“Jerk it, easy-like. I want to take this slow.”
“Can I look at you while I do?” Malcolm’s voice was thick as porridge and a bit lower than usual.
The sound of it skittered across Brenin’s skin, making it tingle. “If it pleases you.”
“Och, it does.”
He relaxed against the arm under his head and tucked the kilt up under his chin while Malcolm work his dick with easy strokes. The cock was a tight, satiny toy, the only movement coming at the top when the glans got squeezed. More pearly cum bubbled up from the slit. It dribbled down the length, easing Malcolm’s movements with each pass. The chest beneath Brenin’s hand rose and fell with increasingly quick breaths.
He glanced down at the large balls snuggled underneath the bottom of the cock. “Cup yourself,” he ordered. His voice sounded strange to his ears. Strained, like.
And as Malcolm seated his other hand around his sac, Brenin’s own cock finally hardened. It was a more familiar sensation than it had been only days ago. Less scary, too. This was how it was supposed to be—two men who wanted each other having a bit of fun in bed. If he were truly brave, he’d reach inside his underwear and do to himself what Malcolm did at his command.
He wasn’t that brave, though, or, rather to Malcolm’s earlier statement, he wasn’t ready to go that far. For now, it was enough to have control over Malcolm’s pleasure. He wanted to see the man come, to confirm what he already knew intellectually—that seeing it would bring him pleasure, as well.
“Do it faster. Make yourself come, whatever it takes.”
Malcolm didn’t need to be told twice. He picked up speed as he worked his dick with a brutal pace. He clenched around the balls he held. The grip made his knuckles even whiter, if that were possible. His breathing became like that of a locomotive.
“Help me!”
Brenin glanced up in surprise. Coal-black eyes stared back at him and a gleam of white showed past the lips. “Please…with my nipple. Pinch it…hard!”
Brenin didn’t hesitate. He was nearly desperate to see this through, whatever it took. Sliding his hand down a few inches, he grabbed the hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He squeezed with all his might, trusting Malcolm to know his own limits.
He almost missed the moment of climax, it came so fast. With a roar, Malcolm doubled over as cum burst out of the tip of his cock. The musky scent of semen erupted, as well, hitting Brenin’s nostrils. It might have made him sick with the visceral memory, except he stuffed the kilt into his nose and inhaled deeply. Yes, this was the smell that made him feel safe. It reminded him that he was with Malcolm and Malcolm was his savior.
Malcolm was also now his lover.
* * * *
“That’s it. Squeeze with gentle pressure.”
Brenin did as instructed and this time, the bullet hit closer to the bullseye. Putting the gun down, he jerked the headphones off and blew out a breath. “I think that’s it for me. This is all worst-case scenario and now that I know I can more or less hit my target, I’m done with practicing. I don’t much like these things,” he added with a nod toward the gun.
He also didn’t like being taught how to load and shoot a weapon by Mackie, not that he had anything against the guy. It was only that he wasn’t Malcolm, and that was a mark against everyone this morning. After that spectacularly enlightening and liberating event with the man in bed and a night spent curled against his reassuring presence, Brenin had woken alone. Achingly hard and alone, rather. He’d tossed one off, using the scent clinging to the kilt as a goose to his arousal. An intense orgasm had ripped through him, leaving him panting and sweaty and more at peace than he’d felt in…forever.
In its own bizarre way, the experience had been the most normal thing he’d done since leaving home. It had left him calm and certain and hopeful, so much so that he’d wanted to keep a part of it with him the whole day. After showering, he’d dressed in jeans and a sweater, then wrapped the kilt around his waist. It was ridiculously long on him, almost ankle length, even with his folding part of it over the band. Still, wearing it gave him a sense of power and kept a connection between him and his lover that he needed. It was an anchor in a strange environment. It didn’t matter how safe and welcoming the club and its inhabitants were. This was just one more place that wasn’t his to call his own. He’d been on the streets, in a shelter, held captive in one castle and cossetted in another. He was tired of feeling adrift and as inexplicable as it was, somehow in a short few days, Malcolm had come to represent home to him.
With his peaceful state of mind, freshly washed body and grounded sense of being, he’d left the bedroom with confidence in search of breakfast. The only missing element was Malcolm himself. Brenin would have liked to have shared that moment with him. But Malcolm was nowhere to be found until Mackie had brought Brenin down to this locked room beneath the club.
Target practice had been the goal. All the boys had received basic self-defense lessons, as well as training in various weapons use. Brenin saw the wisdom in it, but even after all he’d been through, he didn’t have a warrior’s heart. He’d kill if necessary, yes. Fear of being brutalized again would drive him to it easily enough. He just didn’t want to be in the position and was glad the aliens hadn’t given in to the idea of the boys joining in the assault on Dracul’s castle.
His gaze skittered over to the side of the long room, where Malcolm stood with the other men, poring over a digital map and no doubt discussing their plans. He couldn’t hear what they said and didn’t much care. He only wanted—no, needed—to catch sight of Malcolm every once in a while to maintain that secure feeling.
Except for his long dark hair braided back from his face, the man looked like any other of the modern age, dressed as he was in the same basic clothes as Brenin and everyone else in the room. Brenin didn’t like that, though. He wanted his highlander back. Of course, that would mean giving him his kilt. That could only happen if the man came to him, because the group of aliens was giving off an intense and private vibe. Brenin didn’t dare disturb it. He wasn’t sure of his welcome, either. Malcolm had barely glanced at him and that had been the one time when he’d entered the room.
“It’s hard, I know,” Mackie remarked as he picked up the gun and removed the clip.
Brenin shifted his attention to the boy. “You seem comfortable handling them.”
“I didn’t mean the weapons.” Mackie tossed his head in the direction of the men. “When they’re together like that, knowing what we do about them, it feels like we’re always on the outside and don’t dare intrude.”
Brenin was surprised at the observation. “Is it that obvious I want to be over there instead of here?”
Mackie gave him a sly grin. “Natch. Your face is an open book, sweetie. Plus,” he added while he put everything back into place, “I’m you, so I know how you feel.”
Brenin shook his head. “No offense, but you’re not even remotely like me.”
“Oh, no?” Mackie cocked a hip. “You left home because staying there and being gay wasn’t an option. You were either close to selling yourself to make money, or you’d already taken that plunge before Dracul forced you to use your body to survive.”
The boy moved to face the group across the room. “You want him, although the fact that you do is confusing. He’s a blood-sucking alien. You should be running away, screaming. Instead, you want to get closer.” He slanted his gaze toward Brenin. “How am I doing so far?”
Brenin barked out a laugh. The sound had Malcolm’s head coming up. He looked at Brenin briefly before returning his attention to the rest of his group.
“You’re bloody brilliant. Go on.”
“Okay, so the biggest problem by far is that, even though you know—you absolutely know—he wants you, too, he’s not taking anything. He’s avoiding you, pushing you away either physically or figuratively. And that’s the most confusing part of this whole fucked-up thing. Why is he doing that?”
Breni
n let the rhetorical question hang in the air for a few seconds before responding. “What’s the answer, then? You seem to have it figured out.”
Mackie giggled. And that caused Val to look over the same as Malcolm had. This man, though, shot his husband a sexy smile that held a lot of promise. The sight of it caused a sense of jealously to spark in Brenin. Ridiculous! He tamped it down.
“Sweetie, I don’t. I just kept crashing against the gate of resistance until he let me in. All I can advise is that you do the same. Their strength is astounding, but they do have weaknesses and loving their boys is one of them. We’ve got at least twenty-four hours before Operation Bring Fucking Dracul Down begins in earnest. Take the opportunities you get to batter against whatever noble intentions Malcolm is using to remain distant.
“Just not now. They need time and space to plan something that won’t get them killed. You and I are a distraction. Come on. Let’s go back upstairs.”
Reluctant as he was to leave Malcolm, he understood the wisdom of Mackie’s observation. He permitted the boy to usher him out and back up to the main floor. He wasn’t sure where they were headed until Mackie led him into a big room with the stages and dance floor. Brenin hadn’t caught more than a glimpse of this space. It had left him wide-eyed with wonder. What a great nightclub this must make when it was open for business.
Mackie waved at the tall woman who was silently polishing the long, wooden bar. “Hi, Kitty. Would you please put on my playlist?”
“Sure thing.”
As Brenin followed Mackie farther into the room, jazz was replaced with hip-hop. Mackie kicked off his trainers and leaped onto the nearest stage. He began to gyrate his hips like they were on ball-bearings then grabbed the pole.
Brenin went to sit on one of the plush chairs surrounding the dance floor and relaxed into the cushions as Mackie executed a series of acrobatic feats using the pole and an unexpected amount of physical power.
He’s not quite human.
The speed and grace of the boy were amazing, exquisitely beautiful. Brenin was envious, as well as enthralled. He could have that. He could be that. All he had to do was allow Malcolm to feed him blood and his body would change like Mackie’s had. Like Dafydd’s had, he reminded himself. That was the dark side to all of this. To become pregnant and bear a child when his body wasn’t designed to do so… Was it really something he was willing to do in order to achieve near immortality and superhuman abilities? He was gay, yes, but not transgender. Every part of him identified as a boy. Could he accept a fundamental change the way Lucien had out of love?
Wait. What am I thinking? Since when did love have anything to do with it? He’d accepted last night that he and Malcolm had become lovers. That was a physical state of being, not an emotional one—except the more he allowed that emotional concept to rattle around in his head, the less absurd or frightening it seemed.
“Hey, no fair, Mackie. Play something the rest of us can dance to.” Quinn came in with Jase at his side. Both boys were dressed for exercising, with skin-tight yoga pants and sleeveless tees that barely covered their flat stomachs.
Hanging out at the top of the pole as if it were no more effort than lounging in a chair, Mackie laughed. “Kitty, sweetie, can you please change the music to toddler level?” He slid down to the stage.
A few seconds later, Ed Sheeran’s Shape of You started. Being held by Dracul meant being cut off from the rest of the world, but Brenin had caught some stuff through the television that the monster had watched. Sometimes, when they were alone, Brenin and Dafydd had been able to amuse themselves with the box, too.
The upbeat song made it impossible for him to stay still. He nodded to the beat and tapped his fingers and toes as he watched the three boys go through a routine that started on the floor and quickly took to the pole. Quinn and Jase didn’t have Mackie’s otherworldly skill, but they had their own enviable grace and rhythm. Each of them used the upright piece of metal like an extension of their own body. They spun around with their feet leaving the ground then stuck their landings and twerked their tight asses in a blur of sexy movement that caused Brenin to laugh out loud.
Up they went, their lean, yet strong, arm muscles bunching with the strain of holding their entire weight. At the top, Mackie held himself straight out, perpendicular to the floor. Brenin gasped and leaned forward in awe. Then Mackie split his legs in a wide V before twirling around and wrapping himself around the pole like a snake. Brenin couldn’t help but clap at the show then stopped abruptly when he realized the boy had collapsed at the bottom and was weeping into his arm.
He raced over and reached him before the other boys did. “What is it, mun? Have you hurt yourself?” Mackie shook his head, yet continued to sob. Brenin looked helplessly at the others.
Quinn pulled Mackie into his arms. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re here for you.”
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Brenin said to no one in particular. “Should I get Val?”
“No!” Mackie peered out from Quinn’s embrace with a tear-streaked face. “Don’t bother him. I’m just being stupid.”
“About?”
“Demi.” Mackie’s face crumpled. “I’m so worried about the brat. He should be here, annoying the shit out of us. Instead, he’s suffering God-knows-what.” Mackie sniffled and shuddered. “No, I know what could be happening.” He stared into Brenin’s eyes. “You know exactly what he might be enduring.”
Brenin fell flat on his arse, a sick feeling welling up inside him. “I do, yes.”
“Jase, too. Right?” Mackie asked, directing his question to the boy behind Brenin.
“Yeah,” came the quiet reply.
“But,” Brenin sputtered, “didn’t everyone agree last night that so long as Dafydd hasn’t delivered, the monster won’t hurt Demi in order to keep his hold over the doctor?”
Mackie wiped his nose on his sleeve. “They want Lucien to believe that so he won’t worry as much. Think about it, though. You know Dracul better than any of us. When has he ever been cowed by anyone else? Isn’t it more likely he’s given Harry a simple ultimatum—deliver my son or watch me kill yours?
“And why wouldn’t Harry make the choice of letting his son get raped in exchange for helping Dafydd? At least he’d still be alive, and whether Harry helps or not, Dracul can always do whatever he wants to Demi.” He shook his head. “No, Dracul has all the leverage and we can only hope to get Demi out alive, not unharmed.”
Brenin shuddered. “You’re right. Of course you are.” He hadn’t liked thinking about it much, but in the face of the obvious, he couldn’t deny it. “The monster isn’t one to let his appetites go unappeased. That’s why they took me, because Dafydd was too sick to service him.”
“He can survive this,” Jase said fiercely. “I did. You did, too, Brenin. And Demi is stronger than we give him credit for. Whatever happens, this doesn’t have to be something that defines him for the rest of his life.”
“Jase is right,” Quinn agreed with a grim look. “I can’t say I truly understand what any of you have gone through, but I do know this. Demi isn’t merely a brat. By the blood in his veins, he’s a warrior.” He shot them a wry grin. “He might even save himself and his father before the rescue mission starts.”
Mackie giggled, his tears drying up. “You’re right. If nothing else, he’s probably annoying them all to death.”
The other boys laughed. Brenin didn’t. He couldn’t. His mind was back in the dank castle that was always cold, always nightmarish. Demi was a stranger to him, not a friend like with the others. And yet, he felt for him, worried about what misery the boy was experiencing at that very moment.
Chapter Nine
“Come on, a little bit more, please. You need the fluids.” Demi pressed the paper cup against Dafydd’s lips to make him drink the rest of the water.
The boy—no, man, really—did, even though his demeanor was one of someone who had given up. He allowed Demi to bully him into anything. The
fight, if he’d ever had any, had gone out of him entirely. When he was done, Demi crushed the cup and tossed it over the side of the bed. Mother Earth be damned. They weren’t allowed glasses or even mugs, nothing that could be broken into a weapon. And there was no wastebasket, either, so rubbish was piling up in one corner. Every now and again, one of the silent human slaves would come in to clean up.
Whatever. Demi had more important concerns. Helping his father keep Dafydd alive and comfortable was the main one. The baby inside him was the only thing giving everyone relative safety. If it died before being born or during, Papa would be killed outright and Demi’s life would become something not worth living. He was old enough to understand that and Papa hadn’t tried to sugarcoat it for him, either.
He carefully lay Dafydd’s head down from where he’d been supporting it with the crook of his arm. Demi needed to climb onto the bed to do so, given that Dafydd’s outside arm was manacled to the bedpost. God, is that really necessary? Of course not. It was merely one of Dracul’s many cruelties. The other was having Kronid stay in the very room with them, as if the narrow windows weren’t sufficient to ensure they remained. Not even Demi could squeeze through them, and if he did, the fall was so high that he didn’t think he could survive. Dafydd certainly wouldn’t, not that they would leave him behind.
“I don’t know why you bother to be so kind to me,” Dafydd said in a quiet voice.
Demi slid down beside him in order to talk more privately, not that Kronid couldn’t hear everything they said, regardless. The smallness of the room coupled with his alien hearing meant nothing was secret. Although the guy was mostly engrossed with his phone, when he wasn’t stalking Demi with his eyes, that was.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he replied. “I think I might want to be a doctor like my father, and I’ve got nothing against you anyway.”
Star Dance Page 14