The Brotherhood 8 Under Hill and Over the Bar

by Willa Okati

  Keelan tilted his head. “What’s not fair?” He sounded honestly puzzled.

  With a sigh, Laurence joined him, giving up -- temporarily -- on the goal of finding his jeans. Keelan alone knew where they were, and the only way to get answers was, apparently, to deal straight with the man. “You,” he said, his voice coming out much more softly than he’d intended. Apparently of its own volition, Laurence’s hand came out to stroke a lock of Keelan’s silky dark hair, twining it around his fingers. Keelan leaned into the touch like an overgrown cat, so that Laurence almost expected to hear a rumbling purr burst out. “You’re what’s not fair.”

  Keelan raised his huge, dark silver eyes to meet Laurence’s. “How am I not fair?” He, too, had lowered his voice to a hush. He licked his lips. Soft, kissable lips, slightly swollen from the rough kisses they had shared. He leaned forward slightly, deeper into Laurence’s caress, until his chin rested in Laurence’s palm. “Tell me, lover.”

  Laurence intended to say, Don’t call me that but the words stuck in his throat. “No one man should be this desirable,” came out instead. “How do you do it, Keelan? You look like everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. Like a fallen angel who’s missing his wings. You haven’t insisted we make a public show of ourselves -- you took me to a private place. You fuck like a lust god whose temples have all been forgotten, but still has every bit of his power. And even now, sitting here, you make me want to take you hard and fast, protection be damned. What makes you so special that it’s almost too hard to resist what you’re offering up on a silver plate?”

  “It is because of who I am,” Keelan replied softly. He turned just a bit to the side, pressing a light kiss into Laurence’s hand. “Because of what I am.”

  The words sent a shiver down Laurence’s spine. He scolded himself for being an idiot, then asked, because he had to, “And what are you?”

  Keelan shook his head. “Don’t ask. Not unless you mean it, and you’re ready to see the truth. Otherwise, you’ll call me a liar again, and a man’s pride can only take so much.” He nestled his chin in Laurence’s grasp. “It’s true I had not begun this evening expecting to develop feelings for you. But, lo! There they are, and what can I do about them save try to convince you that they are real, and I would keep you by my side as long as I possibly can?”

  “To win a bet?” Laurence had to know.

  Keelan looked shamefaced. “There is a bet, yes --”

  “And that’s all I wanted to hear.” Laurence pulled his hand back. “Come on, Keelan. You tell a pretty story, but I’ve said it before that this was only sex, nothing more. We’re simply two guys who had a great time. A few minutes spent in each other’s arms, and then me getting back to my beer.”

  “You’re a liar,” Keelan said softly. Without Laurence to occupy himself with, he turned to the grass, carefully drawing circles in it with a forefinger.

  “I’m a what?” Laurence’s Irish temper flared. He seized both of Keelan’s knees and gave him a shake. “Do you dare to say those words again?”

  “They’re only the truth.” Keelan raised those impossibly beautiful eyes to Laurence, who saw they were full of emotion. But what that emotion was, he couldn’t tell. “You want to stay here with me, but you’ve convinced yourself that I’m a ‘playboy,’ that all I want is another notch on my bedpost. All of this, when you know you already mean more to me than a quick roll on nature’s blanket, when you won’t listen to me about anything I have to say, whether it be what I am or the truth about this bet of mine.”

  “Fine.” Still simmering, Laurence backed off. “What are you? Some kind of magician? A part owner of Amour Magique? What did I do to rate the five-star treatment?”

  Keelan sighed, then brushed his shining fall of hair off both his ears. They were tapered, coming to a delicate point. “I’m an elf,” he said. “Go ahead and laugh.”

  Laurence did. He couldn’t help himself. He started giggling, then chuckled so hard he nearly tipped over on his side. Keelan stuck out one elegant foot and gave him a shove so that he did land onto the soft sedge, still bubbling over with mirth. “I knew you would find this funny.” Keelan sounded resigned.

  “Funny? It’s hysterical. Nice try, Keelan, but I’ve seen better prosthetics at Trekkie conventions.” Laurence wiped his eyes, but instead of getting back up, found himself inclined to stretch out in the grass and rest his sex-sore muscles for a moment. The place did have its plus side.

  He gazed at the ceiling full of stars and a traveling moon, then shook his head. “I could almost believe I was outside.” A gust of wind came whistling through the stone pillars as he spoke, wafting strands of hair over his face. He brushed them off, stroked his new goatee, and sighed. “Great ventilation system.”

  Keelan made a noise of impatience. “Foolish man. What can I do to convince you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Laurence said lazily. “Do something elfish.”

  “Elven.”

  “Whatever. It’s all Tolkien, isn’t it? He made you guys up. Tell you what, say ‘one ring to rule them all’ in the original, and I’ll give you extra credit for trying really hard at this game.”

  Keelan made a noise of pure impatience, then rattled off a string of liquid syllables. “There. Are you satisfied? Tolkien, by the way, did not use the genuine elven language. He made it up himself after having met one of us and dreaming of her every night for several months. The man was an amazing linguist.”

  “A cunning linguist, even?” Laurence sat up, somewhat regretfully, and brushed bracken off his shoulders. “Still not convinced, Keelan. Go ahead. Prove it to me.”

  “You said you taught fifth grade. Do you give your students this much of a hard time when they’re trying to explain why they don’t have their homework?”

  “Harder.” Laurence firmed his jaw. “Go on. Impress me.”

  Keelan muttered something under his breath, then waved one hand in the air. Laurence’s jeans and T-shirt jumped up from where they had been lying hidden behind a fallen stone, along with Keelan’s own outfit of vest and pants. The clothes walked over to the two men, then draped over their laps.

  “Jesus Christ!” Laurence jumped back, mouth dry. The cloth tingled, as if it were alive. “Nice -- nice trick.”

  Keelan’s mouth narrowed into a thin line, and he stood, heedless of his nudity. “Right, that’s it. You wanted proof? Well, here I am to give it to you.” Loosing another burst of some language Laurence didn’t understand, he pointed at a spot on the apex of the stone circle, which burst into -- darkness. Laurence blinked at the patch of pure emptiness, confused.

  He looked at the blackness, then at Keelan, who had a hand extended, and gingerly gave the so-called elf his own hand. He had to stop himself from flinching back when he felt the same static electricity between them as they touched.

  “Follow me,” Keelan ordered, leading Laurence forward to the hole, and stepping inside the dark shadow, seeming to disappear. However, his hand tugged at Laurence impatiently, summoning him to follow after.

  With a deep breath, Laurence ducked into the hole --

  -- and emerged in Rocco’s bar, bare as the day he was born, facing down a room half full of creatures the like of which he could never put a name to. Quills and his partner were there, for one thing, along with someone who looked like he was made out of twigs and bark and leaves, and a woman with a kind face and old-fashioned peasant’s skirts kilted up to her dimpled knees. A hollow-faced creature dressed in ghostly, dark rags stood up to get a better look at Laurence and Keelan’s ... assets. Then whistled.

  Laurence did the only thing a man could under the circumstances. He squeaked, covered his penis with both hands, and did an abrupt about-face back through the darkness he’d come in on. He had a second to register Keelan’s startled yelp, then felt the man clutch his arm.

  Good thing, too. The second Laurence entered the darkness, he felt himself spinning out of control almost as if in zero gravity, a void. Invisible arms seemed
to pull at him from every direction, each seizing a handful of flesh, tugging at him, wanting to drag him their way. He clung desperately to the only solidness he felt, following its lead, but still let loose with a hoarse yell as he found himself being tugged through something nearly solid.

  His forward momentum carried both him and Keelan back down to the ground in the stone circle -- right where they’d started out. Keelan rolled away from him, breathing hard, then raised up on one elbow, patently furious.

  “Don’t you ever try such a foolish stunt again! The portals are only for those who know how to use them. They’re as dangerous as your mortal Hell to a man who isn’t familiar with their navigation or who doesn’t have a guide!”

  Laurence’s mouth had gone cotton-dry. “We ... we were just here.” He gestured to the scenery around them, stupefied. “Then we were there. In Rocco’s place. And now back here again. No doors.” He stared at Keelan’s pointy ears, then stared some more. “Be damned. You are a Faerie.”

  “Elf,” Keelan corrected, with a sharp look in his eye. “You believe me now, then?”

  “I’m not sure.” Laurence felt cold. “What were all those things -- people -- in the bar?”

  “A jack-in-irons, a puck, the washer at the ford, and a banshee, just to name a few. No, don’t, don’t you start laughing again. This is serious, Laurence. Life and death. You felt as much when you walked back into the portal, didn’t you? There are things beyond your ken, more in heaven and earth and between than your philosophy can encompass. Indeed, Shakespeare was a wise man in his time.” Keelan reached out and gripped Laurence’s fingers, holding them almost too tightly. “You are lucky, man, that I was the one who managed to win your attention this night. And I am lucky for having had the chance to make your better acquaintance. Believe me when I say this, Laurence: I am an elf. And I am better than anything you could ever dream of.”

  Laurence scoffed, even as Keelan held up his other hand to ward off his disdain.

  “Tell me this, Laurence, and tell me true -- have you ever had better sex? Your first time, your last time, and all the times betwixt -- have any of them taken you as high or as deep as I have? There is nothing which can compare to making love with one of the Fey, especially an elf.”

  Laurence regarded Keelan, his mind whirling with questions. “What about Norris, then?” he asked. “Is he an elf too? And Black Malice? What’s that?”

  “Norris is Nerys, and he is a she. A nosy, inquisitive she, who surprises me by her continued absence from this circle tonight. Eremand, another friend of mine, yes, also an elf, must have her well occupied. As for Black Malice, it is a she, and I suppose you might call her an elf as well, for lack of a better term.” Keelan shivered. “Black Malice is a force of nature, not to be taken lightly, and not easily reckoned with.”

  “Fine.” Laurence found himself gripping tighter the hand Keelan had extended to him in a mute offer. Air gusted past them, and he lifted his face to breathe more deeply of the scent of roses and herbs, which almost seemed as if it had come through a garden not too far from their circle. “What is this place?”

  “Somewhere my friends and I gather more often than not,” Keelan said soberly. “A place where we were entertaining ourselves tonight when we heard that Liam, the incubus, was bringing twelve of his friends to Amour Magique in the hopes of finding them a good time.”

  “Whoa, whoa, back up for a second there. Incubus? A sex demon? Liam?” Laurence hooted. “I studied those in Mythology 101 back in college. Liam isn’t any incubus. He’s a crazy little gay man without any sense of personal space, not some ancient son of Lilith who’s been around since the dawn of time!”

  “Are you so sure about that?” Keelan’s eyes twinkled darkly, as if each held a falling star. Laurence found himself fascinated by the dusky gaze. “Five minutes ago, you would have told me elves do not exist, but now you believe in us, don’t you?” He pressed his advantage. “Don’t you?”

  Laurence sighed and quoted as best as he could remember. “‘When you have eliminated the impossible, then whatever’s left must be the truth.’ Sherlock Holmes. Another great.”

  “Conan Doyle, actually.”

  Laurence was irritated and didn’t bother to hide it. “Do you have to argue with everything I say?”

  Keelan had the grace to look embarrassed. “I shall try not to. Proceed with your thought.”

  “There wasn’t much more to it.” Laurence reached to pluck a few blades of grass, then thought better of the action. He didn’t want to hear the “earth” crying out again. Instead, he began drawing patterns among the soft green stalks. He noticed Keelan keeping a wary eye on him as he did so and had to ask, “What, am I casting a spell or hurting the dirt or something?”

  “It’s unlikely,” Keelan allowed, “but one never knows in Faerie. You see? Already you believe more than you probably want to.”

  Laurence sighed. “All right. For the sake of this discussion, argument, whatever, let’s say that I believe. Finish telling me about Nerys and Black Malice.”

  “Ah. Yes.” Keelan flushed a faint pink. “We heard that Liam was bringing his cadre of brothers-in-soul with him, and I determined to win the heart of one. I chose you out of their ranks. No, don’t ask me how; it was part of a trick that Black Malice pulled. Imagine how delighted I was to find you’d made your own way to Rocco’s bar.”

  “A bar set up to specialize in your kind?”

  “More or less. The occasional mortal happens by, but Rocco simply feeds them a beer and lends them a sympathetic ear. Those who are unfriendly to Faerie folk do not find the bar at all.”

  “So I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” Laurence shook his head. “You still haven’t told me about the bet.”

  “The bet ... ah, Lord and Lady, you’ll hate me for sure after this. Black Malice bet me two thousand silver coins, a fortune here in Faerie, that I could not win your heart and keep you here until morning light. I bet that I could.” Keelan looked down. “And now, the worst is out. Think of me what you will.”

  “I see.” Laurence looked down at the ground, letting the story roll over and over in his mind, sifting the tale around to winnow out and muster all the facts he could. But, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get around the inarguable truth that he’d been a pawn in some strange game. That although he’d come willingly and had had a good time, he’d been a pawn -- that was something he refused to stand for.

  He made as if to rise and spoke simply without any emotion. “Then I guess you’re out two thousand silver, Keelan, because this, whatever it is, ends here. I’m sorry, but if you’d been honest from the beginning --”

  “You wouldn’t have believed me.” Keelan’s face was bleak, but he refused to release Laurence’s hand. “Daylight is still hours away, and I have neither won your heart, nor can I keep you here until then. I accept that I have lost the bet and will have to earn my payment to Black Malice. But, please, Laurence -- handsome Laurence, so red and white and strawberry fair -- give me just one more taste. I beg it of you.”

  Laurence frowned. “A taste?”

  Keelan tugged harder at his hand. “Let us make love one last time before you go. We have used quotes throughout our time together, so let me speak the words of another wise man. ‘Kiss me before you leave me, and my imagination will thrive upon that kiss; sweetheart, I ask no more than this -- a kiss to build a dream on.’”

  “Louis Armstrong.” Laurence felt his lips begin to lift in a smile. “How did you know I liked old jazz?”

  “I didn’t. But he was a bard, in his way, and he sang truly of heart matters. So, Laurence, I ask this of you, I beg that you grant me the favor of this petition. Let me have you once more before you go, or you have me, and then you will return to Amour Magique. Just give me a memory to cling to before you are gone forever.”

  Laurence gazed at the handsome elf, almost too attractive to be real, literally begging to have sex with him. Half of his mind was shout
ing him down for being a fool to even consider it, and the other half was pitching a vociferous fit about having to part ways with someone so delectable. Unless this was another trick to keep him trapped there ... was it?

  Damn it all, anyway. He couldn’t not give in.

  Touching Keelan’s tingling skin -- was this part of who, what the elf was? -- Laurence’s decision was made with his body and not his mind. “We’ll need a condom. For me, not you. And more of that lubricant.” He ran his tongue across his lips before responding. “I’ll definitely give you one last memory before you leave. Something you won’t forget for days.”

  “Or years,” Keelan answered, his face lighting up. “You promise me? Swear it on this Faerie circle?”

  Laurence nodded. “I swear.”

  Keelan’s lips split into a delighted grin. He raised Laurence’s hand to his mouth and kissed it again, this time with a bit of teeth. “Thank you. Give me a moment to gather my supplies.”

  Laurence nodded once more. He knew he looked calm on the outside. Inside, he was shaking with lust and uncertainty. He should have known from the moment he stepped inside that strange place he was just asking for trouble. What had he gone and gotten himself into now?

  Chapter Six

  While Keelan busied himself with preparations, Laurence did what any sane man who’d just fallen down the rabbit hole would do: he lay still and kept quiet. However, as he gazed up above his head at the moon moving in her path and the twinkling stars, his mind was anything but still.

  Elves were real? If so, then it followed that everything else Keelan had said was probably true, too. Liam, a sex demon. Laurence couldn’t help but smile a bit over the notion. He’d never have pictured an incubus who was barely five feet five, curly-haired, and given to the latest in hand-tailored GQ, but he supposed Liam must have moved with the times. Come to think of it, the man’s impish features and maple-colored curls would have fit in pretty well with a toga and a wreath of laurel leaves ...