Star Dance

by Samantha Cayto

  Malcolm smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “You’re a fine one, make no mistake, Brenin Jones. Not everyone who went through what you did would want to take on such a difficult task. You’d be well within your rights to demand they get out of your sight so that you could forget.”

  “There’s no forgetting, is there? And I want to be useful.”

  “It won’t be easy.” He shut down the engines and took Brenin’s hand. “The hybrid in particular will be a difficult thing to deal with.”

  “He’s only a little boy.”

  “Not so young. We age differently than you do. He’s older than he seems by human standards.”

  Brenin pulled up short and glared at him. “You’re not to hurt him.”

  “Don’t worry, my love. I won’t. I might have to lock him in my dungeon at some point, but…”

  “It won’t come to that.” Brenin resolved right then and there that he’d do what it took to alter any bad traits the boy might have picked up from his alien father.

  As they left the boat, he watched how Lucien walked up the dock with Demi in his embrace and the two of them in Harry’s. They were so obviously happy that Brenin found himself wishing for the same.

  He gnawed at his lower lip before asking, “Do you want a son?”

  Malcolm stumbled by the gangplank. It would have been comical if Brenin weren’t so focused on his question. “I can’t say as I’ve given that any thought.”

  “I’m asking you to consider it now, please.”

  “Och, Brenin, my bonny lad, that’s entirely up to you. For my own selfish reasons, I want to feed you my blood to keep you with me for the rest of my life. It comes with changes, though, if we do it while you’re young.”

  “How old would I have to be before it wouldn’t work?”

  “I can’t say for certain.” He led them down to the dock as they spoke. “Late twenties, early thirties, I guess. Harry would know best. It’s a big step, make no mistake, and one I’d never ask of you. After all you’ve been through, I’ll be that glad to have you in the way we’ve already been and not ask for more.”

  Brenin believed him. The only problem was, he didn’t think that it would be enough for him. Dracul was dead. It was time to banish all traces of him. It wasn’t the right moment to have this deep discussion, however. There was work to be done. The former slaves needed to be settled in and, if this was to become Brenin’s home, he needed to get used to playing a major roll.

  He tugged at Malcolm’s hand and picked up his pace. “Come on. There’s lots to do yet.”

  Laughing, Malcolm allowed himself to be led. “Whatever you say, laddie. I’m yours to command.”

  * * * *

  Dafydd woke with a gasp. His head felt too heavy to lift, as did his whole body. There was a dull ache down where he’d once carried Dracul’s son. The baby was gone. He could tell that much. Relief washed over him, as did confusion. He couldn’t quite remember all that had happened and he had to blink a few times to see where he was. It was a bedroom, lovely and warm, but nothing he was familiar with.

  “How are you feeling? Any pain?”

  Dafydd jerked at the voice. It was gentle and he recognized it. Turning his head, he saw the young doctor coming out of the shadows. He looked down at Dafydd kindly and put his hand on Dafydd’s brow.

  “No fever. That’s good.”

  “Is it?” Dafydd’s voice was rusty and his throat hurt.

  “You need water.” The doctor poured a glass from a pitcher on the nightstand and helped Dafydd lift his head to drink.

  It was coolly delicious and he was pathetically grateful for the kindness. “Thank you,” he croaked out when he’d had enough. He still had some manners left in him.

  Although no trust.

  He eyed the doctor. “Do you own me now?”

  The man was obviously startled by the question. He frowned. “No. Of course I don’t. No one does. You’re free. Don’t you understand that’s what happened when I arrived in your room?”

  Dafydd shook his head slowly. “No. I… Dracul.”

  “Is dead.”

  The news hit him like a blunt instrument. He should have been elated, but all positive emotion had been beaten out of him long ago. The most he could muster was indifference. He lay there with nothing to say.

  “Do you want to see your son?”

  “No!” That was an easy answer. The thought of it made him sick. “I don’t want that thing anywhere near me.”

  “He’s your child.”

  “No. It’s only ever been part of Dracul’s master plans. It’s a weapon of destruction.”

  The doctor seemed frustrated. “You know that’s not how it has to be. You spent time with Demi. Do you understand what he risked to save your life?”

  Dafydd shifted his gaze to the ceiling. There was a pretty pastoral scene painted there. “I told him not to bother. In any event, his father was different, so he is. That thing you cut out of me has evil in its veins.”

  The doctor sighed. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I don’t, though. He’s alive and well and is going to stay that way. Someone will bring him up if you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t. You waste your time and breath if you think you can change my mind on this. Kill me now if my answer doesn’t please you.”

  “Dafydd, you know I’m not going to do that.”

  “You’re not saying it right.”

  “I beg your pardon? Is there a better way for me to make my case to you?”

  “I mean my name. You have an American accent.”

  “Because I’m from America. Boston, to be precise.” Now there was amusement in the man’s tone.

  Dafydd glanced at him. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about any of that.”

  “Don’t you?” The bed depressed as the doctor sat on the edge. Dafydd steeled himself to be touched but that didn’t happen. “You have a chance to live a good life now. With Dracul dead, you can come to Boston, start over.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you can. Look around you. This is what waits for you—comfort, safety, prosperity even. Alex and his family will take good care of you and ask nothing in return.”

  Dafydd snorted. “There is always a price.”

  “Not this time. Not anymore.” The doctor was quiet for a while, sitting and not touching, not preaching. Then, “Would you like to name your son?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care about that thing.” Maybe if he goaded the man sufficiently, he would end him. I still want death, don’t I?

  “So you’ve said. A baby needs a name, however. I’ll call him Diego.”

  Dafydd couldn’t help frowning. “That’s stupid. He’s not Spanish.”

  “True, although by your estimation, he’s not Welsh, either.”

  Disgusted with himself for walking into the trap, he bit out, “Call him what you like, mun.”

  “At least you’ve upgraded the baby to a ‘him’ and not an ‘it’. But your point is well taken. Just because I’m Hispanic doesn’t mean I should choose something from my heritage. I’m not the boy’s father, after all. What’s a good Welsh name for a boy?”

  “Idris.” The moment the name passed his lips, Dafydd could have bitten his tongue. It must have been the pain meds he was on, making him fuzzy-headed and stupid with it.

  “Oh, like the actor.”

  “No, like my da… Never mind.” He turned away from the man. “I’m that tired and want to go back to sleep.”

  “Of course. I’ll be right here if you need me. You’re safe, Dafydd. Did I say it right that time?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll have to practice.”

  “Do as you please. It’s nothing to me either way.”

  Closing his eyes, he ignored the man—or tried to. Even with his alien master dead and his rescue from his prison of so many centuries, he still felt trapped. This place was everything he’d never had—warm and inviting
—and there’d likely be his fill of food, as well. It was a cage, nevertheless, and no amount of pretty words or creature comforts would change that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I thought I’d find you up here.”

  “It’s a fine, clear night for stargazing.”

  Malcolm took his eye away from the lens to greet Brenin. The boy looked terribly fetching in his kilt and nothing else. Malcolm was the same, although he had a shirt on to hide the new scars on his body. He didn’t want to alarm the boy or anyone else.

  He tugged Brenin in for a long kiss. The boy melted into him and his tongue shyly met Malcolm’s when it begged entrance into Brenin’s mouth. Each time they touched, the boy’s inhibitions fell away a wee bit more. Soon, Malcolm hoped they’d be gone for good, or at least as gone as would ever be possible.

  “Hmm.” Malcolm pulled back. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I tried, but I think my internal clock is still screwed up. I took a nap and feel refreshed, though. So much so I was hoping you’d give me a lesson about the planets and the stars.” He let go of Malcolm and sauntered up to the telescope.

  “If that’s what you want, I’ll be happy to.” He’d give him the moon, if he could. “What do you want to see?” He lowered the scope to Brenin’s height as he asked.

  “Um.” Brenin pursed his adorable lips. “How about we start with the basics? Venus?”

  Malcolm adjusted the scope and stepped back. “Look there.”

  Putting his eye to the lens, Brenin made a humming noise. “Nice. Jupiter?”

  Malcolm guided the scope with his hand, watching Brenin’s reaction. “Here.”

  “Uh-huh. Mars?”

  He moved it again. “Here.”

  “Sirius?”

  “That’s a star system. The brightest from our vantage point here on Earth. This is it.”

  “I think I’m beginning to see the distinctions. How about Cassiopeia?”

  “That’s a constellation.” He moved the scope once more.

  “You’re going to have to teach me the difference between all of these things.”

  “Gladly, laddie. What do you want to see next?”

  Brenin stopped looking through the scope and stared instead into Malcolm’s eyes. “Show me how it can be between two men who love each other. All the way.”

  Malcolm’s breath caught hearing that request. He had to make himself breathe and he thought maybe his heart had skipped a beat. “Are you sure? Brenin, you don’t have to do this for me. I meant it when I said what we have is enough.”

  Brenin placed his palm against Malcolm’s chest. “It’s not for me. I want this.” He moved in closer and stood on his toes. “I want you.” He gave him a kiss, not a long, lingering one, but one that was firm. Certain.

  Malcolm ran his hands up the boy’s arms. “I will treat you with all the care in the world,” he vowed. “And while I’ll guide you, you have control. If anything makes you uncomfortable, you tell me and I’ll stop. Agreed?”

  Brenin nodded. “Yes.”

  “Come to my room, then.” Taking his hand, he tried to lead him out.

  “No.” Brenin dug in his heels, figuratively and emotionally. “I want to do it here, under the stars and away from everyone else.”

  Malcolm frowned. “Seriously? There’s no bed here and the rug isn’t that padded.”

  “I’m sure.” So saying, Brenin dropped his kilt and went down on his knees. As he’d worn nothing underneath, he was completely naked.

  That was all the persuading Malcolm’s cock needed. He went hard in an instant and, because he also hadn’t bothered with his boxer-briefs, his arousal was visible.

  Brenin smiled at it and crooked his finger. “Come join me.”

  “As if I could deny you anything.” Malcolm took off his kilt and threw it aside. He hesitated a moment before doing the same with his shirt. If they were going to truly be lovers, Brenin needed to see him fully, warts and all. Brenin gasped and, when Malcolm knelt in from of him, it was the scars the boy touched, not the straining dick bobbing between them.

  “These are new.”

  “Aye, from the tunnel.”

  “You got them saving me.” There was moisture in the boy’s eyes.

  “Dinnae fash yourself on my account. They’re a small price to pay.”

  “Won’t they ever heal?”

  “No. If someone had been there to close the wounds with saliva, you wouldn’t see a thing. As it was, the skin turned to ash, as is our physiology, and it won’t regenerate.”

  Brenin traced the scars lightly with his fingertips. The effect was to cause Malcolm’s cock to go even harder and his balls tightened. “You’re more vulnerable than I am in that way?”

  “Aye.”

  “And your nose is crooked. You broke it?”

  “I did. I can ask Doc McPhee to reset it if you’d like.”

  A smile flashed across Brenin’s pretty face. “No, that’s fine, then. I wouldn’t want you to be too handsome, like. I might have to fight the other village boys over you. Besides, it makes you look more like my wild highlander.”

  “I’ll always be that, laddie. I want to kiss you,” he confessed in the next breath. “May I?”

  “Always. I like kissing.”

  That was all the permission he needed. Taking Brenin’s hands in his, he pulled him forward. Malcolm landed on his back and encouraged the boy to lie on top of him so that he could capture his lips without overwhelming him with his body.

  Brenin didn’t need much coaxing. He plastered himself on top of Malcolm and met his passion with equal fervor. They chased tongues from one mouth to the other. When they tired of that game, they took turns nibbling around each other’s lips. Their position, meanwhile, caused their cocks to slide together skin to skin. Malcolm cupped Brenin’s arse to press their bodies even closer. He thought he might come from this frottage alone.

  The lad had other ideas. He broke the kiss and peppered Malcolm’s chin and neck, before moving down his torso. Malcolm thought he would stop at the dick, knowing how he must have been forced to suck Dracul’s cock.

  No, don’t think it. That’s what Dracul wanted, to ruin it for both of us.

  He banished the past and, flinging his arms out, let Brenin have his way. The first tentative licks along the weeping head caused Malcolm’s hips to rear up. He forced them down, made himself lie flat. Brenin ran his fingers up the shaft, slid his thumb through the slit. Malcolm jerked and hissed.

  “Do you like that?” Brenin either sounded genuinely curious or was messing about. Malcolm couldn’t tell and didn’t care.

  “You’re killing me. Don’t stop.” He closed his eyes and concentrated on the good things happening below his waist.

  Brenin chuckled then returned with his lips. This time, he sucked the cockhead into his mouth. He didn’t take much and didn’t need to. The way he laved the bundle of nerves underneath with his tongue was more than sufficient to cause Malcolm’s head to explode—the small one. He came with such speed that he didn’t have time to issue a warning.

  The boy gasped.

  “Sorry, sorry. Damn.” He tried to wiggle out of the way, even as his orgasm made him shudder.

  “No, it’s fine.” Brenin slid the side of his finger up the shaft. “It will make for good lube.”

  “What?” Malcolm forced his eyes open. “No, don’t!”

  In the process of rubbing the cum around his hole, Brenin froze. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Never. I just don’t want to hurt you, is all.”

  “You won’t. I can take you dry if I have to.”

  The casual way in which Brenin accepted his brutality infuriated Malcolm as nothing had before. Did he really think this human could recover that quickly from his degradation? Malcolm had to assume that he knew nothing of how it should be between them.

  “You asked me to show you what it’s supposed to be like. Let me, then. Trust me.”

  “I do.” />
  “Good lad. Come up here.” He guided Brenin so that he straddled Malcolm’s neck. “I want a taste of your sweet cock.”

  “You don’t…” The boy’s words dried on his tongue as Malcolm swallowed him in one big gulp.

  “Oh.” This was why men liked having their dicks sucked. Sure, on an intellectual level, he’d understood. But this? The exquisite feel of Malcolm’s lips and tongue and throat working Brenin’s shaft was beyond imagining. Malcolm acted as if this was a special treat for him. He moaned and his eyelids closed to half-mast.

  Brenin held himself steady by planting both palms on the floor beside Malcolm’s head. He couldn’t keep his own eyes open. With his sight gone, he could concentrate on the amazing sensations. His balls tightened and they ached in a sweet way that was almost painful. His cock jerked when Malcolm sucked particularly hard, and his hole clenched. He was afraid he might come too soon.

  Malcolm seemed to know how to pace himself, though. Just when Brenin was about to issue a warning, the man’s efforts slowed. He pulled back on the cock and tickled the underneath with a wagging tongue. Brenin clawed at the floor and moaned. He wanted more. He just didn’t know for sure what the more was.

  Again, Malcolm knew. The man slid his hand up the back of Brenin’s leg and cupped his arse. He slid a finger in between the cheeks and teased Brenin’s hole. It spasmed at the attention but not enough to keep Malcolm from slipping inside. The bit of cum Brenin had massaged around it still lingered. And he knew how to relax, especially when Malcolm handily distracted him with more deep-throating.

  “Yesss,” he hissed, then moaned in case he hadn’t made himself clear. “More, please.”

  Malcolm did as he asked, inserting his finger as far as it would go. He fucked Brenin with it, syncing the rhythm of his head bobbing up and down Brenin’s cock. Brenin could feel his hole loosening, opening up to the gentle invasion. There was a sensation of fullness there, no pain, then a starburst of pleasure rocked him as Malcolm scraped along some inside part of him.

  Brenin couldn’t stay still. He rocked back onto the finger before reversing and sending his dick balls deep into Malcolm’s mouth. His lover stayed with him, never faltering, giving him everything he demanded—and more than he knew how to ask.