The Fae King's Fated Mate: M/M Gay Paranormal Romance

by J B Black

  “You’re huge. I wouldn’t have expected it, but your cock is massive. So big and thick and hard - just for me, isn’t it? I’m just your bloody cocksleeve. A tight hole to squeeze this ridiculous rod of yours,” the warlock teased, grinding his hips down as he wrapped a hand around his own throbbing cock.

  Idris shook his head. Tears lined the delicate lashes of his lower lids. “No-no, not a cocksleeve. Beautiful and clever - my-my...ahh! Mine!”

  Possessive. Considering how desperately the man chased his fated mate, Fannar wasn’t surprised. He bounced upon the prince’s cock, chasing his own pleasure and reveling in the bliss which melted all signs of regal dignity which the blond-haired man possessed. He salivated, licking his lips and clinging to Fannar as if he might vanish at any time.

  Which he could. Fannar could teleport away. Could banish Idris back to the cold pond and leave him to wander the forest if he wanted. Whatever secrets Idris kept, Fannar controlled their joining, and for that very reason, he had no intention of either of them leaving the bed without notice.

  “Yours?” Fannar chuckled, but the slight rise of his voice in question didn’t register with the prince.

  His eyes widened, and rising like a man possessed, he took Fannar’s face in his hands and kissed him as if his life depended upon giving the more obscene of kisses. Tongues, teeth, and lips meeting in a rough, almost animalistic manner as Fannar ended up on his back with his legs wrapped tight around the other’s narrow waist. Idris drove his cock in, barely retreating before thrusting deep once more.

  “Mine,” the prince swore, sucking red marks where his wild mouth landed. On Fannar’s shoulder, his neck and even down to his chest.

  The heat of his body radiated through the warlock, and his weight pinned the man, but the trapped feeling he expected never arrived. Instead, a sense of calm overcame him. Beneath Idris, he was safe. Not because Idris proved any sort of protection. No, the man appeared ready to dive in front of any sign of danger for Fannar, but using his body as a shield irked the warlock. Suddenly overcome with emotion, he wound his arms about the man’s neck, toying with the blond hairs as he pulled Idris down into a kiss.

  Safety came from Idris having someone else as his mate. The security of not belonging made the possessive proclamations slide off him. That had to be it. He couldn’t possibly want to be loved this way. To be guarded and cherished and coddled until he weakened and became nothing more than a slick hole for someone to rut inside. Love trapped people. This was lust. They hardly knew each other. It couldn’t be anything so poisonous as fate.

  “Mine,” Idris called, blind to Fannar’s internal struggle. His violet eyes darkened to black as his pupils dilated almost consuming any color in them at all. Only a thin ring remained. “Beautiful and clever and strong - Fannar,” he whispered the warlock’s name like a prayer. “Going to breed you. Fill you so well.”

  Even tangled in his thoughts, those words should have terrified him, but they ricocheted in his mind. His body ached. The bulge of the prince’s cock rounded his belly again and again, and when he came, his cum would swell it to a curve if he always spilled like he had that night before Fannar banished him to the pond, but somehow, the words hit strangely.

  “I’m not your fucking broodmare,” Fannar hissed even as his cock twitched, dripping all the more from Idris’s oaths.

  The prince met his eyes. A sudden seriousness and focus returned to him. “Never,” he swore. “I would never belittle you. Mother of my children - love of my life - my equal. My husband.”

  As good as a confession. Idris held still - his body trembling as he kept himself from thrust, and perhaps it would have been easier if he had just continued to drag pleasure from Fannar’s body, but the man waited.

  Locking his ankles, Fannar tugged the man down on top of him. “Shut up and fuck me.”

  Their lips crashed together. Wet and slick squelches filled the room. They moved together. Fannar’s nails dug into the prince’s upper back as the blond’s hips slammed into him, grinding deep inside his wet hole again and again. Wild and out of control, the two men clung to each other as they shifted along the possibility of tearing each other apart.

  “Fannar,” Idris cried when he came.

  His flushed expression and the adoration in the prince’s eyes slammed into Fannar, dragging him over the edge shortly after, and clenching around the cock inside him - the heat of it pouring Idris’s release into him, the warlock gasped. His release sprayed across their chest. Hips twitching in the aftermath, Idris poured into Fannar - the weight of his release flooded him, rounding his belly, and for a single moment - barely a breath, the warlock considered letting it take.

  Collapsing on the bed, Idris laughed - bright and cheerful. “I feel like I could fly.”

  Ridiculous. He acted without consideration for those around him. Ignored the way Fannar’s world imploded at his presence. If he came to the warlock aware of their connection, the contract served only to trap Fannar. He could not acknowledge their bond without stripping his ability to numb the pull of fate. Tearing it apart offered hope only if Idris gave up after the deed was done. Though the warlock saw the glamor, its enchantment worked well enough to leave him unsteady. Weak to his own foolish pride. A mate fated to chain him would be formidable, but Fannar arrogantly believed he could escape being found. Believed whoever they were would not want him if he proved too difficult to catch, yet he fell into bed with hardly any time to know the man who laid beside him.

  Side by side, they laid. Fannar stared unseeing at the ceiling as his hand rested on his stomach. Cum oozed from his hole, leaving his thighs even slicker as his racing heart slowed. He maintained full control over conception, but the way the seed settled inside him unnerved him. Some part of him - however small he insisted it was - wanted to allow it to take hold.

  When hands reached for him, the warlock shifted away, but Idris curled up as close as Fannar allowed, running his fingers along the sheets in the gap between them. “Warlocks can conceive, can’t they?”

  “Nothing will come of this,” Fannar assured him. “I have no plans to have children. Ever.”

  A soft whimper escaped the prince. “I see.”

  “Powerful people make awful parents. I’m stubborn and selfish. I have no desire to spend my time on anyone’s education but my own,” the warlock informed him, sitting up and turning his back on the prince.

  The bed shifted as Idris rose, and when soft fingers guided Fannar to glance back, a sweet kiss met his parted lips. Their foreheads touched, and after the chaste caress, he whispered, “If that’s what you wish.”

  Chapter Nine

  If Fannar wanted silence, Idris could give that to him. Sleeping with his fated love in his arms, the fae could barely contain his relief. The warlock remained distant, but when he cooked breakfast, the man ate it. Slowly and with cautious glances at him, yet to know he had fed his mate thrilled him. Before he cleaned the sheets, Idris buried his face in the sheets; the sweet scent of their union remained fresh.

  “What are you doing?” Fannar asked. His words were clipped.

  Idris smiled, gathering the sheets in his arms. “Thought you might enjoy fresh sheets.”

  Eyes narrowing, Fannar frowned, but he said nothing as he walked off. Despite their union, the man remained distant. Perhaps shy? He wore his clothes like armor. Fitted trousers and formal shirts with buttons and a vest. His boots matched the rest. Everything in black.

  Later, when he set a mug of tea beside the black-haired man, Fannar sighed, but Idris needed no thanks. If his love found pleasure in these small acts, the sight of him at ease proved enough. Except - Fannar didn’t seem happy. He accepted the herbs he sought with a frown. His eyes narrowed when Idris put away the books he had shoved aside.

  Stranger still - the books and potions all seemed to be divinations. The warlock tossed bones again. He called down powerful magic to pull back the veil of fate, twisting his rings and studying the strings which bind people only
to growl in frustration. It was as if he thought the contract still stood between them. All Fannar needed to do was admit it. If he acknowledged his place as Idris’s mate, the deal would be fulfilled. He could have all which the fae promised and more. A kingdom at his disposal to serve, protect, and care for him as he deserved.

  Tension grew between them until it snapped when Idris made him lunch. “I don’t need a familiar.”

  “What?”

  Fannar scoffed. “The food, the tea, the cleaning! I never wanted a familiar. Stop acting like one.”

  “It’s normal to want to make the life of the person you love easier,” Idris retorted, frowning at the fierce glower his mate leveled his way.

  “Yesterday, you terminated the contract. Why are you still here?” the warlock demanded.

  The fae stepped back as if struck. “If the contract was terminated, why are you still looking?”

  Because he hated him. There was no other reason. After so many years searching - decades desperately aching to find the one fate designed for him, Idris could no longer deny what his heart feared. Even though the string tethered them undeniably together, Fannar refused to acknowledge what was between them. What had his uncle said to earn such ire? How had Fannar not come to realize whatever reasons he had to fear being loved by Idris were unjustified?

  With a tired sigh, the warlock rubbed the bridge of his nose. Another headache likely caused by suppressing their bond. “What do you want from me?”

  “Anything you’ll give me.”

  He had hoped those works - meek and pathetic as they sounded to his own ears - would amount to some worth to his fated love, but Fannar raged. He stood, grabbing Idris by the front of his shirt and slamming him into the table. Magic cleared the books. The food went flying, but the warlock kept Idris pinned as he climbed upon him.

  His kiss tasted sweet despite the spite of his fingers tearing at Idris’s clothes. The man had no patience, and the fae clung for dear life, terrified of what might happen if he let the other go. He yearned for this mad rage to turn softer. Despite enjoying the passion, Idris longed to make love. Longed to worship Fannar’s body. To press kisses into soft pale flesh and stay buried inside as he ran his hands over the barely perceivable curve of the other’s cum-swollen belly.

  But if this was all he could have, Idris welcomed it. Prayed for it. Ached for it, broke himself into pieces to make it enough while cursing that he had trusted such a spiteful man and been a coward rather than approaching his mate himself the moment he saw him. Young and determined - those ice cold eyes alit with fire.

  “I should have stolen you away,” Idris groaned when Fannar tossed his pants aside and sunk down on the hard length of the fae’s cock.

  Half-dressed, the warlock worked his hips, grinding and sliding up and down the fae’s cock as if going to war. His eyes sparkled with that same fire, but the determination proved equally attractive though far fiercer.

  “I’m not an object. You can’t steal me,” the warlock hissed.

  Grabbing his hips, Idris pulled him down, burying his cock as deep within him as he could. He kept him pinned there, writhing with his teeth bared. “Then let me stay with you.”

  “Not in the market for a familiar.”

  “What about a lover?”

  Fannar hummed, the coldness in his gaze softened as he clenched, drawing a low groan from Idris. “Fuck me,” he demanded.

  Pink painted his lips and cheeks. Never had Idris seen anything as beautiful as his fated love sitting upon his cock as if it were a throne. He wanted nothing more than to remember this moment. To mark it and hold the memory of it forever in his heart, but when Fannar bit his lip, licking the blood before entwining their tongues to tease the fae with the tang of his own blood, Idris couldn’t resist.

  Unending his love, he held him with strong arms before pressing him down into the table. Nails dragged down his shoulders, drawing blood, but the rough thrust of his hips into the lithe body beneath him met no resistance. Entwined, they rutted like beasts. Their own ecstasy stood as the only goal. Magic flared. Fires started, bursting from nothing without any kindling to feed them.

  No sooner had Idris pushed Fannar down, the other upended them, nearly breaking the table as he fucked himself on the hard shaft. His pale fingers wrapped around his cock, jerking himself in time until Idris drew the man’s legs over his shoulders and plunged deeper inside him, bending him in two as he pinned him to the floor.

  Fate twined around them. Tight and hot, it writhed - coiling the desire in their veins to new heights. Every breath from the warlock demanded more. His greed matched Idris’s desperation, and the marks they left on their bodies seemed claims which even time could not fade. The tight clutch of slick heat. Hands upon him, tugging his hair and fighting him back only to melt when the fae’s arms enveloped him.

  “Mine,” Idris proclaimed, euphoric in the taste of his love’s lips.

  Fannar offered no confirmation or claim of his own, but the ruthlessness of his hands slid to gentle holds, tilting Idris’s face to meet his own pale gaze. When lust dark violet met blue-gray, the fae fell.

  Idris came. His arms wrapped around Fannar, holding him as he sucked a bruise into his neck. Marking and claiming him as if the string connecting their fingers wasn’t enough. As if he hadn’t hunted him down when the warlock refused to bow to fate. Fannar sobbed. Shaking in the aftermath of his orgasm, he gathered his magic to him, intending to send the blond as far from him as he could, but violet eyes widened.

  “No!” Idris cried, and magic as strong as his crashed into him, breaking the spell as Fannar wavered in his shock. “Please,” the man begged, and as he clung to Fannar, his glamor fell. “I love you, Fannar. Don’t send me away. Whatever you need of me, I’ll change anything. Please - please, let me stay.”

  “I should have known,” Fannar whispered.

  With tear-filled eyes, Idris met his gaze. “Please - I know I lied, but - but I loved you from the first moment I saw you.”

  “Fated mates are a lie. They have absolutely nothing to do with love,” Fannar retorted darkly, clawing at the other as he struggled to break free, but the fae held fast.

  It was bad enough to have his fears so clearly confirmed. To see how much of an absolute fool he had made of himself, but to see that the faces were not so dissimilar that he didn’t recognize the features which looked strikingly like the seer who had caught him that day turned the warlock’s stomach.

  “But I do love you! I love how determined you are. How you never back down and never give up. The way you wince when your tea goes cold, but you drink it anyway. I love how you act like you don’t care how you look, but you wear your clothes like armor,” Idris proclaimed, weeping as he nuzzled his face against Fannar’s. The salt of his tear itched against the man’s skin. “Give me a chance. I will show you. I can do it! I know I can be worthy of your love!”

  “You lied to me. Manipulated me. I knew from the moment he told me about you that I could never love you,” Fannar drawled, and with a flick of his magic, he shoved the fae back. Fires raged, and the spell table stood in ruins, but it was the feel of cum oozing down his thighs which fanned the rage inside him. “Idris…” the blond reached for him, but with a growl, he finished the contract, “I am your mate, and per our agreement, I refuse you and will cut the bond between us.”

  Wailing, Idris fell to his knees. “No-no-no, please! Please, Fannar, don’t-don’t leave me.”

  “Don’t act so pitiful. This won’t kill you,” the warlock spat, pulling his magic tightly around him as he summoned a particular knife he had made in anticipation of this very moment.

  When Idris saw the gleam of the runes, his heart stuttered in his chest. A tug upon his little finger drew his eyes to where Fannar held the red thread between his fingers as if it were the most disgusting and vile thing in all of creation.

  “Don’t. Please, Fannar. I don’t know what my uncle told you, but I’m not - I’m not a monster. I adore you. We�
��re destined to be together,” Idris pleaded, but he could not find the will to move as Fannar looked upon him so coldly.

  Bringing the knife to the string, Fannar shook his head. “I don’t fault you for chasing me. You wanted something, and you went after it. This is me doing the same.”

  “Do you not want love in your life? To be adored? I would worship you!” Idris cried.

  “I’ve never wanted that.”

  “A life without love is not living,” the fae replied.

  “Pretty words. That’s all that is. Pretty words,” Fannar drawled. The dull monotone of his voice shook Idris to the core. “I have no intention of being ruled by fate.”

  “Please,” Idris breathed.

  But Fannar refused to back down. “Our contract is complete, and per our agreement…”

  He brought the knife through the thread, slicing it in two. The cord unraveled, burning as it went. Idris screamed. His magic rushed to try to stop the unraveling, but he could no sooner stop the moon from rising. Short and wounded, the red string trailed the fae’s finger, and the one upon the warlock’s own seemed to vanish entirely.

  “I love you,” Idris whispered, broken and desperate as his violet eyes met icy gray. “I will always love you.”

  “I will be the most powerful magic user in ten dimensions. No matter how pretty your words, I have no intention of becoming anyone’s broodmare. To be coddled and protected and treated like a doll to be paraded around only to spread my thighs like a whore,” Fannar spat, brandishing the knife as if cutting the string didn’t tear them far enough apart. “I am second to no one. I refuse to put aside my life to become - become some consort!”

  Idris bowed his head. His mind turned the words over, chewing them apart and questioning his own intentions. Had he not been clear enough? He never wanted a doll. An equal - he longed for a partner. Someone to rule beside him - and yes, he imagined Fannar carrying their children, but he had no desire to force him. Still, his heart ached, and he couldn’t deny how badly he wanted parts of it. Wanted to spoil Fannar. Yearned to keep him safe and happy. If he said he didn’t want to see the man round with his children, he would be a liar once more, but not against his will. Never if Fannar refused.