The Brotherhood: Amour Magique

by Willa Okati

  “You are a horn dog,” the young Asian man retorted. His arms overflowed with boxes. “I drew the short straw.”

  “There is nothing short about me.”

  “So you say. Ninety-three ninety, please.”

  “Ninety-three -- David, how much food did you order?” Micah turned, hands on his hips. “It’s obvious you don’t care, but some of us are watching our figures.”

  David blushed a deep, dusky red. “I just wanted to get enough --”

  “You got enough, all right. Lose about ten, and maybe you’d get something else, too.”

  “Gentlemen!”

  “All right, all right.” Micah folded his arms. “I’m not paying for all this myself, men. Pony up the cash.” All around the room, men dug into their pockets. David produced a twenty and handed it over, his cheeks still pink. Micah snatched all the cash, counting it with a quick hand before passing over a hundred dollars. He riffled the bills in front of Hwong’s eyes, letting him count the cash, before cracking a nasty smile and slipping the money into the delivery boy’s front pants pocket.

  His fingers lingered.

  “Why, Hwong, do I feel a spring roll in there?”

  “Your touch would make bamboo soft.”

  “Prick!”

  “Yes. But not on the market for one such as yourself.”

  “Fuck you.” Micah jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned. “Keep the change.”

  Hwong Li regarded him disdainfully. “Shitty tip.”

  “You want a tip? Don’t insult me next time.”

  “Aw, come on,” the youngest of their group piped up. “Hwong’s a hottie. Treat him with the r-e-s-p-e-c-t a sister, uh, brother deserves.”

  Hwong glanced past Micah. “Hello, Christian. Got a kiss for me?”

  “You bet.” Christian dug into the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt and pulled out a handful of chocolate drops. He unwrapped them. “Here, catch!”

  Hwong did a nifty little seal impersonation and snaffled every treat in his mouth as they flew through the air.

  “Someday, I’ll give you the real thing,” Christian teased.

  “You wish you were so lucky.” Hwong stuffed the boxes of food into Micah’s arms, leaving him no choice but to grab them or drop them. “Night, ladies.”

  “Asshole!”

  “No, that’s your specialty.” Hwong turned and walked away.

  Micah kicked the door shut and moved somewhat awkwardly toward the table in the center of the circle they’d sat in earlier. “Does someone want to help me with this? Simon? Laurence? Bree?”

  “Nope!”

  “You’re on your own.”

  “No way.”

  “You’ll sure as hell eat it, though.” Micah dumped the boxes down. “Fine, then. Chow down, but leave me the plain white rice.” He patted his flat stomach. “I don’t want to get a pot belly.”

  “You’re in about as much danger of getting fat as you are of getting anything else,” Alex said bluntly as he flopped down in a chair and reached for a container marked Lemongrass Chicken Special. “Pot, kettle, black?”

  “I don’t see you bragging about your conquests.” Micah’s voice was prickly.

  “Honestly! Hwong wasn’t far wrong in calling you ladies. Quentin, you and Harrison get the beer and wine. The rest of you, sit.”

  “Aye, aye, Simon!”

  Micah sat in the middle of a buttery-soft leather couch and crossed his legs. “I think you’re all carrying this whole Brotherhood thing too far ... or not far enough. Help each other out, everyone doing their part ... then it all lands on someone like me.”

  A slight, lithe, curly-haired man who had not spoken as yet murmured: “You need each other, Micah. Such is the purpose to this group.” He toyed with a blue crystal that dangled from a chain around his neck. “Even you need these others, deny it as you will.”

  Micah regarded the man with distaste. “All I need, Liam, is one good night on the town with a decent fuck who knows how to treat a man.”

  A youngish, multi-pierced man flopped down on the couch beside them. “You want a man who’ll treat you like a god.”

  “So what if I do?” Micah retorted. “You just want anyone who knows how to make the bedsprings bounce, Bree.”

  “Yeah, and?” Bree reached for some extra-spicy General Tso’s. “At least it’s been less than a year for me.”

  “Not by much.”

  “Liar, liar, pants not on fire.”

  Simon sighed and rolled his eyes to heaven. “Enough! No one else says a word until we’ve eaten. I invoke Brotherhood Head status.”

  “Yeah, you wish you could get some head,” Bree muttered.

  However, despite his defiance, he fell silent, as did the rest of the men. Falling into place on chairs, divans, and sofas, they dug into the hot Asian food. Small moaning noises of pleasure filled the air as rich spices and tangy flavors crossed eager tongues, and sighs of satisfaction were heard as one or another discovered a favorite among the boxes and cartons. Even David, picking at white rice himself, found the courage to reach for a packet of soy sauce and then, with a shy glance up, took a vegetarian egg roll.

  As the members of the Brotherhood ate, Liam picked daintily at a dish of cashew chicken and watched each man closely. He did not require food, not as such, but took pleasure in eating with his Brotherhood. They found so much delight in their weekly feasts, bitch though they might about waistlines. He did wish they would leave David alone, though. He might be the slightest bit plump, but certainly not fat, as Micah would have him, and his softness only made him all the more delectable.

  Micah, on the other hand, was over-tall and far too whipcord-lean to be to Liam’s taste. But that is the irony and joy of it, is it not? Liam thought. For everyone, there is someone to appreciate them. These men have all been far too long without the reverence due those of their worth.

  I will show them the path back to sexual triumph and the satisfaction of conquest, Lilith willing. But I must tread carefully, and mark out my way step by step ...

  He continued to watch. Finishing their entrees, the men reached for one final, cold box. It would seem David had ordered ices -- a specialty of that particular restaurant -- to go with their meal. It catered perhaps too much to American tastes, rather than the finer hallmarks of true Asian cuisine, but they made a fortune on their desserts. The ices, served in small cups, were rich and creamy, drizzled in exotic syrups that not even Micah, after some wavering, could resist. Renewed moans and murmurs of appreciation were heard as spoons dipped into the smooth, sweet treats and were savored in eager mouths. In delectable contrast, several men also reached for hot, sugary doughnuts, blending the tastes and textures.

  Liam took for himself a vanilla-flavored ice covered in rose syrup and savored it, bit by bit. He laughed a little to himself at the choice of vanilla for a creature such as he, but it made an excellent base for the rich rose. Sweet and smooth, with just a tang of honey, it flowed over his tongue. Truly, there could be nothing finer, except perhaps the come from a man who lived on fruit alone. In his many years, he had tasted such nectar on occasion and found it to be the best dessert of all.

  Still, the food was not his primary concern. Watching the others took precedence.

  Spiky Bree, all youth and exuberance.

  Tall, massively dignified Collin, still immaculate in his business suit from a hard day’s work, looking a little irritated, as ever, at having to leave his beloved office for a meeting of the Brotherhood. He only came because his therapist had ordered him to develop social contacts outside of work.

  Disheveled Quentin, his hair tousled in wild bed-head that he’d likely not bothered to comb save for with his fingers, sexy in a sort of devil-may-care way.

  Simon, neat and cool as his apartment, but tough as -- how did they say? -- nails.

  Laurence, vulnerable beneath his shell of bravado.

  Micah, truly a bitch among man-bitches, but with a core of softness buried deep down -- ver
y deep down, Liam decided.

  Soft David, who would be ever so kissable if he lost his shyness and showed himself off as the prize he was.

  Sober, solemn Allen, and cold but beautiful Alex, uncle and nephew, who shared a slight hard-jawed, dark-blond resemblance save for Alex’s thin, wire-framed glasses.

  Christian, youngest of all, so very innocent, and Harrison, hard with cynicism.

  The Brotherhood. His Brotherhood, Liam’s chosen group of friends. Gathered together, standing proud against a heterosexually oriented world, these “gay” men joined as a unit to celebrate their sexuality and their bond of kinship. It had taken him a little work to join their ranks, but, ah, it had been worth it. Most of these men had come together after Simon, a lawyer, had defended them in court against too-rough or financially cheating lovers who had done them wrong. Liam had had to come in by word of mouth and a slight use of the magics he had at hand. After all, no man dared harm him, unless he asked for it ever so prettily, with a pouting mouth and eyes that sparkled and dared any man to mark him.

  With his Brotherhood, he kept his powers carefully concealed. He came to them for friendship, not a group of conquests, though at times he toyed with the idea of seeing Micah begging at his feet, or watching proud Collin between his legs, sucking him off and swallowing down his come as if it tasted far better than any butternut ice with maple syrup. And yet again, he thought of gently undressing David, kissing every soft inch of him, petting his lovely body until he felt as worshiped as he deserved to be.

  But no, no. Satisfying as he sometimes thought sampling the Brotherhood might be, he needed them far more as friends. Without friends, even an incubus became ... lonely. Sex fulfilled but one need of a man, after all. Having lived millennia, Liam had become acutely aware of his need for companionship in addition to sex, although he thrived on a nightly diet of fucking and being fucked, plunging into another man’s tight channel or having fingers and cocks deep inside him. He fed his powers, and lived on from day to day, but he came here with equal passion and interest, cherishing the time all the more for its difference.

  However, as he had spent time with these men, this Brotherhood, he had noticed that despite their attractiveness, not one of them had enjoyed sex in quite a long time. Bad luck, or simply a dry spell? Liam didn’t know. What he did know was that he could do something about it. He had traded one of Lilith’s Tears, identical to the one he wore around his neck to mark him as an incubus, for a chance to give these men a night that would transcend their most exotic and erotic fantasies. All that remained now would be to convince them. Soon, soon, he would set out to do just that ...

  Liam finished his ice and slid the cup onto the table with the rest of the feast’s remnants just as Simon did the same. A few men held on to their portions, savoring them, but for all intents and purposes, the feast was done. “There,” Simon said, looking almost as happy as if he’d just been well fucked.

  “Good job, David.”

  David smiled shyly. “Thanks,” he mumbled into his own ice, plain, with no syrup. “I tried.”

  “You did a fine job. Didn’t he, men?”

  A mumbled chorus of approval went up from mouths still busy relishing their treats, along with casual cheers from those who were already satisfied.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Simon said, leaning forward. “Should we keep David in charge of food? Micah notwithstanding, we eat best on the nights when he takes care of it. We can afford it. It’s our one treat each week. I vote yes. What do you say?”

  More than half the hands of the men went up. Micah folded his beneath his arms and looked scornful, but he was ignored.

  “So let it be done. That is, if you’re willing, David?”

  David looked a little panicked, but nodded. Micah let out a small puff of disgust -- but Liam was grimly satisfied to note he kept his opinions to himself. If he had said one more word about David, Liam might have been forced to let out his own thoughts on the matter, and there might have been a fight.

  All men were to be savored. Not just those who suited one’s individual taste. That, too, was a lesson he intended to teach the Brotherhood. There were creatures beyond their ken who also longed for love; things “out of this world” that they did not dream of, who could provide them with what they needed ... ached for ... yearned after. Mortals had hardly served them well, had they? In his opinion, it was time to move on. Yes, move on ... to Freaks.

  The name had come into use only recently, perhaps in the last ten years, but Liam had adopted it himself, with good nature. Like carnival folk, those creatures that walked the night or lived outside human society used the name to bind themselves together in a unit. Instead of the disparate collection of vampires, werewolves, selkies, elves, and demons they had once been, now they were a group, united together in the search to find love and acceptance.

  Two groups, both in search of a good time and an even better fuck. What better match could there have been? None, in Liam’s opinion.

  Perhaps it was time to broach the idea with them, then, before Simon started in on the night’s business. Yes, while they were full and contented, they would be most approachable. More open to his suggestions.

  He generally remained quiet during their meetings, so there were some surprised glances when he leaned forward and plucked a candle from its holder, signifying his request for all attention to be directed at him. Simon raised one plucked eyebrow. “Liam?” he asked in mild curiosity. “You have something to say?”

  “I do,” Liam replied, voice grave. “I have something to discuss with you.”

  Simon spread his hands; the Brotherhood leaned forward in curiosity. “By all means, then,” he said.

  Liam let himself smile. “Have you, any of you, heard of the new club Amour Magique?”

  Silence.

  Then, to his dismay, guffaws broke out around the circle.

  “Amour Magique? You’re kidding me!” Micah hooted. “Full of wannabes and techno music that makes you cry for a decent melody.”

  “Packed with pretty boys looking for even prettier boys.” Quentin added.

  “I’ve heard the guys who go there only have one thing in mind,” Laurence added. “Just one thing.” He nodded.

  The group fell silent. Feet shuffled.

  Simon cleared his throat. “Was there a reason you brought this up, Liam? Surely you don’t want us to go there, do you? From what I’ve heard, they look the other way when it comes to carding, and they have illegal sex parties. The Brotherhood isn’t about tawdry sexcapades and seeking out places where all one does is fornicate. We’re here to support each other in our everyday lives, not go out and have a wild time.”

  “But --”

  “I think we shouldn’t discuss this anymore,” Simon said, gently but firmly. “Put your candle back, Liam. Now, who’s willing to help me clean up all this mess?”

  The men groaned. “God forbid your museum of a condo should be tainted by a carton sitting out two seconds too long,” Bree sniped. Still, he moved to grab some boxes -- after a quick, curious look at Liam.

  Deeply surprised, Liam sat back in his chair. To be shot down so? This, he had not expected. Indeed, he had not been the target of derision in, well, centuries. The lonely men of the group should have leapt upon his plan and should even now be discussing it eagerly.

  Instead, they gave him sideways looks and cleared a glass table of Chinese leftovers. Well. Liam shook his head minutely. He hadn’t traded Lilith’s Tear only to fail. Nothing could resist the power of an incubus, and he would have his way.

  He’d get these men to discuss the club sooner or later. Sooner, if he had his way. More, he would have them agreeing to go there and have a night filled with the fantasy, magic, and enchantment they so desperately needed to spark up their lives.

  Yes, so he would. Liam tugged at his own necklace. Perhaps he should lower his shields, just a bit, and use a little magic of his own ...

  Chapter Three

  An hour lat
er, Liam had become -- as members of the Brotherhood would have put it -- thoroughly pissed off. They seemed actually content to sit at home while an entire world waited for them to seize it by the cock and balls! How such men, radiating vast levels of sexual need and frustration, could merely sit around and chat was beyond him.

  He watched in baffled amazement as they sat in a circle. Each had a drink in his hand, from a frosted mug of imported beer to a goblet of wine to a shot glass of hard liquor. Liam had abstained, as he tended to do except when conducting business with those like the owner of Amour Magique. Drink was part of an ancient ritual for making deals, although, sadly, many had forgotten the tradition.

  “Okay,” Quentin said, rolling the last few ounces of beer around in his stein. “Time to share, my friends. Who got any this week?”

  Silence. Liam groaned to himself. The abashed looks on the faces around him, and even Micah’s faint twitch, told the tale all too well. He kept silent, deciding that if he spoke up with the tales of an orgy on Tuesday and a serial fucking at an S & M dungeon he’d liked so much that he’d gone once on Wednesday, then again on Thursday, he might not be so well received.

  Honestly! No less should be expected of an incubus, but these men should have more company for their cocks than a tube of something slippery and their strong dominant hands. If they would only listen to him ...

  “Yeah, me, neither.” Quentin drained his beer. “Well, that’s depressing as all hell, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not like I couldn’t get plenty if I wanted it,” Micah defended himself. “I just choose to be selective.”

  “Yeah, right. You and what other queens? You’re not royalty, you know. You’re as desperate as the rest of us, even if you think you’re above it all.” Quentin leaned forward in his chair. “Matter of fact, you’d probably do me if I came up on you and let my fingers do the walking.”

  “In your wildest dreams!” Micah scoffed. “Simon, I think this conversation is getting decidedly low class.”

  Simon cleared his throat, shifting a little. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Shall we go around the circle as usual, then? Anyone have a topic of discussion for tonight that doesn’t, well, involve attacking one another?”