by SJ Himes
Simeon blinked down at him, eyes wide. A corner of his mouth quirked, and Simeon grumbled out a breathless complaint, lowering himself until his long, heavy body was pressing Angel into the mattress. Teeth nipped his ear. “You are bloody insane, mo ghra.”
“Yes, I am. Now kiss me already. I want you in me before I take the world’s best nap.”
Simeon wasted no time and obliged.
15
Sex is Best
Angel tasted of warmth, blood, and spice. It was a heady flavor that recalled cold winter nights hearthside, a fire blazing, mulled cider hot and steaming, and fragrant aromas filling the air. A memory of a long-lost life and time, and it faded away when Angel groaned beneath him, hands tugging at his hair, tongue sliding along his.
Slim legs taut with muscles wrapped around his hips, their groins rubbing together. Simeon growled low in his chest, nipping at Angel’s lips, the sting making his Leannán gasp into his mouth, fingers grasping with desperation. Angel pulled back from their kiss, panting. “Clothes off.”
“As you wish, mo ghra.”
Simeon lifted off Angel and rolled to his side, ripping away his sleep pants and the t-shirt. He flung the garments away from the bed and pulled Angel back into his arms, both on their sides, facing each other.
Angel was beautiful in a non-classical way that made Simeon’s dormant heart ache. Dark brown hair now long enough to fall into his eyes, the blond highlights long gone, with skin a medium tan that spoke of his Italian ancestry. Dark eyes, pink lips, a small nose, faint darkening along his jaw from stubble, and a sharp tongue and cutting wit. “You’re staring.”
Simeon smiled wide, fangs fully dropped. “Aye, and I’ll stare whenever I please. You’re everything to me, mo ghra.”
Angel blinked rapidly, ducking his face into his pillow for a second, wiping damp lashes. “I love you,” came out rough and tight with emotion, and Simeon cradled Angel to his chest. Angel curled into him, as if seeking to hide, arms and legs grasping tightly. Simeon ran a hand down Angel’s back, tracing the faint bumps of his spine. Angel had more muscles, his flesh more toned, skin just as smooth and warm. Their bond completed decades faster than was custom, it was already working to change Angel. Or rather, to prevent further change.
Angel had stopped aging. He would never grow old. The Leannán bond was fully complete, and together they were bound for eternity. Angel now shared Simeon’s immortality. A conversation needed to happen, and soon, since Angel had noticed the small signs Simeon saw weeks ago. A conversation he thought to perhaps ease into since they had forever now.
A hand slipped down between them, and hot fingers took his cock and stroked. Simeon hissed between his teeth, arching his hips forward, Angel smiling. “Thinking later. Fucking now.”
Simeon groaned in delight, Angel’s skilled hand working him, root to tip, occasionally breaking the intoxicating pattern to cup his balls, tugging on the tight sac. Simeon ran his own hands over Angel, cupping his firm arse and squeezing.
Angel got his cock aching and hard with a drop of precum beading on the head and Angel bent down and licked it off. The hot, wet tongue bathing his cock sent heat coursing through his body, warmth soaking into his flesh. He never felt cold or hot, or any discomfort from the environment, it took mortal flesh and blood to remind his body of what it felt to be alive. Angel’s touch was invigorating.
Angel sucked the head, rolling his tongue, lathing the underside, and Simeon grabbed Angel by the hair and held him still, fucking into his mouth, once, twice, then again, holding deep the last time. Angel’s eyes drifted shut, mouth stretched wide, throat working Simeon’s cock.
Angel’s hands held tight to Simeon’s hips, pulling him closer, deeper into his hot, wet throat, and Simeon gasped, thrusting a smidge more, almost too deep. Angel opened his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks, but he pulled again, starving for air but desperate for the small bite of pain that Simeon knew Angel needed.
Simeon pulled himself from the hot perfection of Angel’s mouth, his lover heaving for air, and he manhandled Angel, flipping him over, Angel’s back and arse pressed to Simeon’s chest and groin. He reached behind him, opened a drawer, and took out the lube.
“Do you need something from me, mo ghra?”
Angel rolled his hips, managing to get Simeon’s cock to press between his buttocks, hot flesh cradling his aching length.
“I do,” Angel whined, hugging Simeon’s arm to his chest, shoving his arse back. “Need it, now. Please.”
Simeon flipped the top of the tube, shoved Angel’s hip forward enough so he could see what he was doing, and squirted out a glob of lube onto one tight cheek. He tossed the lube, took the dollop with his free hand, and pressed two fingers into Angel’s tight hole, making his mate hiss out in shock and some pain.
Angel didn’t fight him or try to wiggle away, but pushed back into the pain, riding his fingers for a few seconds before demanding, “Cock. My ass. Now.”
Simeon chuckled, gathered Angel tight to his torso with an arm wound under and around his mate, wiped the lube off his fingers, lined up his cock, and slid inside.
Angel was tight, too tight, and surely his passage inside hurt. Hot, searing hot, soft and tight, Angel welcomed him inside, flesh reluctantly widening as Simeon thrust in, an inch at a time, the lube warming, slick, wet, letting him take Angel faster than was wise. They both needed it.
Angel made gasping cries of pain and need, flailing with one hand until he reached back and grabbed Simeon’s thigh, pulling him closer. Simeon slid himself as deep as he could go, buried to the root, balls pressing tightly to Angel’s arse, his mate’s body pouring off heat. Sex pheromones filled the air; spicy, musky, tasting of salt and sweat and need, lust a sharp bite with each panting breath from his mate.
Simeon rubbed Angel’s stomach then down between his hips, just above his hard cock, flushed a dark red and dripping a tiny pearl of clear fluid, sweet and musky. Simeon nipped and licked Angel’s neck where it met the curve of his shoulder, sucking on smooth skin and firm muscles, working up a mark. “So hot and tight, so perfect. Never want to leave you.”
Angel groaned, internal muscles clenching and releasing, still adjusting, but he kept pressing back into Simeon, demanding more. “Love the way it hurts. Need that sting.”
“I know,” Simeon murmured, reassuring, never judging Angel for his need, licking the love bite he left behind on Angel’s soft skin. He pulled back then thrust forward, Angel sobbing and arching into the plunge. He kept at it, not going too fast, but pushing as deeply as he could with each thrust in, holding Angel in place, not letting him move an inch. Angel sobbed and cried, hands clawing at the bedding, teeth bared. Simeon went deep and sure, rubbing over the small bundle of nerves inside with each thrust. Slow, powerful thrusts of his hips, the bed rocking ever so slightly with the rhythm of his body. Angel cried out with each thrust and fought to get closer, trying to turn around in his desperation, but Simeon held him tight and refused to let him move.
Angel begged for more, nearly incoherent, tears and pleas and gasping breaths. He could go on forever, but his mate was ready, nearing the peak, muscles tightening, gripping him with their own demands to find release. He thrust harder, making Angel cry out louder, and Simeon slid his free hand up Angel’s stomach and chest. Simeon extended one claw on his other hand and sliced his palm, returning his claw to its hidden state. He pressed his bleeding palm to Angel’s mouth, stifling his cries, and Angel went wild, the room exploding in insane patterns of lust, love, the beating of a racing heart, and the rush of blood through veins. Angel sucked on his hand, and Simeon struck, biting Angel’s neck, the first mouthful making him growl, hips snapping furiously, fucking deep into Angel.
Angel screamed, the sound muffled, and came. Hard. Cum splashed from his cock untouched, thick streams shooting out to land with splats on the bedding, Angel’s back arching like a bowstring, eyes wide, muscles taut. His arse clamped down on Simeon, and he let himself go as well, pour
ing his cold essence into Angel’s heat as he sucked down hot mouthfuls of his blood.
Simeon carefully pulled his hand from Angel’s mouth, painting his lips red with blood. He stayed inside Angel’s heat, reluctant to leave but knowing he would need to before Angel grew too sensitive after his orgasm. His mate lay limp, sweaty and breathing hard, eyes falling shut despite valiant attempts to stay awake. Simeon rode out the aftershocks of his own orgasm then carefully withdrew. Angel winced, but offered no complaint, though surely, he was sore and aching.
The bed was a ruin, cum and lube decorating the linens, and Simeon hoisted Angel into his arms, his poor mate flopping against his chest, utterly spent. Simeon grinned and licked away at the blood on Angel’s parted lips, tasting his own essence on Angel’s tongue. He carried Angel to a low chaise in the corner of his room, wrapped him in a soft blanket, and went to the bathroom. Eroch was still curled up in the basin, so Simeon grabbed some wet wipes from the donor kit under the counter and returned to his mate. He cleaned Angel, who was breathing deep and slow, asleep. Angel didn’t notice a thing as Simeon stripped the bed, tossing the bedclothes out into the hall. One of the Tower blood donors who cleaned his suite would take care of them. Simeon remade the bed and gathered Angel in his arms, depositing him under the covers before crawling in after him.
Simeon held Angel in his arms, his mate still deeply asleep, limp and soft and warm. The bite mark on his lower neck was already healing, the faint bruising and tiny pinpricks fading even as Simeon watched. Angel’s own blood sang through Simeon’s body, the magic in the blood returning along the soulbond to his mate, rendering Simeon immune to blood magic poisoning that was lethal to the sentient undead.
Angel had stopped aging, small signs of his mortality regressing to a more stable state. No gray hairs, no wrinkles, mortal disease a thing of the past. Angel would be more resilient, able to survive more trauma and bodily damage, heal faster. He could still be killed, but he was now somewhere between the average mortal and a vampire, not quite invulnerable, but not so easily damaged. In time, as the decades went by, Angel would only get stronger. In turn, Angel gave Simeon immunity to magic poisoning, cycling out magical taint from blood, allowing him to feed on other practitioners and those mortals closely related to practitioners. He did not need to feed on donors or use blood units anymore since Angel was feeding him. A single bite and a mouthful of blood kept Simeon sated for a week or more, and Angel bit him during sex, many times unthinkingly, the bond demanding the exchange. What would have been a death sentence before without speedy assistance was no longer an issue. Simeon had been in the sun twice this day; he did not burn. He felt the heat, the looming danger of the searing fire that came with unfiltered sunlight, but it hadn’t burnt him. He did not doubt it could still kill him if he were out in it for a prolonged period and had no desire to test his theory unless under the direst of circumstances. His exposure today amounted to mere seconds—he was leery of testing his hypothesis beyond that point.
His master, Batiste, was over two thousand years old and could withstand sunlight for a few minutes, though it left him pained, and he could stay awake during the day, not feeling the lethargy younger vampires felt when the sun was high in the sky. Simeon felt it, but as a vague impulse, a fleeting need he could ignore.
But a nap right now would be welcome. His mate slept peacefully in his arms, and Simeon smiled, burying his nose in Angel’s hair, breathing in his clean, sweet scent. Sleep for the undead was not quite the sleep of a mortal, but it was close. He let himself relax, senses consumed by his mate.
Angel slid the spear into his satchel and snapped it shut. The fewer people who knew about it the better. He needed to find someone to give it to—it did not belong to him, despite destroying the wendigo. He needed to find a shaman, someone descended from the tribes that once lived along these shores. He had some calls to make, and he feared he might not find anyone. The indigenous tribes were decimated in this area, survivors fleeing north and west over a three-hundred-year span. He closed the satchel and activated the small ward on the buckles, preventing anyone other than him or someone he keyed access to from opening it. Angel had no idea what the spear head could do and didn’t want someone he didn’t trust figuring it out before he could return it to the proper people.
Daniel sat next to him on the couch, playing with Eroch, the small dragon attacking Daniel’s hand as he tickled the light green scales along the dragon’s belly. Eroch mock hissed and flailed with wings and tail, making Daniel laugh. He gently gnawed on Daniel’s fingers, wrapping his tail around his wrist and bunny kicking. “Ok, ok, you win!” Daniel laughed, and Eroch flipped over to his feet and curled his neck, flirtatious and sweet, making Daniel pick him up and cuddle him close. Angel rolled his eyes, and the wee beastie gave Angel a smug lift of his tiny snout a wink of one daffodil-yellow eye.
Angel put his satchel under the coffee table and eyed the remains of his late lunch/early dinner. He was full and relaxed and recovered from the morning’s adventures, and he had a very cranky wizard to flip on her graverobber friends.
First, a phone call.
Angel got up from the couch, dug out his cell, and wandered to the far wall, looking down over the city. This side of Simeon’s suite in the Tower faced west, and he could just see the slim chimneys and narrow pitched roofs of Beacon Hill and Back Bay in the far distance, the late afternoon haze and the setting sun obscuring the view beyond. The windowed walls, which were made entirely of heavily treated and bespelled glass to prevent the undead occupants from burning to death during the day, were dark. He had no idea why a bloodclan would want to inhabit a ten-story glass skyscraper in a city with a mortal population which was over two-thirds practitioners, but he figured any being that lived for centuries eventually stopped caring so much about certain things. Or Batiste was insane. He personally liked that answer.
He dialed, and Nadine Masters picked up on the first ring. “Mr. Salvatore, how may I help you?”
“Can I speak to Isaac?”
“Certainly, let me check his schedule. Would you like to hold?” He heard the clattering of a keyboard in the background.
“Sure, I’ll hold.”
Soft orchestral music played for a couple minutes then the line reconnected. A worried voice spoke, breathless like he’d run for the phone. “Angie?”
“Ugh, Isaac, I swear to gawd…”
Isaac chuckled. “Things are okay, then? Not in jail?”
“I was, but only for about an hour. Simeon busted me out.” Angel couldn’t modulate his tone, and he could damn near hear Isaac’s suspicion growing in the silence on the other end.
“What happened?” Isaac demanded after a minute. Angel made himself remember telling Isaac the truth was better than trying to protect him from things, so he laid out the whole morning to his little brother, from his visit to the college to busting out the consulate’s front door with a risen wendigo on a leash.
“You did what?” Isaac said, clearly rhetorical since he didn’t give Angel time to reply. “You raised a dead wendigo from its grave and let it smack around Council enforcers?”
“Um, yes?” Angel really wasn’t used to explaining himself to Isaac. This was an odd but somehow not unwelcome development. “But enough about my crazy day. How are you?”
Isaac heaved out an exasperated sigh but answered. “I think I’m okay? Maybe. Not sure. I would have said I was fine two days ago, but now…now I can see I’m not. Fine, that is.”
“What do they have you doing? Are you allowed to talk about it?”
“Oh no, talking about it is encouraged. I just can’t tell you other patients’ issues. Mine I can share all I want. Right now, I’m doing one-on-one sessions with this doctor, twice a day. Morning sessions are quick, we talk about what my goal is for the day and if I have any sessions with specialists. I’m learning how to do something called behavioral modifications. It’s like changing bad habits into good habits but a lot simpler. I don’t understand half
of what the lady teaching the class is saying, but I guess it works?”
Angel felt a lessening of tension around his heart. Isaac sounded engaged, alert, and while not enthusiastic, at least willing to go along with the treatments Nevermore was providing. “I’m glad, Isaac. I’m happy it’s helping you.”
“Yeah, it’s helping. Or I hope it’s helping. Anyway, I have a really hot doctor as my personal therapist. He looks at me like I’m just a patient though which I totally get but it’s still a blow to my ego…or what passes as my ego. Still, super-hot doctor. Can’t complain, and he knows his stuff.”
“Isaac, please don’t fall in love with your doctor.”
“I’m not going to. He puts off committed relationship vibes. I just like looking at him. And he’s smart. And…”
“And, what?”
“I guess I’m not used to just talking to people. Even if he’s my doctor, we still just talk. I honestly don’t know the last time I talked to another person who wasn’t you or Daniel without being drunk or hungover.”
Angel didn’t know what to say to that, and neither did Isaac. A voice in the background called to Isaac, and he pulled away to reply. “Hey, Angie, I gotta go. Another appointment in a few.”
“Okay. Isaac?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you. I’m proud of you too.”
Isaac was quiet for a moment. “I love you too, Angel. Call me again, yeah?”
“I will. Have a good day, kiddo.”
He stayed on the line until Isaac hung up on his end. He gripped his cell and looked to the north wall of the suite in the direction of Nevermore. He sighed and made himself focus. He had things to do.
Angel turned back to the room and stopped. Batiste stood a few feet behind him, looking absolutely devastating in a light gray suit with a pink silk tie, white shirt, and slim charcoal slacks, and far too curious for his own good or Angel’s peace of mind. He blinked and held up a hand. “No.”