Malcolm gave in to the desire he’d been harboring all day and touched every spot he could reach, albeit lightly. So soft and silky his boy was. And yes, he knew he shouldn’t be thinking of Brenin in such possessive terms. He couldn’t help himself. Brenin had gone from obligation to heart’s desire in the span of a few days. The capper had been the time they’d spent the previous night in bed. When Brenin had fearlessly explored Malcolm’s body before commanding it, Malcolm had lost any resolve he’d had to keep his emotional distance from the boy. Being here with him, caressing him, was a purely selfish act and he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Brenin slid his leg over Malcolm’s. His knee came up to brush against Malcolm’s stiff cock. He bit back a groan until it happened again…and again.
He’s doing it on purpose.
“You’re awake, are you, and keen to play games?”
“Uh-huh.” Brenin curled closer. “I’ve been thinking of this all day.”
Malcolm’s dick twitched at the confession. “Have you now?” His voice strangled with the effort to be coherent.
“Is that bad of me?”
“I’m hardly in a position to complain.” He moaned long and low when Brenin replaced his knee with his hand. He snaked it under the waistband of Malcolm’s boxer-briefs and clasped the dick waiting there with his slender, warm fingers.
At the same time, Brenin pressed his pelvis against Malcolm’s hip. “You make me hard.”
Malcolm panted as the boy ran his fingers up and down the shaft, putting enough pressure on it to coax Malcolm’s climax. He gritted his teeth to keep himself in check and gripped the covers with one fist.
“Is that a bad thing?” he had to ask, ever mindful of how recently Brenin had been raped.
“No, it’s kind of a miraculous one. I’m that glad of it.” He rolled his hips in a clear effort to stimulate himself. “I’m afraid, though, that I’m about to come in your kilt. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Christ!” Malcolm uttered the curse in a low voice, but the force of his orgasm had him rearing up nevertheless.
Brenin kept with him. Instead of letting him go in disgust, he held on, milking the dick with clumsy, yet sure strokes. Malcolm’s cum coated both Brenin’s hand and Malcolm’s abdomen and had him shuddering into Brenin’s still humping body. With a muted cry, the boy clenched the shaft hard enough to make Malcolm wince. He ignored the pain and, rolling over, captured Brenin’s lips in a deep kiss.
Always before, he’d been careful to keep it light. This time, he pressed his tongue inside the boy’s mouth and explored it with the fervor of a man dying of thirst and desperate to suck every crevice dry. Brenin lay quiescent at first, other than his hips still bucking. Then his tongue shyly chased Malcolm’s. For a few heady seconds, they kissed each other with an electrifying passion that Malcolm had never known before.
Then, it all changed in a split-second. Brenin whimpered and pushed at him. Malcolm rolled away, parting their lips, releasing any hold on him. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you?” He lay flat on his back, unmoving and trying to convey a complete lack of menace.
“No,” Brenin replied with a shaky voice that tore at Malcolm’s heart. “It was my memories that did.”
That should have been the end of it. Malcolm would have risen and let the boy be, except, in the next instant, Brenin was sitting up and slinging one leg over Malcolm’s lap, straddling him.
Malcolm fisted his hands so as not to touch him. “What are you doing?”
“Taking control. It works best when I do that.” His breath remained unsteady and he shook a bit.
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“Yes, I do—to myself.”
“Don’t push it. There’s no timetable for you to recover from your ordeal. I’m not one to speak of this, but I bet Doc McPhee could help you with that.”
“I know. She told me there are places I can go for counseling and whatnot, but I can never tell the truth, the whole of it, to anyone. I’m not sure that’s for me, anyway. We Welsh are a stubborn and stoic lot—or maybe that’s only my family. This,” he added with a pat on Malcolm’s bare chest, “seems to do the trick. I know you can overpower me, but the illusion of dominance appears to be enough. Can I kiss you?”
The question caught Malcolm by surprise for about a second. “Of course.”
Brenin didn’t at first, at least not in the traditional sense. He started by leaning over and licking a stripe across one of Malcolm’s nipples. Then he swirled his tongue around the hard nub in tight circles. The teasing attention made Malcolm harden again.
Brenin lifted his head. “You like that?”
“Aye, you know well I do.” He didn’t dare buck his hips in emphasis for fear of alarming Brenin.
He needn’t have worried. The boy wiggled his arse in a delightfully erotic way, notwithstanding that with the kilt and the Hanes, there was a fair amount of clothing between them.
Brenin solved that problem, too. As he returned to laving and nipping at Malcolm’s nipples, Brenin managed to tug the kilt away and slide the underwear down to expose Malcolm’s cock. Now, they touched flesh to flesh. It was electrifying. Another climax built without effort or direct touch. By the time Brenin pressed his tongue against Malcolm’s lips, Malcolm was nearly done.
But he held on to his control this time. Brenin deserved slow and, more, he needed help with his own burgeoning arousal. The boy’s small, slender dick rubbed against Malcolm’s in a steadily growing erection. Malcolm wanted so badly to take it in hand. It took more strength of will than he’d ever summoned before to resist that temptation.
Once again, Brenin showed amazing courage by wrapping his hand around both shafts—or, rather, he tried to. It was too much for him to handle and, when he used both hands, he started to lose his balance. Malcolm took the chance to steady him by grabbing his shoulder. When Brenin didn’t flinch or pull away, Malcolm took it as a sign that it was all right.
With his sweet boy claiming his breath and those shy, but clever fingers jerking him, he fell into a second orgasm that was no less intense than the first. His balls tightened and his dick jerked as cum pulsed out. Malcolm groaned deep inside Brenin’s mouth and curled his toes to keep from tightening his grip. He would rather his insides explode than hurt the boy or make him afraid again.
He did anyway—not with his hand, but with his teeth. The surge of pleasure that shook his core caused his fangs to punch down without warning. He realized what he’d done only because Brenin yelped and pulled back. Forcing his eyes open, Malcolm saw the boy lick his nicked lip. A spot of blood welled up right away. The sight of it nearly caused Malcolm to lose his shite.
The thirst came over him with agonizing intensity. He had to drop his hand before he crushed Brenin’s shoulder. He took it out on the bedding instead, clawing at it, twisting it. Throwing his head back, he vocalized his need with guttural growls. His body shook as if in the throes of a seizure, with his heels bouncing against the bed. All the while, he silently pleaded with Brenin to get off. Go away. He didn’t want to scare the boy or show him this side of his nature. It was too much like Dracul’s.
Brenin didn’t leave. Instead, he rode the storm. “Malcolm? Malcolm? Take my vein.” The shocking words caused him to lower his chin. Brenin held up his wrist. “Take it!”
Malcolm could only shake his head in denial. He would not do it. It was too much to force upon the boy. This fit would pass. It was only thirst, nothing fatal, no matter how painful it was at the moment.
Brenin, thank God, finally got the message and rolled off him. There was a light from the attached head, maybe. Some rummaging around. Then Brenin was back, climbing up, straddling Malcolm once more. The scent of blood caught hold. Not a bead of it, but a trickle.
It was sufficient to take hold of Malcolm’s attention and his control. When Brenin pressed his bloody wrist against Malcolm’s lips, his fangs descended and he latched on to the vein.
Och God, the sweetness o
f it. Exquisite. Warm and salty. It slid down his dry throat and eased the ache. His head felt instantly heavy and he knew it had been too long since he’d fed, really fed. Microwaved blood in a fancy goblet was a poor substitute for the real thing.
He collapsed into the pillow, letting the languid pleasure cause his muscles to go lax, even while his cock punched up again. Brenin stayed with him, somehow positioning himself to grab both their cocks once more while his wrist remained caught by Malcolm’s teeth.
“Everything okay in here, guys?” Val’s voice.
Malcolm couldn’t bring himself to let go of the vein long enough to answer. Apparently, he didn’t need to.
“Oops, sorry.”
“There now, see? Even your friends trust you to be careful with me. Take what you need and I’ll do the rest.”
Brenin’s meaning became apparent in the next instance when he started moving the hand holding the dicks. There was no gentle caress this time, however. The boy jerked their shafts with vigor. That effort, coupled with the blood filling his mouth and coating his throat, sent Malcolm spasming. More importantly, Brenin came, too, at the same time. Over the scent of the blood, Malcolm caught the smell of the boy’s cum. His cock pulsed against Malcolm’s own.
It was all too much. His senses went on overload. For a few seconds, he believed he’d actually swooned, like some Victorian miss with a too-tight corset. When he came to his senses, though, he retracted his fangs and licked the punctures closed. He knew he should do more. Brenin needed tending to. Surely the boy was freaked out—in need of water, at the very least.
“Are you all right, laddie?” he panted out, the best he could do at the moment.
By way of answer, Brenin kissed his cheek. “Hush now. I’m fine. You worry too much, Malcolm MacLerie.”
The boy rustled about, the upshot of it being that he lay on his side curled into Malcolm’s. The kilt covered Malcolm’s middle and he hoped Brenin’s as well. He would check himself if he could only get his eyelids to open.
“I’m afraid your kilt is soiled now from the both of us.”
Malcolm smiled. “I shall never wash it again.”
“What will you wear, then?”
“I have others.”
“Good. I like the idea of your being dressed like a wild highlander when you invade the monster’s lair. My highlander,” he added with a loud yawn before he rested his head on Malcolm’s chest.
He found the strength to wrap one arm around the boy. My boy…and his highlander. Och, he liked the sound of all that a might too much.
Fuck me. I’ve fallen in love.
Chapter Ten
“Darling, I’m home. Did you miss me?”
“With every breath I took, sir,” the prim and proper butler-type intoned.
Christ Jesus, it’s like I’m in some Masterpiece Theater program. Trey was too under-slept and overwrought to find much humor in anything, however. And whereas the old castle nestled in the faraway hills of Scotland would normally have intrigued him, at the moment it just represented one more thing to hold them up. He wanted to get going, find Demi, kill as many fuckers as he could and go home.
“This is amazing.” Paz uttered the remark as he spun around the foyer, taking in everything around him. “That’s an actual suit of armor.” He pointed to one corner.
Yup, lots of nifty keen things. But there was only one Trey was interested in seeing. “Where’s your armament room, MacLerie?”
Before the guy could answer, a pretty blonde-haired girl skipped in and over to Willem. “You’re back!” She launched herself into his arms and he brought her up for a hug.
Alex, Val and Emil went suddenly still, shooting looks at one another. Whatever was going on, their surprise was both obvious and intriguing. Or it would have been if Trey’s mind wasn’t totally focused on rescuing Demi.
Willem, the most sedate of any of the aliens Trey had ever met, set the girl on her feet before saying, “This is Annika. She’s my adopted daughter.”
“Indeed,” Alex responded. “We are pleased to meet you, I’m sure. I am Alex,” he added as he perused her with a narrow-eyed gaze.
The girl’s face lit up. “Oh, captain. It’s an honor, sir.” Then she opened her mouth wide and let out a multi-toned screech that made Trey’s ears practically bleed.
Every human winced, in fact, and started to put up their hands before the sound ceased. Then there was silence until Annika looked back at Willem.
“Did I say that correctly?”
Willem didn’t appear too happy with the matter, but he gave her a curt nod and a brief smile. “Yes, that was very well done.”
Trey was about to ask by what standards, before he flashed on the obvious. That is their language, the aliens’ native tongue. Like cats fighting, someone had once remarked, and that wasn’t off base. How had that horrible sound come out of a human child? Not even Demi spoke it, at least not to Trey’s knowledge. Then again, what did he really know about the boy, other than he was a pain in Trey’s rear that had ended up lodged under his skin.
“Willem, I think you and I need to have a little chat,” Alex said.
“Agreed, sir, although later, please—when there’s more time and less anxiety over Harry and Demi.”
“Hmm,” Alex seemed to agree.
“I’m very sorry, captain, if I’ve caused you any alarm.” The girl walked all the way up to Alex. “I assure you your secrets are safe with me. My papa loved Willem and so do I. Before he died, Papa made me promise to take good care of Willem. And that’s what I do,” she added with a firm nod.
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Alex answered with equal solemnity and not a trace of irony or indulgence. “We do have serious business to attend to now, however. I’m sure you’ll understand when I ask that you not distract him and stay safely with Malcolm’s staff.”
“Yes, sir.” With that, she gave Willem another hug.
Before she left, however, Lucien stepped out from the back of the crowd. The guy had been eerily quiet the whole trip. “Annika, I am Lucien. Would you please take me to the kitchen? I should like to make myself useful.”
Holding out her hand, she said, “Of course, Mr. Lucien. I should be happy to.” Lucien accepted the help and allowed her to lead him back the way she’d come.
“What an odd child,” Paz whispered.
“Yeah,” Trey agreed, which was saying something, because his bar for weird was really high these days.
But at least they wasted no more time. With little fanfare, they split up. Brenin led the boys in one direction while the men and Logan followed Malcolm down a hallway. He took them to a room in what centuries ago must have been part of a dungeon. It was about a half a football field in length and loaded with so much weaponry of such varying types that Trey was momentarily stunned.
“Fucking A,” Logan spoke for the first time in hours. “Now, this is what I’m talking about. Anything off limits?” she called out to Malcolm.
“Well, now, I don’t think you’ll be needing the bazooka or the flamethrower, but help yourself, lassie.”
“You don’t know me very well,” she muttered as she made a beeline for those very things. Trey couldn’t be sure, but he thought she caressed them before moving on to her specialty…explosives.
Trey went for his own comfort zone, preferring an easy-to-carry nine-millimeter to something more cumbersome like a rifle. There was a shocking array of choices. He picked up a few and tried them for grip and balance before going with the Glock. It was what he was used to in his service revolver, after all, and in the heat of the battle to come, he wanted to be wholly comfortable with his weapon.
In addition to back-up clips, he would require a vest, zip ties in case civilians needed to be kept under control, flash grenades maybe and a knife or two. Glancing around, he could see that none of that was going to be a problem.
Paz came up. “I don’t know how to choose.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I might have oversold my ROTC trai
ning. I’ve never actually fired a pistol, only a rifle.”
Trey rolled his eyes. “Great. I guess you need a crash course in shooting.”
Paz winced. “Sorry.”
“Hey, MacLerie, you got a firing range?”
“Next room over,” the man replied as he and Alex perused what looked like large swords.
Grabbing his piece and an extra clip, Trey beckoned to the doctor. “Come on.”
“All right,” Paz replied, although his focus was on the alien-turned-Scotsman. “He’s not honestly going to fight using a claymore, is he?”
“Fuck if I know.” But, yeah, he did kind of and he’d given up trying to figure these aliens out. Anything that worked was fine with him, too, no matter how bizarre.
Hang in there, Demi. We’re coming.
* * * *
“They can’t be very happy,” Jase remarked, “swimming around in circles all day.”
Brenin put his chin on his hand as he stared down at the salmon. “Cook said that Malcolm’s fishery is smaller than most, so they’re not as crowded. I guess fancy restaurants in lowland cities pay a lot more for them because they’re such high quality.” He worried the faint scar at his wrist as he spoke.
Jase grabbed his hand. “He fed off you?”
“Yes.” Brenin pulled away. “At my insistence.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” He went back to leaning on the fishery fence. “We were fooling about, you know. Anyway, he nicked my lip with his fang then went into this seizure, like. I offered my vein and he refused. So, I found scissors in the loo, cut myself and made him drink.”
“Being fed from must have been harder for you than the sex was,” Jase remarked quietly. “I can’t say for sure because all of my rapists were human.”
Horrified, Brenin straightened. “There was more than one?” When Jase nodded, Brenin couldn’t keep from asking, “How did you ever recover from it?”
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