat.”
“Labyrinth?”
“Not sure I’d say it’s my favorite, but it is a classic! My first foster mom was obsessed with David Bowie.” Winking, Ash added, “Not that I could blame her. First crush I ever had.”
Strangely, the movie became strangely interesting. The pair lounged on the couch, and whenever Bowie appeared on screen, Voski carefully studied his movements and the low drawl of his voice. Handsome as he was, the goblin king hit a strange cord with the fae. He intended to do just what the young woman wanted, but she made frivolous wishes, and where she yearned for someone to offer her a fantasy world and steal her away, the opportunity - once obtained - only reinforced her desire for home. Voski’s intentions in the mortal world aligned just enough to leave him uneasy.
To make matters worse, when the food came, Ash sat back down with his plate, leaving a gap between them. The fae had no idea how to bridge it.
“This isn’t me,” Voski announced as the credits rolled.
Running a hand through his multi-colored hair, the warlock tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“I wouldn’t steal my mate away. I’m not going to force them to leave their family behind. Fae side-stepping would allow them constant access between worlds,” the prince insisted as Ash took another bite of pizza. “You admired the goblin king?”
Snorting, Ash shook his head. “Fuck no. I just wouldn’t mind getting bounced on his cock on that throne.”
Voski sputtered, half-choking at the other’s words. Reaching over, the warlock slapped his back, laughing loud and deep. His eyes watered. Tears gathered on his long dark lashes like gemstones, and the fae wanted the moment to never end.
Of course, it all too quickly did as Ash flicked over to another movie. “A Little Chaos is going to wreck you.”
“W-wreck me?” Voski sputtered. “Why not something pleasant?”
Teleporting his empty plate into the sink, the warlock shifted, tossing himself to lay in the prince’s lap. “We’ll watch Enchanted after. That’ll be good for you.”
“Good for me rarely seems to be pleasant.”
Warm amber met emerald, and Voski’s heart skipped a beat despite himself as Ash replied, “Sometimes you have to feel the sadness first.”
Terrified the other would move if he spoke, Voski simply nodded. If he wept, holding tighter to Ash, the warlock never complained. They never made it to the final movie. Voski woke with his nose pressed into soft purple and pink strands. An arm wrapped around him, and Ash pressed his face into the fae’s chest, grumbling and shifting closer when Voski pulled back to study his sleeping face.
“Stop panicking,” the warlock grumbled.
Voski’s brows furrowed. “I’m not - I’m not panicking.”
“I can hear your heart racing. Cuddling is good for you,” Ash asserted, nuzzling into the prince’s chest as he hugged tighter. “Don’t overthink it.”
Between the warmth of Ash’s body aligned so perfectly against Voski’s own and the gentle pressure of his embrace, the prince cannot possibly think of anything else. His mind raced. From the warlock’s calm assurances, their positions are entirely platonic in his mind. Perhaps that is the way of things in the modern mortal world. People touched so much more freely. Courtships encouraged casual caresses, and kisses came so much earlier than the altar. Touch had never seemed absent to Voski, yet with Ash in his arms, his mind wandered back to how little filled his life. Every hand upon his shoulder or pat of his head held purpose. His parents saved their affection. Pieced it out as if it were some potent medicine which could all too easily become a poison. Even their actions toward each other seemed cold in comparison. Fate proclaimed their love true, but if friendship led to such warm skinship, fate must have had no grander desire for his parents than to have their rule in alliance.
The longing he had once felt seemed foolish. He had once yearned for someone who understood him as readily as his father and mother appeared to understand one another, but he now wondered if he understood them at all.
Flicking his shoulder blade, Ash huffed, “No overthinking. Sleep.”
And to Voski’s surprise, he did.
Chapter Seven
Around and around the fountain at the base of the Spanish Steps in Rome, Voski trudged. His eyes traced the stone. From the lips of the strange sun faces, the water poured into La Barcaccia. Caught between sinking and floating, the stone boat taunted the dread reality of unstable ground.
Faerie had its share of fountains. Artists created the water’s path to make a particular music, but the nonsensical burbling of the Fontana della Barcaccia. Water against itself created the sound, and every dropped hit without consideration for what came after or before. A bit of chaos which fit somehow more and less with water’s natural path. The carved stone stood apart. Smoothed and shaped without reflection to its original gravity, but the water stretched within its confines.
Humans focused so much on their sight. Sound formed a background. In the glow of Faerie which never swelled as bright as a cloudless day in this modern mortal world, keen sight had its place, but darkness gave fae eyes their greatest strength. Beneath the glamor, Voski’s ears ached for purposeful sound.
“How are you enjoying your Roman holiday?” Ash joked when he noticed the fae’s expression more and more distressed.
Immediately, the fae smiled, turning to him with his bright sylvan eyes. “It’s beautiful.”
“You wanted to hit the Colosseum next, right? It’s only about a half hour from here, so why don’t we walk?” the warlock suggested, tracking the way the corners of Voski’s mouth lifted and watching the way his eyes crinkled.
“That sounds good.”
His enthusiasm seemed more reserved than it had the days before. The prince’s admiration for Audrey Hepburn and his kinship with her character inspired such passion when they first planned their trip to Rome, but standing at the bottom of the Spanish Steps, he faded, caught in thought. Maybe the panic attack from the day before weighed on him. He recovered slowly, and it had been Voski who pushed them to keep their schedule rather than waiting another day to go, yet the fae’s shoulders remained high and tight. Closing his eyes, Voski shrunk in on himself when he thought the warlock’s attention was elsewhere. Something clogged the works. Stress and overthinking dragged the blond down, and if the prince continued to sink, the only sentiment he would remember would be the grief which he expressed when Roman Holiday hadn’t ended with the princess finding a happily ever after with the repo
rter.
When Voski’s fingers twitched, Ash took his hand and entwined their fingers. A bit of the tension drained. Good.
“If you want, I can throw up a glamor, and we can explore the off-limit sections,” Ash said, bumping their shoulders together.
Every casual touch stole a bit more of the wrinkle from the prince’s brow, returning the soft and true smile to his face. Touch-starved and prince smashed together strangely in the warlock’s mind. After his own mother’s death, Ash traveled from foster family to foster family until he had aged out of the system. Magic and mortals rarely melded well. His mother’s lessons prevented him from confessing his abilities, and the more religious households kept thinking he was possessed. Confessing his crush on David Bowie hadn’t helped with the first foster mother. Children in those situations became touch-starved. Tossed here and there because they were too hard to handle. Touches couldn’t be trusted. Foster siblings drew him close only to punch him back. Even knowing abstractly that abuse and neglect occurred in blood families hadn’t prepared Ash for Voski. Even if his mother were cold, hadn’t he had nursemaids? Teachers? Cousins? Anyone who would give those necessary human touches?
But that answered itself. Voski wasn’t human. Even with magic users and other magical humanoids muddying the waters of fae bloodlines due to fate’s intervention, their needs weren’t always the same. Some types of dryads became sick if touched too much. However, their opposition to the rule proved it, right? Fae needed touch like humans - magic or not, didn’t they?
“We had pizza last night. Why don’t we get Osso Buco? It’s kind of a comfort food. Oh! And gelato! You have to have gelato when you’re in Italy,” Ash proclaimed, half-skipping as he led the prince through the city.
The Colosseum towered over them. Those remaining arches stood tall and straight. Stone colored with age rose to the sky. Passing inside, the sheer size of the arena brought a sparkle back to Voski’s eyes, and watching wonder color the other’s face eased a tight grip on Ash’s heart which he hadn’t realized was there until it loosened.