Finding Cupid

by Daisy Dexter Dobbs

  Cinnamus gave him a blank look.

  “High Noon. Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly,” Zeb said in way of clarification. When Cinnamus still looked clueless, Zeb added, “He’s a marshal who’s just retired. It’s his wedding day and he finds himself duty-bound to face an old, deadly enemy. His own town refuses to help him. It’s a classic. Cooper won for best actor that year.”

  “Ahhh,” Cinnamus nodded, “a western is a motion picture, a movie.”

  A little gasp escaped Zeb’s lips. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a western, Cinnamus.” Cinnamus shook his head back and forth. “In all your nine hundred some years? I don’t believe it. No John Wayne? No Lone Ranger and Tonto?” Cinnamus offered an oblivious shrug. “I wonder what else you’ve been missing all this time.”

  “I’d love for you to show me,” Cinnamus said with a smile as he toweled off some of the oil. “It’s clear that we each have much to teach and share with the other. Introducing one’s love to new ideas and experiences is one of the greatest joys of a relationship.”

  Relationship. Zeb smiled at the mention of the word. He was in a relationship! He’d been looking, searching, yearning for years for the right man to complete his life. Who would have thought the right man would turn out to be a god? Complete with carnal skills so splendid they were mind-boggling, no less.

  How cruel, how unfair and bone-chilling, to think he would lose his love so soon after finding him.

  “You’re right.” Zeb sighed. “But I doubt we’ll have enough time to familiarize each other with our likes, dislikes and customs before I return home.”

  “What if you didn’t have to return to Earth?” Cinnamus said softly, catching Zeb’s attention just as he swabbed his face with his towel.

  Zeb’s every nerve ending prickled at the delicious, yet implausible, possibility of Cinnamus’ words.

  “You told me earlier how greatly you loved your life on Earth. Would it pain you greatly to leave it behind if it meant we could be together?”

  In a mixture of dubious astonishment, Zeb gaped at Cinnamus, drop-jawed. “I’m tempted to say you’re kidding, but I know damn well you wouldn’t joke about something like this,” he said. His heart raced at the prospect of remaining with Cinnamus.

  “I’ve never been more serious. The agonizing thought of losing my true love after waiting nearly a thousand years for you, Zebulon, is one I can hardly bear.”

  “Oh Cinnamus…”

  “While it’s difficult to imagine leaving my existence here on Olympus for life on Earth, I would gladly do so if it meant I would have you at my side, Zebulon. But I must confess that I would feel most fortunate if you believed you could be comfortable living here instead.”

  Laughter bubbled up from Zeb’s throat. “Cinnamus, I was born to live on Olympus,” he said with assurance. “I mean, I fit in here. With my passion for Greek and Roman mythology, it’s like I’ve been training my entire life to be an Olympian. Everything, the inhabitants, the architecture, the artwork, the food, the clothing, the culture, everything feels like home to me here.”

  He leapt down from the high massage table, taking Cinnamus’ hand in his and stroking it with his thumb. “I love you, Cinnamus. That means I’ll live on Olympus, on Earth, in outer space or in a cardboard box in the gutter if it means sharing my life with you.”

  Cinnamus breathed an audible sigh of relief. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear you say that. I-I’m afraid I boldly took it upon myself to anticipate your positive response and act accordingly.”

  Zeb cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “Here, let me show you,” Cinnamus said, unrolling the scroll and presenting it to Zeb.

  “Council of Deities…” Zeb read aloud as he skimmed along the parchment document with his finger. “The plea of Lula, daughter of Arrius and Venuvia, and Dakin Dronyer, mortal, and the plea of—”

  And then Zeb gasped.

  “Cinnamus, Olympian god, and Zebulon Dronyer, mortal…” His gaze shot up to Cinnamus. “You put our case on the docket?” he asked incredulously. “We’re going to court too?”

  “If that means I’ve entered our request to plead before the council, then the answer is yes.” Cinnamus clasped Zeb’s arms, locking gazes with him. “I hope you don’t mind and that I haven’t overstepped my bounds by acting so rashly, but there was little time, Zebulon. If you didn’t agree, then I would simply have asked the council to cancel the request.”

  “You hope I don’t mind?” Zeb covered his mouth as an excited giggle threatened to burst forth. “Good God, Cinnamus, my head is spinning,” he said, unable to prevent a gush of joyous laughter. “You’ve made me the happiest man on Earth—well, I guess I should amend that to Olympus.” He grinned.

  “Remember, there are no guarantees,” Cinnamus cautioned. “The gods are an unpredictable lot, so be careful not to get too hopeful or excited yet.”

  “Easier said than done,” Zeb informed him. “I’m thrilled, excited and so nervous I could positively swoon at your feet in a dead faint.”

  Cinnamus hopped off his table and began smoothing the thick, velvety terrycloth towel along Zeb’s body. “If you’re in danger of swooning, my handsome Prince Charming, then might I suggest we retire to my bed chamber after we towel each other off?” Cinnamus gazed at Zeb, a steamy, confident look that spoke volumes about his libidinous intentions.

  “How can I be sure I’m not dreaming?” Zeb asked, his mind whirling as he glided the towel over Cinnamus’ broad chest. “Ouch!” he yelped as Cinnamus grabbed his ass and gave it a pinch.

  “That’s how you can be sure.” Cinnamus erupted with laughter, offering his arm once they’d finished wiping the excess oil from each other’s bodies.

  Halfway to Cinnamus’ bed chamber, Zeb stopped in his tracks, yanking Cinnamus to a halt. “Wait a minute. What about age?” he asked.

  “I mean, if this works and we’re allowed to stay together, in another fifty years I’ll be old and decrepit,” Zeb said. “While you still look like, well,” he gestured over the length of Cinnamus body with his hand, “like a Roman god. While I’m sure I won’t mind having a hunky young lover tending to my shrunken, out of commission parts, I can’t imagine you’d find fawning over my wrinkled old cock all that much fun.”

  “You’ll always be beautiful to me,” Cinnamus said, brushing a tender kiss across Zeb’s lips. “If our plea is granted and you remain here on Olympus, gods willing, there will probably be some special dispensation made regarding your aging process.” He resumed his former pace and Zeb fell in step.

  “You mean they actually have the power to prevent me from aging?”

  “Zebulon, my love,” Cinnamus patted his back, “the council has the power to do whatever they damn well please, be it negative or positive. As far as that goes, if they’re in a particularly good mood, they could even decide to decree that you become a minor god.” He lifted an eyebrow and gave Zeb a pointed look. “Or they could turn you into a donkey.”

  “Really? Huh.” Nodding thoughtfully, Zeb smiled. “I could definitely see me as a god.” And then he laughed. “And I can just imagine my brother’s reaction. I don’t think he’d take too kindly to my commanding him to bend down and kiss my ring.” He splayed his fingers, wiggling them.

  “Fortunately for us,” Cinnamus said, “the gods look favorably upon me because I’ve taught most of their children well in my classes over the centuries. I believe we have a fair chance of having our plea granted in such a way that we are both quite satisfied with the results.”

  Zeb stopped again, one hand fisted at his side while he stroked his chin with the other hand. “What about my brother and Lula? How do you think the gods will rule in their case?”

  Cinnamus hiked one shoulder in an elegant shrug. “I really can’t say. I will act as a character witness for Lula and, if they allow it, you can support Dakin. However, I must warn you that the gods are known to be cantankerous at times. Some of them find humans to be not only
boring but bothersome. For seemingly no reason whatsoever, the tide could turn and both your brother’s plea as well as ours could be denied.”

  Zeb pondered the possible consequences, some too distressing to imagine. “Then what?”

  “If that happens, then you and your Dakin will immediately find yourselves back on Earth without any memory of anything having to do with me or Lula or anything connected to us.”

  “You mean they’d just snap their fingers and zap us back to Earth without so much as a fare thee well?”

  “Just like that.” Cinnamus snapped his fingers and Zeb shuddered. “Upon a negative verdict, you and Dakin would be whisked back to Earth on the next chariot, already under the influence of the forgetfulness powder.”

  Zeb started down the hallway again, shaken. As they entered Cinnamus’ opulent bed chamber, he slanted him a troubled look. “And if they grant our plea, Cinnamus, but deny my brother’s? What happens then?”

  Cinnamus led Zeb to the small round café-style table near the window of the large suite and gestured for him to take a seat in one of the two chairs. He poured them each a cup of the Turkish coffee and then took a seat, sipping slowly and encouraging Zeb to sample his brew as well. By the look on Cinnamus face and the amount of time it took him to address Zeb’s question, Zeb already knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

  “It’s possible,” Cinnamus began in a slow, hushed tone, “that you might never see your brother again.”

  “Oh my God…” The small cup trembled in his fingers and the already strong coffee now felt acrid as it slid down his throat. “They wouldn’t really let something like that happen, would they, Cinnamus? I mean, Dakin and I are really close. We’re the only family each other has since Mom and Dad died. They’d…they’d take that into consideration, wouldn’t they?”

  “Eat some baklava,” Cinnamus urged, ignoring Zeb’s questions. “And try the ice cream before it melts. Rose petals are good for you.”

  “You sound just like a Jewish mother, for heaven’s sake,” Zeb noted with a strained chuckle. “Come on, Cinnamus, give it to me straight. I need to know.”

  “And I wish I could provide all the answers, Zebulon, but I can’t. I honestly don’t know what the council might do. They’ve been unpredictable at best in the past. Since Cupid and I are old friends, I know we already have his vote. As for the rest, I couldn’t begin to predict how they’ll vote or how they might decide to handle your fates should one verdict be positive and the other negative.”

  Cinnamus sucked in a deep breath and gazed into Zeb’s eyes. “If staying here with me meant that you’d never see Dakin again, what would you do?”

  Zeb sat straight in his chair, expelling a sigh of his own. “I don’t know, Cinnamus. I really and truly don’t know. It would be like asking which side of my heart I wanted to rip out and cast off forever, you know?”

  “I do know,” Cinnamus said softly, covering Zeb’s hand with his. “And whatever happens, no matter the outcome tomorrow, I’ll respect and support your decision. Even,” he paused to compose himself, “even if it means I have to lose you. I love you enough to let you go if it has to be, my dearest love.” He leaned over to stroke his fingers across Zeb’s jaw.

  Zeb leaned his face into Cinnamus’ hand, closing his eyes and treasuring the affectionate caress. The last thing he wanted to think about now was losing him. The attraction, the love, the soul-deep caring he felt for this man was potent, undeniable…profound. He opened his eyes and smiled.

  “How is it that I feel I’ve known you forever, Cinnamus? We have so much in common, share so many interests…I’ve never felt more comfortable, more at ease. It’s as if we’re two halves of a whole, miraculously connected.”

  “Love is strange, elusive and powerful,” Cinnamus replied, threading his fingers through Zeb’s hair. “When two souls destined to be together find each other, it’s like the creation of new life. The bursting, blossoming birth of recognition upon that fated coupling is like no other.”

  Zeb knew that they shared was special. Rare. He knew he was blessed. “I-I’m afraid, Cinnamus. What if tomorrow—”

  “Tomorrow is another day, love,” Cinnamus said. “We have this one night for certain. And we can make the most of this most precious gift of time together. Treat it as if it is our one single opportunity to enjoy each other.”

  Zeb took in a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed. “I don’t want to waste another moment of our time together stressing over what may or may not happen in the future.”

  He looked down at his plate and lifted the wedge of baklava, studying it. “Look how sticky it is from all that honey,” Zeb noted, licking his lips. “Mmm…all of a sudden my appetite has returned.” He sank his teeth into the flaky, nut-filled confection and rolled his eyes in bliss as flavors of pistachio, rose water, honey and cinnamon exploded in his mouth.

  After swallowing, Zeb added, “And when I say appetite, I’m not just talking baklava, darling.” He gave a devilish wag of his eyebrows and Cinnamus laughed.

  “Have I told you how much I love your wonderful sense of humor?” Cinnamus asked, following Zeb’s lead and taking a bite of baklava dipped into the melting ice cream.

  Resting one elbow on the table and his chin on his hand, Zeb batted his eyelashes at Cinnamus. “As much as you love my cock?” he asked, bringing a spoonful of ice cream to his lips and depositing its contents on his tongue. He polished the spoon clean with long, languishing licks as Cinnamus’ lips curved into a knowing smile.

  “Why don’t you give me a demonstration to help me decide?” Cinnamus suggested playfully.

  Zeb sucked his sticky fingers clean and then reached for Cinnamus’ hand, doing the same to his fingers as he gazed into his lover’s eyes. “I hope your bedroom is soundproof,” he said, licking his lips. “Because I want to hear what it sounds like when a god screams out my name in the throes of passion.”

  “Fully soundproofed,” Cinnamus assured. “Although I’ve never yet screamed out during sex. And I can’t imagine ever doing so.” He arched an eyebrow in challenge.

  “Maybe that’s because you’ve never been fucked by a lowly, mangy mortal before. Cinnamus, darling, I’ll have you whimpering one minute and shrieking to the high heavens the next,” Zeb promised. “Now wave your hand and do that magic voodoo thing you do to cover our cocks so we can get down to the serious business of fucking…and screaming.”

  Cocks shielded with the simple, fluid gesture of Cinnamus’ hand, the pair headed for the bed. Having been preoccupied when they’d first entered the room, Zeb hadn’t noticed the grand scale of the platform bed, which was longer and wider than a king-size mattress. The walls and floor were the same soft, petal-pink marble with silver-gray veining and white mottling.

  The bed linens, including yards of lush, sheer veiling draped over the black wrought iron four-poster canopy, matched the same delicate shade of pink. Pillows of shimmering silver fabric with pale pink tassels rested in cushy, inviting mounds.

  The exquisite, aesthetic effect was yet another confirmation of their shared interests and tastes. Zeb thought it was a perfect, utterly romantic setting for what could be his final tryst with the beloved man who was his soul mate.

  “So do we tear everything off or do you have a special hand wave for that too?” Zeb asked.

  Laughing, Cinnamus began tossing the pillows from the bed and Zeb joined in. “That’s still done the old-fashioned way,” he answered. “Of course, if you’ll be here beyond tomorrow, then I’ll definitely have to work on that because this takes too much time.” Once the plethora of pillows was removed, they pulled back the spread and top sheet and leapt onto the mattress.

  “I want you beneath me,” Zeb ordered and Cinnamus complied, his belly to the mattress. “Uh-uh. On your back first. Spread-eagle. I want to explore that godly fleshscape of yours.”

  Cinnamus shifted his position until he was on his back, gazing up into Zeb’s eyes with chest-heaving expectati
on. Straddling one of Cinnamus’ thighs, Zeb began his exploration with his tongue, licking his way from the underside of his lover’s chin and journeying down across the finely sculpted planes and valleys of his chest and belly.

  Pressing warm, damp lips along the center line of his abdomen, Zeb marveled at the boundless pleasure it brought him to think of thoroughly satisfying Cinnamus. As he neared his groin, Cinnamus fisted Zeb’s hair, urging his head to his cock.

  “Touch me with that talented tongue of yours, Zebulon. Set me afire. Make me burn.”

  Zeb nestled his face into the pale golden nest of pubic hair, breathing in the musky, masculine scent. A heady surge of heated desire settled in, turning to molten liquid deep in his belly.

  “Since your magic cock wrapper allows full sensation,” Zeb said in a husky timbre, “then I know you can feel this.” Holding Cinnamus rigid shaft firm, Zeb pressed the tip of his tongue hard against the tiny hole on the crown of his cock. Digging, digging, as if he could fuck that miniscule opening with his tongue.

  “Yesss…” Cinnamus groaned, a deep guttural sound that felt like it went on for ages.

  With each of Cinnamus’ moans, Zeb’s own cock grew harder, longer. He took it in one hand and stroked it as he continued to pleasure his lover’s cock.

  As Cinnamus’ hips rocked, Zeb stopped his probing, lavishing a long swooping lick from the base of Cinnamus’ cock to the tip and down the other side. When he slid his mouth up and down the length of the swollen rod, Cinnamus’ cock jerked. Zeb methodically worked his tongue along the veins, loving the soft growl that rolled out of Cinnamus’ throat.

  “You’d like for me to finish you off now, wouldn’t you, darling?” Zeb trailed one finger in a feather-like tease around Cinnamus’ cock. “You’d like to feel that orgasm surge through your balls until your cum explodes in a thunderous climax.”

  “Yes,” Cinnamus ground out, his hoarse voice sending ripples of excitement through Zeb’s cock. “Do it. Fuck me with your mouth, Zebulon.”