Star Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  Fuck me, I’ll quit if I have to.

  Yeah, that’s what it had come down to. Saving Demi had become paramount in his life. Not even the job he loved mattered more to him. He should never have let himself get in so deep with the kid. Only a few days ago, he would have continued to deny that he had. Not anymore. He’d stared into the eyes of the boy’s father and all but declared his love for the boy. Christ Jesus. He was a mental case for thinking that he had any business wanting someone who was part alien and of dubious maturity.

  It didn’t matter that the Commonwealth said that a sixteen-year-old could give consent. The law wasn’t the issue—a sense of right and wrong was. Demi’s chronological age was probably greater than that, based on what little Trey had gleaned since becoming embroiled with the Stelalux clan. Nevertheless, his behavior so far screamed ‘kid’ and Trey wasn’t about to take advantage of his crush for a more mature man. Not yet, anyway, and perhaps not ever. That didn’t mean he could or would sit back while Demi was in the hands of a monster. The thought of it was driving Trey madder with each passing minute. He had to do something.

  “Duncan?”

  Shit, his head had been so far up his own ass that he’d missed the doctor coming. He turned to face him. “Yeah, sorry, Doc. Got a minute?”

  Paz raised his eyebrows. “I suppose, given that whatever it is you’ve come about must be very important for you to stand around waiting for me. I do have a phone, you know,” he added, unlocking his car.

  “Yeah, this is best done in person and it’s urgent.”

  “Come and sit inside. I can turn on the heater.”

  “Thanks.” Trey got into the passenger side and sighed in relief when the hot air started blasting out of the console. “We need your help,” he said without preamble.

  “I’m listening. And I assume by ‘we’, you don’t mean the police department?”

  “Right. I’m talking about our unearthly friends.” He made a whistling sound and twirled his forefinger up toward the night sky.

  Paz angled his body to look at him more directly. “Well, you do know how to push my buttons. Keeping that secret is almost physically painful and my access to them has been more limited than my scientific curiosity would prefer. What is it that you need?”

  Trey rubbed his hands near the vents, to marshal thoughts that should have been put into place while he’d waited for the guy. He finally spit it all out and Paz was kind enough to listen without interrupting.

  Trey grimaced when he finished. “What do you say, Doc? Feel like a suicide mission to Wales?”

  “You don’t really think it’s that, though, do you? High stakes and high risk, sure, but a doable one. A survivable one.”

  “What I think doesn’t mean jack.” Because he would walk through a wall of fire if it meant a chance to save Demi. “The others are pretty confident. Make that really confident, but then I think that’s their default setting, you know? Not sure anything much rattles them.”

  Paz stared out of the windshield, thinking and thinking some more. Finally, “Emergency medicine is certainly something I have experience with and I do think I can be of help there. I was also in the ROTC in high school, so I’ve have a modicum of military training. I’m not afraid to get involved in a fight.”

  He looked again at Trey. “I’d be lying, though, if I didn’t admit that what really intrigues me is the chance to study this man who was physiologically changed to become pregnant and deliver a baby. That is some freaky shit.”

  Trey sighed. “Yeah, I get that.” Talking about it gave Trey uncomfortable thoughts, too. Was Demi, although a hybrid, like Dafydd in this way? Could Demi get pregnant? No, no way that train of thought led anywhere other than to the town of madness.

  “Just don’t be too vocal about your curiosity,” he advised. “These guys are very protective of their own, especially their significant others and offspring. This Dafydd kid may be Dracul’s, but he saved this other boy, Brenin. And there’s something obviously between him and Malcolm and…bottom line, this has turned into a rescue mission for Dafydd as well as Harry and Demi.”

  “What of the baby?”

  Trey sharpened his expression. “What about him?”

  “He’s Dracul’s son and Dracul is their mortal enemy. Are they actually intending to save him, too?”

  “Of course.” Even as the reply left his mouth, Trey realized he hadn’t thought about it. No one had said that, not in so many words. Not in any, now that he’d been forced to consider it.

  “Let me make myself clear, Duncan. I’ll move mountains to get the time off and go on this rescue mission with all of you, so long as it’s agreed that if the intent is to kill that baby or abandon him to certain death, I won’t have any part in it.”

  “Right. Understood. You should come by the club as soon as you’re able for a skull session. We need all capable minds on the planning. You can, ah, talk with Alex to get all the reassurance you need.”

  “I’ll get started on my time-off request tomorrow morning then head over. My next shift’s not until five at night anyway.” He flashed a grin. “Holy Mary, mother of God, am I really going to storm a castle with aliens? You couldn’t make this shit up if you tried.”

  Trey dropped his head onto the back of his seat. “Tell me about it.”

  Chapter Eight

  Malcolm was careful to open Brenin’s bedroom door silently and slip in quickly so the hallway light wouldn’t wake him. It hardly mattered. The en suite door was flung wide and the light inside was on. It illuminated the room sufficiently for even a human eye to see clearly. And Malcolm hadn’t managed to take more than two steps toward the bed before Brenin pushed up on one arm.

  “Is everything all right?” His voice was sleepy and his eyes at half-mast.

  Malcolm felt a right fool for disturbing him. He’d only come to ease his own irrational worries, because the club was tight as could be, given Val’s security system. Brenin didn’t need protection here. He did require sleep, however, and now Malcolm had gone and woken him.

  “Sorry, laddie. I didnae mean to wake you. I was only checking to see if…well…” he admitted on a huff, “I’m not sure what I thought I was doing.”

  Brenin slid back down. “It’s fine. I’m not sorry you’re here. It was hard to get to sleep alone. I don’t like being in a strange place, regardless of how safe it is.”

  Malcolm approached the bed. “Aye, I can understand that for certain. You’ve been dragged about too much lately. I would say I was sorry, except your knowledge of Dracul’s castle has given us the key to defeat him. We’re that grateful to you and I’m that proud, as well. You’ve got more courage than a whole dragoon of men.”

  Brenin shook his head. “Naw, not really. I ran like the frightened animal I was. It was luck that had me picking up bits of information here and there and remembering all I saw on the computer.”

  “Dinnae do that,” Malcolm said more sharply than he’d intended. He modulated his tone and his accent. “Don’t dismiss yourself like that,” he clarified. “You’re more smart than lucky and it was a bold move to run the way you did. I’ve seen many a man give up in the midst of battle and wait for fate to claim him.”

  Although he knew better than to tempt himself, he went to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached over and carded Brenin’s hair back from his face. “Has no one ever tried to convince you of your worth?”

  Brenin’s gaze dropped. “No. I mean, I was only that fae boy that watched the birds out of the window more than the teacher’s lesson. And everyone could see I liked other boys too much.”

  “You had to leave home?” Malcolm’s heart ached at the idea of sweet Brenin on the streets, vulnerable and ultimately an easy victim for Dracul.

  Brenin nodded. “It was better all-around that I did.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have wished it for you, but I’m glad that I had the good fortune of having you run into my arms.”

  “That was the one positive thing to come fr
om this.” Brenin smiled at the admission. He gazed up with wide eyes. “Can I ask a favor of you?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Would you mind lying down with me? I don’t like being in the room alone and I’m awfully tired.”

  Mind? Malcolm’s body went on high alert at the idea. He—and it—would like nothing better, except it was the height of folly. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, laddie.”

  Brenin’s expression fell. “Oh. I understand.”

  Now, he felt like a miser and a coward, denying the boy his one request. “However, I did say ‘anything’, so scooch over.”

  Brenin’s face lit up and he hurried to comply. To give the boy such a simple joy… Malcolm would just have to keep himself in check. Plus, there was nothing to say he couldn’t stay fully clothed and on top of the covers.

  After taking off his boots and socks, he climbed up to prop himself against the headboard. “There, now. How’s that?”

  “Um.” Brenin gnawed at his lower lip, which only served to make Malcolm want to kiss him. “Aren’t you going to disrobe and get under the covers?”

  Malcolm had to bite back a groan. “No. I’m fine right as I am. To be honest, it would be dangerous to do so.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Malcolm scrutinized the boy’s face to see if he was teasing. Hmm, he looks serious, but can he be that naïve? After all he’d gone through, maybe he was. Perhaps in his mind, a man was either a monster or a saint. Malcolm hated to lower the boy’s impression of him.

  “You’re already a powerful temptation as it is, laddie. If I take off my kilt, you’re going to see how much that’s true, even with my modern underwear on. It’s not a chastity belt, you know.”

  Brenin turned onto his side and tucked his arm under his head. “Yeah, I know that. I mean, I assumed that. I don’t mind.”

  “How can you not?”

  “I’m trying to put my past behind me, remember? I don’t want the monster to ruin my life. Before he got his claws in me, I would have taken every liberty I could to get a look at a man like you.”

  The boy slithered his free hand across the covers and onto Malcom’s thigh. Even with the thick fabric of the kilt guarding it, Malcolm’s skin tingled at the touch. His cock had been only partially aroused but now it struggled to go to full mast. The cotton confining it was no match for its hardness.

  Malcolm swallowed. “You can look and touch as much as you like. I dinnae mind, so long as it doesn’t scare you.” Passion thickened his voice and heightened his Scottish burr.

  “Being overwhelmed and powerless frightens me. So long as I’m in control, I’d appreciate the opportunity to do some exploring.”

  Malcolm could only nod his assent. He forced his hands down flat on the bed, determined to let Brenin do as he wanted without interference. It might very well kill him to lie there, unmoving, a living anatomically correct doll for the boy’s edification. It was a fate he’d gladly accept if it helped the human recover from his ordeal.

  “You have nice feet. Strong, like.”

  Malcolm had to smile at that. “I dinnae believe anyone has commented on them before.”

  “Then they weren’t paying attention.” Brenin curled his fingers and scrunched up a bit of the kilt. “Your legs are lovely, too. Also strong and straight.” He bunched more of the fabric in his hand. “Knees are underrated, I think.”

  “If you say so.”

  Brenin grinned up at him. “Oh, I do. Did they get cold, like your friends asked?”

  Malcolm shook his head. “We have a different body temperature. It’s heat we don’t tolerate.” He hated reminding the boy of his alien nature.

  It didn’t seem to bother Brenin, though, because soon Malcolm’s thighs were exposed, and the kilt was practically bunched around Malcolm’s waist. “This room is pretty warm.”

  “Aye, for your comfort.”

  “You must be overly warm, then, with that shirt and this heavy kilt on?” The boy touched Malcolm’s bare thigh with his fingertips.

  Malcolm grunted. “A wee bit.”

  “Take them off, why don’t you?” He flicked his gaze up to meet Malcolm’s. “Please?”

  “Are you sure?” At the boy’s nod, Malcolm stopped fighting the good fight and whisked his shirt over his head in the next instant.

  With his hands on his waistband, he hesitated. Brenin answered his unspoken question by tugging at the fabric he still held. That was enough for Malcolm, because he wanted it to be. He was as keen as the boy to get naked and only the vestiges of control slowed him down.

  He undid the buckle and pulled the kilt open. His dick was a visible bulge beneath the underwear and the head even poked out of the top. More self-conscious than he would have expected, he lifted his arse to tug the kilt free. Except Brenin didn’t let go of his handful, so that, in the end, he held it to himself.

  The boy brought a corner of the kilt up to his nose and sniffed. “It smells like you.”

  “Och? And what is it like, then?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. It’s not like anything else. Spicy maybe. Uniquely you,” he added quickly. “It doesn’t remind me of, you know, him.”

  Malcolm let out a hard breath. “Good to know.” He was back to putting his hands flush on the bed, although he wanted to cover his lap to hide his intemperate dick. Brenin had said he wanted to look and touch. He had to take the boy at his word. Trying to protect him would seem like not trusting him to make up his own mind about matters. He’d had enough of that kind of treatment. Someone had to show him respect.

  Brenin went back to touching him, creeping his warm, soft fingers across Malcolm’s thigh. His breath hitched at the touch and his hips didn’t want to remain still.

  Brenin paused in his movements. “Does this bother you?”

  “In the best possible way, yes.”

  The very tip of Brenin’s finger touched Malcolm’s shaft. “You’re very big.”

  Malcolm clenched his own fingers. “It will never be used to hurt you.” His voice was suddenly rough and a powerful thirst overtook him sufficiently to make his fangs itch to come down. He held them back with effort and stayed as still as he could.

  “I know that.”

  The boy pulled his hand back, although not completely. Instead of exploring that most dangerous part of Malcolm more, he ran his palm up Malcolm’s torso. Malcolm was both relieved and disappointed. There was nothing to complain about, really. The feel of that hand on his abs, then his pecs, was delicious in its own way. It kept him aroused, that was for certain, and he imagined that the rapid beat of his heart could be felt through his chest wall.

  Indeed, Brenin paused and laid his hand flat against one of Malcolm’s pecs. His palm rubbed the nipple. “I don’t mean to be a tease.”

  “You— You’re not,” Malcolm ground out. “Do whatever helps you or makes you happy. I dinnae mind.”

  Brenin curled his fingers, pressing the nails into Malcolm’s flesh. “You do, though. To say otherwise is a lie, however well intentioned.”

  “Brenin…” He didn’t know what he wanted to say.

  “I think I have a way to satisfy us both, if you’re game.”

  “Anything.” He meant that. He would agree to whatever the boy suggested.

  “Take care of yourself, then, and let me watch.”

  Malcolm frowned. “Are you saying…?”

  “Yes.” Brenin’s tone was firm. “Get rid of these useless boxer-briefs and take yourself in hand. I want to see you palm that cock and pleasure yourself.”

  Malcolm would have grinned at the way the boy had expressed it, if not for the fact that this was serious business. Brenin was paving a path for his healing. It might not be one doctors would recommend—or maybe they would. He had no idea, other than he wasn’t about to deny this boy anything at the moment.

  Without mulling the matter over any further, Malcolm hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the underwear and yanked them down and of
f. He used his normal speed because he didn’t have that much control. He was almost desperate to see Brenin’s reaction to his fully visible erection.

  Brenin’s breath stuttered out. “There he is.”

  “Are you all right, laddie? Is it too much?”

  Brenin had to fight to catch his breath. There was fear there, yes, no matter what kind of brave face he put on for Malcolm. This was difficult. Seeing the alien’s dick spring free like that, hard, ruddier than the pale skin around it and gleaming with pre-cum, called up the worst memories of his captivity, except he kept his palm pressed against the cool pec as a reminder that he was in control. As frightened as he was on the most basic level, he still trusted Malcolm completely. He had no doubt that if he told the guy to stop, to leave, he would in a flash…literally.

  He swallowed back the bile that fought to rise and shoved down the terror that worked to get out. I am in control here. He reminded himself of that and believed in its truth. And he took the time to stare at and study the rigid rod of flesh in Malcolm’s large hand. The man’s control over this part of him seemed obvious. Still, he put it to the test.

  “Wrap your fingers around it.” God, where did I find the courage to issue that order? Malcolm, of course, had led him in the right direction and given him the space to follow it.

  Malcolm curled his fingers slowly around the shaft. The thing was so long and thick that even Malcolm had trouble. Brenin’s hole clenched at the observation. Then he remembered that he didn’t have to accommodate it. It was only something to watch and enjoy.