Something Wicked

by Robin Moray

  "Toe-curling?" she teased.

  "I don't even know what that means. Is it clenching your feet?"

  "I suppose?"

  "Don't remember, then." He shivered, remembering Peter's hands on him, those lips at his throat. Then he grinned, because, well. "I did make it snow."

  "You did, you fiend. But you have to be careful, Kevin," she chided. "It's always a bit dangerous, sex. But with someone who isn't a witch, especially so. That … hasn't happened before, has it?"

  "No," Kevin sighed, "and I know, and it's not a problem, normally, but … the way he drinks my magic, it just brings everything to the surface. I can't keep it down, it just reaches for him, I don't know."

  "Sort of … filling his gaps?"

  Kevin groaned. "Don't say things like that!"

  "But that's what it is." Her tone turned entirely serious. "He draws on you, you fill him. Vampiric, almost."

  "It's not like that!"

  "When we got there you were drained all the way down. It's unhealthy."

  "Because he drained me, but that was, that was after. That was on purpose, because he knew by then. It's not the same."

  "If he hurts you—"

  "He didn't hurt me."

  "Just your feelings, then?"

  Kevin swallowed, draping an arm over his eyes like a shield. "Yeah. And that was my own fault. I knew what I was doing."

  "I know you know. That's the problem."

  He rolled over, ignoring her. She put a hand on his back, rubbing gently, her magic already less of an irritation but still discomforting, and after that she was quiet.

  Kevin didn't know he'd fallen asleep until he woke up, standing alone on a road in the woods. It was dark, stars and a gibbous moon overhead, dirt and rocks beneath his feet. Where the hell … ?

  But he knew. Most of the way back into town, on a lonely road through the trees, half an hour's walk from the cottage or close enough. By himself, in the woods, and shit, no, he shouldn't be here, not alone.

  He shivered, clutching his bare chest. Sweatpants and no shirt were no good for walking through the countryside at night, but at least he'd managed to cram on his shoes in his sleep. Socks too, though the shoes were badly tied and the socks, when he bent down to fix his laces, didn't match. Typical.

  It was so cold. He looked up; the angle of the moon told him … well, honestly not a lot, but it was after midnight, hours yet til dawn, and fuck, if the warlock found him now he'd be toast, just a charred grease-spot on the ground if she wanted.

  He should go back. He should, but he was closer to town than the cottage and … and Peter was out there. Kevin could feel him, could feel the tug that had clearly led him here, and suddenly he knew where he wanted to be. Needed. Not wanted, he needed to see Peter, needed to … what? Explain? How could he possibly? Peter knew the important bits, though when Kevin considered it maybe he didn't know the really important bits. Like how Kevin felt. And how sorry he was.

  An owl screeched at him; it was a barn owl, yelling, "Fuck off," into the night, but knowing that didn't make it any less startling. He needed to get out of here, either back to Nanna's or towards Peter.

  The decision made itself, his feet picking up and moving of themselves, dragging him down the road into town. This was a bad idea, he told himself, a completely terrible idea, but he kept on with it, all the way to the highway, through the outskirts of town, then around the back of the motel and along the walk, letting his intuition and his magic guide him right up to a door. That he needed to knock on. He should. Ugh, what was he doing?

  When he did the door opened almost at once and—

  Peter was soft in the lamplight spilling out of the room, all his features muted, cast in shadow. He didn't look surprised, exactly. Something else, his mouth open and his eyes wide with what could only be concern.

  "Kevin!" He stared, a hand going up and then jerking back into a fist against his belly. "What are you … why are you … where's your shirt?"

  Kevin shivered, head to toe, and stammered, "D-don't know. Can I c-come in?"

  Peter stepped off at once, swinging the door wide and closing it again behind him. Then he yanked a comforter up off a bed, wrapping it around Kevin's shoulders and pulling him up close, rubbing his hands along the outline of Kevin's arms with a sort of wild desperation that Kevin shouldn't have read anything into and tried not to. "Good grief, you're like ice. What are you doing here? How did you—"

  "I kn-new you were here," Kevin told him, feeling stupid now, but so grateful for the warmth. "I wanted to see you."

  And Peter stared at him, and his expression was not harsh, was instead sorrowful, regretful. "Did you walk here? In the cold, oh …" His hands tightened on Kevin's arms. "Why would you?"

  "I needed you," Kevin said, meaning it, wishing Peter would understand but thinking, How could he? He can't even. I'm so stupid.

  But Peter sighed, arms gone around Kevin's body like … like nothing Kevin had ever known. "Come here," he said, squeezing. "Warm up. For God's sake, you're a bloody icicle."

  He let Peter pull him down on the bed, the other one, the one near the door that looked more lived-in than the perfectly-made-up bed he'd dragged the coverlet from. He let Peter hold him, let Peter put his hands under the cover to catch Kevin's, accepted the warmth of them against his skin. His magic snapped back, right back into place, aligning with Peter because Peter was everything. Everything he'd ever wanted, everything he still wanted, oh God …

  It took a little while for him to feel human again, and when he did he felt also foolish. What was he going to say, what would he do now? How could he explain?

  But Peter clung to him, warm and welcome, and Kevin clung back, turning his face into the crook of Peter's neck, feeling so welcome, so wanted, even though he was sure he knew better.

  "I'm sorry," he said at last, and then he tried again, "I'm sorry. I didn't know how much I'd like you, didn't know I'd—" love you. But he couldn't say that. Not yet. Not when it was so new. "I don't know what to do."

  "Neither do I," Peter said, low and fractured. He raised his hands up under Kevin's jaw, caressing him gently, as though he were made of glass. "I think … maybe I did know about you, before. Maybe I ignored it because I … because I wanted to."

  "I shouldn't have kept it from you." He felt so sure about this, so sure about Peter. "I'm sorry, I never meant to do it. I just wanted you. Want you. So fucking much, it makes me feel—"

  Peter leaned in, then, kissing Kevin with a mouth so ripe for it, so delicious, that Kevin had nothing to give him back but a kiss equal to it. Oh, he tasted of minty toothpaste and everything right, and Kevin leaned into him, his magic coming up at once.

  But Peter should have muted it, should have squashed him down or syphoned him off, or whatever he called what he did. He hadn't, didn't, and Kevin tore himself away to stare because … why would Peter not?

  He sat back, tamped his magic down best he could, though it simmered beneath his skin. Still. "Aren't you afraid of me?"

  It meant more than it sounded, should have been a warning, but Peter just … he shook his head, running one hand up to brush Kevin's temple. "No. Not anymore." And then he blushed, colour coming up in spots across his cheeks and down the side of his neck. "I've been thinking. And I concluded that," but he shook his head, almost angry for a moment. "Not so cold," he muttered to himself. Then he took a deep breath, looked up into Kevin's eyes. "I am not afraid of you. I could never be afraid of someone who made me feel so …" and he trailed off, looking away. Kevin tangled a hand with Peter's, felt out his palm, tipped his fingertips up to trace the flesh against his own. Peter looked up again, eyes warm and lost. Oh, how Kevin wanted to find him. "Good God. I want you. I don't understand it, but it's true."

  "Then it's okay." Kevin took a breath, let it go, put both of hands up against the tight muscles of Peter's belly. "I want you too." His fingers curled, despite him, feeling Peter out through the fabric. "Can I have you, tonight? Just this once, all I
want is," forever, "just this one time."

  "Yes." Oh, his eyes. Kevin could fall into them—could? Must. So he did.

  Chapter 13

  Just this once. Peter stroked his thumb along Kevin's cheek, against the velvet of his skin, fingers light-pressed to his jaw. Kevin's eyes were bright, almost glowing in the dimness of the room. Peter ran the pad of that thumb along the fullness of Kevin's lip and Kevin opened his mouth to press his tongue against Peter's flesh. Just this one time.

  But Peter didn't want only one time, he wanted every time, and the force of it took him hard, so he bent his head to catch Kevin's lip between his own, kissed him slow and deep, trying to make him feel it too.

  If I could keep you, I would be good to you, I swear it. If you'd have me.

  And if all he could have was this, just one time, then he would take that instead, because it may be bittersweet but it was also too wonderful to lose.

  Kevin sighed into his mouth, tension bleeding out of him, his hands smoothing along the sensitive flesh of Peter's chest, nails scraping delicately through the cloth of his undershirt. Those hands dipped down, hooking into the waist of Peter's pants, fingertips under the elastic, and the boldness of it lit trails of heat on Peter's skin. He broke away, despite Kevin's wordless protest, taking up the collar of his shirt and pulling it up, off, over his head. He dropped it to the floor and flattened a palm to the centre of Kevin's broad, muscular chest, his other hand curling about the nape of Kevin's neck to haul him in.

  Kevin groaned, mouth open, yielding himself up to be kissed, and the tangy pulse of magic against Peter's tongue made him gasp. He could not help himself; he swallowed the magic, Kevin's essence, so quintessentially him that Peter felt he would know it anywhere. But he forced himself to stop, forced himself to pull away, though the taste of it lingered in his mouth, melting into his sorry flesh like a balm.

  "I mustn't," he said, into Kevin's startled expression. "I must not take of you like that."

  But Kevin seemed bewildered by this. "Why? You want it. And it was good last time, wasn't it? You're always drawing on me like that."

  It was a shameful accusation, though not framed as one. Peter shook his head, wretched in his own guilt because Kevin spoke only the truth. "I should not have. Please, forgive me, I … it is difficult to resist, when you," taste so very sweet, "when the magic is there, and so close."

  "Why shouldn't you? If I want you to."

  Peter tried his best not to be comforted by that, and shook his head, schooling himself to refuse the offer. "You don't understand. I could drain you dry. I could hurt you." And I will not, I swear.

  "You already did drain me dry," Kevin pointed out, knotting his hands in the band of Peter's pants, tugging them down to expose his hips and the flourish of hair low on his belly. "You didn't hurt me, though. Not really."

  "I could have." How awful it was to admit it.

  "But you didn't. And you could hurt me anyway, even without that." He grinned. "Bet you could beat me in a fistfight."

  "I would never hit you," Peter protested, and Kevin's expression twisted into contrition, as though he regretted saying it at all.

  "I know, but … you could hurt me. In bed. If you were rough about it, you could hurt me, easy."

  "I would not," Peter promised, knowing he would never. "Kevin, I wouldn't."

  "And you won't hurt me by taking my magic, either." He licked his lips, those devastating eyes coming up to blink at Peter, so innocently. "I want you to. And you should, because if you don't, then," and he shrugged, suddenly embarrassed, "then who knows if it'll be worse than snow, this time." It must have been clear that Peter did not understand because Kevin shifted, shy and awkward, before trying to explain. "When I'm near you, when you draw on me, the magic just comes. I don't mean to, it just does it by itself, like … like it's trying to fill me back up, because it wants me to give it to you. And, if you don't take it, I'm just full, and I can't … shit." He unlatched a hand to drag it over his face. "I can control it, normally, but if I overflow and there's nowhere for the magic to go it'll just flare-off. It has to go somewhere. If I don't use it then it tries to earth itself."

  Peter thought he might understand. "Like lightning."

  "Yeah." Kevin looked relieved, and he smoothed his hand down Peter's chest, trailing magic on his skin. "So, please. Just take it; it's for you, anyway."

  "I shouldn't," Peter said, feeling reckless and wanton but also reluctant because he did want though he should not.

  "Yeah you should," and the twist of his mouth was devious. Peter felt the rise of magic beneath Kevin's skin, and then it butted up against him, insistent and delicious. "Come on. Stop me from losing it, okay?"

  And then Kevin kissed him again, thrusting his tongue and his magic into Peter's mouth and Peter, Lord save him, sucked them both down because he wanted, oh, how he did. He felt the flare of magic in his veins, the bright fire of Kevin's desire tangling with his own, and after that he stopped caring about what he should do, only what he wanted and what Kevin wanted, because it was easy to satisfy both, so very, very easy.

  He pushed Kevin down, coming over to cover him with his body, and the cool shock of Kevin's skin against his own was good and everywhere he touched there was magic to be tasted, to tug on and devour. Kevin gasped, and the sound of it lit something in Peter's flesh, something raw and primal, and he devoured the magic Kevin offered up so easily. Ah, it was so wholesome and right, and Peter let himself revel in it. He tucked his hands into the waist of Kevin's sweatpants, pushing them down around his thighs. Kevin made a surprised sound, and Peter slid down to to drag the useless things around Kevin's ankles before coming up again to mouth at Kevin's cock. Mercy, how good it was, good and clean and thick against Peter's lips, and then how easy to take into his mouth and swallow him.

  Kevin made a high noise, and his magic flared, suddenly bright, and Peter took that too, drinking him up, the taste of his magic and his cock so right that Peter lost himself for a while in the motion of his tongue beneath and the weight of Kevin in his mouth and the flavour of him, delicious in his throat. There, on his knees on the carpet, Kevin's legs thrust wide, the hand that curled in his hair tense and tight but forcing nothing.

  "Fuck," Kevin gasped, and, "Ohhhh, ffffuck," and then, "No, you … . ah!" He went taut, his limbs firm and hard and his heels drumming helplessly against the floor. "No, no, don't! Shit, you'll make me and I don't want to—"

  Peter licked his way free, giddy with the taste of Kevin on his tongue, and leaned back just far enough to blink up at him. "What don't you want?"

  Kevin pushed himself up on one elbow to stare down at Peter, almost completely naked and beautifully brown against the pastel bedcovers. "Don't want to come in your mouth," he panted, eyes gone huge and dark, fingers knotting in Peter's hair. "Can you … d'you want to?"

  Peter wanted everything, but he needed to hear it. "Tell me."

  Kevin made a strangled sound, blinking hard and licking his lips, eyes darting to one side in a way that Peter thought might be self-consciousness. "I … will you fuck me?" He bit his lip, shy and beautiful. "I want you to. Jesus christ, I want you to."

  Peter took a breath, and then another, and then he shook his head. "I need—"

  But Kevin whined, low in his throat. "God, let me do whatever you need, but please," and he broke off, his face contorted in desperation.

  "No, I mean only," Peter reassured him, hands moving over Kevin's thick strong thighs, "I will need things for that. If you can wait."

  Kevin just stared at him, then he nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "If you're not too long, I'll wait for you all my life."

  Peter stared back at him for a moment—did he just quote Oscar Wilde?—but then Kevin slid a hand down to cup himself in his palm, lazily stroking his cock and smirking, and Peter could not find it in himself to think about it. He threw himself at his suitcase, fumbling through the zippered compartments until , yes, there, condoms and some small packet
s of lube. Still in date, thank heaven—it had been so long since he'd thought he'd need anything like this again.

  He turned and—oh. Kevin had kicked off his trainers and his socks, had his bare feet up, braced against the edge of the mattress, knees spread obscenely wide. His stroking was no longer lazy, it was careful, as though he were wary of giving himself too much, too soon. Peter couldn't bear it, climbed up on the bed to kiss Kevin's chest, his neck, his jaw, and claim his mouth again. Kevin moaned, muffled against Peter's tongue, and hooked an ankle around Peter's back. He pulled, trapping Peter between his thighs, thrusting himself up against Peter's hips, and everywhere Peter touched him the magic sparked like tiny jolts of electricity between them.

  "Take off your pants," Kevin pleaded, so Peter did, wriggling out them best he could when Kevin refused to let him go, and then they were naked together, and it was marvellous.

  Peter pulled away, though, despite Kevin's protests, to open a packet of lube and coat his fingers with it. He braced himself over Kevin, reaching down behind him to slide slick between his buttocks, finding him tight and hot below. Mercy, how he keened then, how lovely the sound of him when Peter breached him with a fingertip, how eagerly he bore down, how easily Peter slid into him all the way to the knuckles.

  "Fuck," Kevin gasped, blinking hard, but he dug his heel into Peter's back, encouraging him. "Yeah. Just like that. Ohhh, God, Peter …" It was too much. Peter slid another finger into him, then a third, and the sounds Kevin made went straight to his crotch. When he curled his fingers those sounds hitched up, turning desperate. "God, now, please, will you? I just want you, just do it, fuck, I can't—" and Peter kissed the words out of Kevin's mouth, whispering for him to relax, please, just let him do this.

  But he could not hold out long, not against such earnest entreaties. His hands shook as he rolled on a condom, as he slicked himself, but then he had Kevin spread out on the bed, and then …

  Then. Lord have mercy, Kevin was so warm, so damnably tight, and the little gasps he made as Peter rocked into him sparked in his blood, pulsing in time to the roll of his hips and the warmth of magic bursting on his skin.