by DHP Authors
Red watched as the horses walked toward the two men. The leader, called Collin if Red remembered right, tried to toss a rope around the lead horse. Much to his surprise, the horse knelt down, allowing him to climb on his back.
“Like that isn’t weird,” Red muttered watching as the second man climbed onto the horse’s back.
The two horses turned and ran back into the trees, the two men holding on for dear life. The remaining horses shifted into young men. Snow ran out the door to greet them.
“Brother,” the man with white hair spoke.
“Sindri!” Snow threw himself into his brother’s arms. “Kailen!”
“What’s going to happen to the men?” Red asked, even though he really didn’t care.
“They will ride them into the river and drown them.” The man Snow had called Kailen spoke.
“I thought only Kelpies drowned their riders.” Red muttered, he couldn’t say he was sorry that the men were going to die. They would have killed him and taken Snow if they had been given a chance.
Snow let go of his brothers. “They tried to harm me, Red. My father and brother are doing nothing more than you were going to do.”
“I just didn’t know a pooka would kill someone.”
“Pookas, like any other fairy, will kill anyone that harms their family.”
Snow turned to see his father and brother walking out of the tree line.
“Father!” Snow ran to his father’s arms. “You were right! I should have never come to the mortal realm by myself. If it hadn’t been for Red, I don’t know what might have happened to me.”
“I owe you a debt, then,” His father inclined his head to Red.
Red shook his head. “I did what any man would have done.”
“Father, brothers, I’d like you to meet Red. He stepped in to save me from those men and was willing to kill to protect me. Red this is my Father, Caderyn. Father, if you grant it, I would like to stay here with him.”
“No, Snow, you are too fragile for the mortal world.”
“I will remain so if I am always living in your shadow. I need to learn to do things on my own, and I can’t do that back home. Please, Father. I just want to try living here with Red.”
Caderyn looked Red up and down. “He is but a mortal, Snow. He is not one of us, and therefore cannot protect you like you need. You are only a halfling, after all.”
“I’m a halfling because you fell in love with a mortal. Please, Father, let me love Red like you loved my mother. He will protect me, and if at any time I feel like he can’t, then I will return home.”
Caderyn looked from Snow to his sons “If your brothers are in agreement, then you may stay.”
“Oh brother, I will miss you.” Kailen hugged Snow close.
“Is this what you truly want, Snow?” Sindri asked.
“Very much so.”
“You know how to find us if you want us.” Xanthro gave his brother a hug.
Caderyn nodded. “You know how to return home when you are ready. I am not comfortable leaving you here in the mortal realm, but I guess I have to let you live among your mother’s people to fully understand the dangers of them.”
Snow hugged his father close. “Thank you, Father.
Red stepped forward. “I promise to protect him with my life.”
Caderyn leveled a glare at the man. “You’d better.”
The Pooka turned back into horses. Giving them and the house one last look, they turned and galloped into the trees.
“I mean it, you know.”
Snow kissed his human. “I know you do. Now let’s go in and have supper so I can have you for dessert.”
THE HAUNTED PUB
TAVISH LEE
A few years back, my grandfather sat down with me on his birthday and shared a box of family heirlooms, including a whole sheaf of documents and old photos. It would be important, he said, for someone to keep the memories alive in case anything ever happened to him. Ever since, genealogy’s been my hobby. When I had the chance to take a long summer vacation, I didn’t hesitate. I booked a trip to Ireland and the tiny village where my great grandparents, and generations of Doyles before them, had been hatched, matched, and dispatched.
Of course, I experienced a bit of culture shock at first. Things still moved slowly in that part of the country, and the people were still as old-fashioned as my ancestors probably were. During the day, I pursued my research in graveyards and parish registers. At night, I hung around in the Bell and Whistle, a local pub where I’d rented a room, adjusting to strong Irish beer and perfecting my dart game.
I was making a typically late night of it at the pub when I met Malcolm. Back in the States, he would probably have been a typical college student, though there wasn’t anything typical about his looks—longish black hair, unblemished pale skin, and startling sea-blue eyes. In that little town, he was stuck in a life that probably seemed perfectly comfortable to him, but seemed hopelessly boring by modern American standards.
He was standing off in the corner when I first saw him, watching the snooker players get steadily drunker and argue over their missed shots. For whatever reason, he wasn’t speaking or interacting with them at all. He didn’t seem the least bit interested in the female patrons who occasionally walked by him, either, nor did they act like he was even there at all. Instead, his gaze was fixed straight ahead, over at the table where I was sipping my pint. I could tell from the way he looked at me where his real interests lay.
That gave me the perfect opening. Taking a chance that he’d welcome the gesture, I flashed him a quick, come-hither smile. A moment later, he was sliding into the seat across from me. I blinked, amazed at the power of what I was drinking. He’d moved so stealthily—or my senses were getting so clouded by fine Irish alcohol—that I hadn’t even registered his movement across the room. Yet here he was, smirking at me with those plush, rosy lips that would have looked a touch feminine if not for the sexy dark stubble around them. I tried to counter with what I considered my sexiest grin.
I noticed that Malcolm wasn’t drinking anything—unusual in a place like this, but maybe he was expecting me to buy him a couple of rounds. When I pointed at my glass and raised a brow, though, he shook his head.
“You’re new here,” he said. His accent sent a bolt of excitement straight to my crotch.
“In a way,” I admitted. “I’m visiting from America. My family’s from this village. They go way back. My name’s William Doyle, by the way.”
“Me name’s Malcolm. Mal to me friends, in whose number I’d be happy to include you.”
I found myself charmed by his quaint way of expressing himself. Stepping into this village really was like stepping back in time. I wouldn’t have wanted to live in the hardscrabble days of my ancestors, when famines and influenza carried off entire families in a single season. Still, simpler times were nice to visit in one’s imagination. And Malcolm would have been a pleasant sight in any decade.
He seemed to be turning something over in his mind. Under a shaggy hank of black hair, his smooth white forehead creased in thought. “Doyle. Aye. I know the Doyles. Sober, hardworking sorts. No time for the likes a’me.” He laughed.
“You know people in this village named Doyle?” I asked, surprised. This presented a new wrinkle. Could I have relatives still in the area? My research thus far had failed to uncover any, and I understood that everyone who had still been alive at the time had gone to America with my grandpa. Maybe I’d missed something, though Doyle was certainly a common enough name on the Emerald Isle.
“Well, only one at the moment,” he said, winking. “Fortunately, that one’s enough to keep me interested for now. And I suspect he’s willing to make some time for me.”
This disarmed me further. Talk about the luck of the Irish, though! I couldn’t have imagined a more ideal prospect for a vacation fling. The guy was gorgeous, authentically Irish, and apparently knew how to push another m
an’s hot buttons—with the emphasis on ‘hot.’
“You’re right about that. So you want to hang out a while, Malcolm? I can tell you all about the States. Who knows? Maybe you’ll want to visit there sometime. This way you’ll know what to expect.”
“I’ll never visit the States,” he said with a somewhat wistful sigh. “This is me place, me home.”
“You never know,” I pressed. “A couple of years ago I would have never pictured myself coming to Ireland to poke through old graveyards and churches, but here I am. Life takes us in unexpected directions sometimes.”
“You have a liking for graveyards?” He laughed again, but this time I imagined I felt a cold draft across the back of my neck. He assumed a dramatic pose with one hand in the air. “‘The grave’s a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace.’”
Andrew Marvell, I thought. I recognized the poem from college English class. Good to know my expensive education came in handy for picking up guys in foreign bars. They’d never mentioned that in class. I probably would have paid more attention if they had.
“I take it you’re interested in embracing, then?” I ventured.
“Aye.” His smile was an invitation, but somehow it held a hint of sadness, too. I figured that in a small village like this, he was not only stuck in a dead-end menial job of some kind, but also a dead-end role as a dutiful heterosexual. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt another man’s arms around me, William.”
“I know what that’s like,” I said, also growing serious for a moment. “It’s been a while for me, too.”
“Not as long as it’s been for me,” he said. I had no idea how he could know enough about me to say that after ten minutes of conversation, but I decided to roll with it. So he was a melancholy type—that made him sexier, in a way.
“I’m renting a room upstairs,” I said. My voice shook as I realized where this was going. It had been a fast journey, but nothing had ever felt so right. It seemed like I’d known Malcolm all my life somehow. No doubt the alcohol and the whole vacation atmosphere had loosened my inhibitions. Still, why resist the inevitable? We wanted each other and there was nothing stopping us from expressing that.
Suddenly he laid a hand on my arm. “I shouldn’t go upstairs with you at this hour,” he whispered. The charming lilt of his accent alone was enough to get my cock up in my shorts. The touch of his long fingers had me practically spurting right there at the table! “People around here, they tend to enjoy gossip.”
His words delighted me, since it meant that something might happen that people could gossip about. “Good point. Why don’t we take a walk together instead?”
He nodded. “All right.”
We headed up a dirt road past long stretches of the vast, rolling fields the Emerald Isle is famous for. The moon was so bright that after a while I could see almost perfectly in the dark. It was like magic—the magic of this amazing place, I guessed. There seemed to be a lot of that in the air here.
When we were far enough out, I motioned him to a seat on a conveniently placed boulder inside a clump of gnarly trees. He sucked back a jittery breath as I crouched down in front of him and stroked my fingers over his button fly. I noticed that his trousers looked strangely old-fashioned, just like the rest of his outfit—the white shirt with a banded collar and the tweed vest—but somehow it just made the whole thing that much more Irish. Did he make a habit of picking up tourists? I got the sense he’d been through all this before, whatever he’d said about it being a long time. His routine just seemed a wee bit too practiced, so to speak.
“It’s okay,” I said in a soothing voice. “No one can see us out here—and I know you’ve been thinking about this.”
“I can’t deny it,” he whispered. “But you know that the lads around here...well, they’d never go in for this kind of thing.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “You might be surprised. But I think I get your drift—you’ve never been sucked off by a guy before, right?”
“Or a girl either,” he whimpered, looking utterly miserable. “Truth is, I’ve never done a thing—not outside me own mind, anyway.”
With one hand still on his crotch, I reached up and smoothed my fingers through his dark, unruly bangs. I wasn’t really buying the innocent act, either, but what was the harm in a little role-playing? “Malcolm, buddy, you just leave everything to me. Trust me, I was in the same position once.”
While I spoke, I gently eased open the buttons of his fly one at a time and pushed the flaps of his boxer shorts—again, a strangely outdated style I’d never seen before—to one side. Reaching inside, I fondled his soft, hair-covered balls and felt the outline of a thick, stiffening boner. It was uncut, like most cocks on this side of the Atlantic.
“You must have tried this before, right?” I asked as I tickled his shaft with my fingers. “With your own hands, I mean.”
Malcolm gulped and shook his head. “I tried a couple of times—but I was too afraid someone would catch me. I’ve always shared a room with me brothers—and in these parts, that sort of thing...well, it’s considered a terrible sin.”
“The only thing sinful about it is how good it feels,” I assured him. “And as long as you’re okay with it, to my mind you don’t have to answer to another living soul.”
Then, while Malcolm sat there frozen—I couldn’t tell whether it was from fear or overwhelming excitement—I hauled his family jewels out into the warm night air.
He didn’t protest as I started a quick jerking rhythm on his shaft, rubbing the loose sheath of foreskin over the hard core beneath. At the same time, I used my thumb to diddle the well-defined ridge of Malcolm’s bulging dome.
Needless to say, that wild Irish lad was enthralled by my smooth American handiwork. In no time at all he was writhing and thrashing around in my grip, twisting and turning his cock to step up the friction. Sure enough, I could feel his cock get as hard as a tire iron and his ballsac bloat up as it filled with hot cum. I went further then, pulling the whole foreskin up and over his swollen bulb, then pushing it back down to expose that red-hot cherry.
The purplish veins in his shank became more prominent as his blood rushed through his main vein and stretched his foreskin to its limits. My grip on him became more urgent, and I jerked at a furious pace. Malcolm’s slim hips pushed forward to greet my hand’s feverish action. My ass muscles clenched in anticipation as I felt his orgasm build. With my left hand I clamped down on his sweaty balls, molding them in my grasp like fresh clay.
It got to him even faster than I’d expected. “Can’t—can’t hold back,” he grunted, hunching his hips back and forth as the storm overtook his whole body. The words had barely left his mouth when the first spurts of jizz exploded from his cockhead.
Though I hadn’t really planned for him to erupt so soon, I made the best of it. Hastily I clamped my whole fist around him and pumped as hard and fast as I could, siphoning off enough Irish cream to smear my hand, arm, and half my shirt sleeve. Malcolm was still slamming his ass up and down on the rock even after his well had run dry. He was totally consumed by his orgasm, which was one of the wildest I’d ever seen. Nothing like a repressed country lad to show the rest of us how it should always be done, I guess.
He was still lying there panting when I stood up, grabbed a condom from my pants pocket, and stripped from the waist down. He didn’t say a word when I pulled off his own boots and trousers, then peeled his cum-spattered boxer shorts down over his thighs.
“If you thought that was good, wait till you try this,” I said, easing him onto his back on the ground. He was wide-eyed, totally focused on my every move. That included not only my hands, but my aching 10-incher as well. In two throbs of my nuts, I had myself slicked down in American rubber. Malcolm stared like he’d never seen a rubber before. Hell, for all I knew, they were so backward in this place they didn’t use them.
Next, I settled down alongside Malcolm in a 69 positio
n. He was looking nervous again, so I decided to relax him by playing with his cock. Since it was already three-quarters hard again, I didn’t have much trouble stimulating it in all the right places.
Finally, I wrapped my fingers tight around his shank and guided his virgin boner to my lips. He whimpered in delight, and I could see that he was biting his own lips so that he wouldn’t cry out in raw lust. Quickly, I gave him some help in that department by plugging his mouth up with my own eager cock.
Never flinching, Malcolm wound his tongue around my shaft like he was attacking the neck of beer bottle. He had one of the wettest mouths I’d ever felt, and warm saliva gushed down my thighs and nuts while he slurped and gulped my cocktip and shaft. I reacted by thrusting my hips roughly into his mouth and driving myself inside his throat a couple of inches at a time.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure how to pace himself yet, and my length reached the back of his throat almost immediately. He gagged and gasped for breath, forcing me to pull back. To his credit, though, he didn’t give up. In a flash he was munching on my meat again, dragging me back down into the fiery depths of his cock-hungry gullet.
Unable to hold back any longer, I got a tight grip on his dick and tilted it between my lips. Malcolm groaned as I squeezed his cock between the flat of my tongue and the roof of his mouth. He made small spasmodic pushes with his hips, and his groin rose to meet my mouth-strokes.
Again I could feel that hot Irish blood whirling through his bloated cock, filling him to the brim with lust. As he grew closer to a second orgasm, Malcolm’s ragged movements quickened along with his breathing.
Meanwhile, my cock was still lodged halfway between his tongue tip and his tonsils. As a torrent of cum gathered in my own balls, I fucked his mouth with every ounce of my energy. I knew I had to make my move soon or I was going to waste my load.
Reluctantly I pulled out. “Kneel, Malcolm. I’ll—I’ll try to go slow, I promise.” My words came out in wheeze.