by Kody Boye
I took hold of its base and swallowed the first few inches.
Guy pressed his hands to the wall and sighed as I bobbed my head along his length, tracing the soft hairs on the curves of his thighs and running my hands along his hips to take hold of his ass. The muscles tensed beneath my touch and he groaned as I took him deeper into my throat, his hold faltering as he removed his hands from the wall to tangle his fingers in my hair.
“God,” he said, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Fuck.”
I cupped his balls in one hand and stroked the hardening nub beneath them before taking him all the way.
Guy grunted.
I swallowed, forcing my head into his groin.
His fingers briefly tightened within my hair, then released, his hips rolling with the motions of my head.
“God Jason. Where’d you get so good at giving head?” He cast his head back as I picked up the pace. “Nevermind. Don’t answer. Keep going.”
My fist worked my dick in alternating bursts between his body, tightening my hold on my shaft and letting up when I felt I was starting to go too far. I took him all the way down and took hold of his thighs as I increased my pace.
Guy caught on quick.
Taking hold of my head, he began to fuck my face.
I played with his balls and slapped his ass as his grunts started to match his thrusts. His balls slapping across my face, my eyes blurred likely from the deep-throating and the water raining down from the showerhead—I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him in as deep as I could before pulling back, spit thick along my chin as I turned and presented myself to him.
“Jason,” he said, his cock slick along my backside.
He prepped me accordingly before spinning me around and kissing me—hard, his restraints broken as he ravaged my mouth and nipped at my neck.
“Where,” I started to ask.
He lifted me into his arms. I braced one arm across his shoulders and used my other to guide him into place.
Once inside, he pressed me against the wall and made love to my upper body.
“You’re so amazing,” he said, brushing thumbs along my nipples as I coaxed myself down his length. “God, Jason—”
I slid my tongue into his mouth and wrapped my arms around him as I slid the last few inches down his length.
He grunted.
I groaned.
He eased me into it with slow, gentle thrusts.
“First time I’ve ever been fucked in a shower,” I said between sharp grunts and sighs of pleasure.
“Enjoying it?” Guy asked, nipping my lip.
“For sure.”
He thrust his hips against mine and steadily increased his pace to a firm rhythm, the slap of flesh pitched by the spray of water hitting our bodies. I tightened my grip around him and bowed my head into his shoulder as he started going faster, fucking me at a pace where I was quickly losing control of my senses.
“Guy,” I asked.
“I gotta put you on the floor,” he gasped. “Otherwise I’m gonna slip. Is that ok?”
I nodded only long enough for him to circle and then set me upon the massive shower floor.
Here, he went all out.
His fevered thrusts slowed only when he slid back onto his knees and started to thrust into me.
“Shit, Jason,” he gasped, kissing my torso. “Fuck. I dunno if I can last much longer.”
“Fuck me,” I said. “Just fuck me.”
He flipped me onto my back and slung my legs over his shoulders before driving into me as hard as he could.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he said, bucking, his head rolling about his shoulders. “Shit, Jason. I’m gonna—”
I exploded.
He grabbed my hips and let out a shout that matched the tune of my cry as we came simultaneously.
He thrust into me only a few more times, allowing his body the last of its carnal pleasures before he slid free. He settled down beside me with a breathy sigh and opened his eyes when he caught sight of my stupid grin.
“You rock my world,” Guy said, running a hand along my chest. “That was the best sex I ever had.”
I laughed, taking into consideration the time and how loud we must have been. “You think anyone heard?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter if they did,” Guy smiled. “It’s happened in the past.”
I closed my eyes and breathed in the damp air.
The heat, the sex, the smell—if Guy was immortal, for how long, and what number was I?
Rather than dwell on it, I rolled over and spread out atop his body.
His hands on me were magic.
He paced the room in a pair of loose-fitting sweats while I lay on the bed. Tired from running and worn out from the morning’s activities, I curled onto my side and drew a sheet about my naked body, only vaguely aware of Guy’s spectral presence by the occasional expletive when he bumped into something.
“Why don’t you lay down?” I asked. “You could use some rest.”
“You need something to drink?” Guy asked.
“No, I—”
Guy disappeared out the door and into the deeper parts of the flat.
Frowning, I chose not to fight it and set my attention on the wall.
Like in Guy’s apartment in Austin, there were a number of artifacts which presented themselves in a nondescript manner that the casual visitor wouldn’t think twice. Globes beneath which were trapped snowy, eastern European continents; barbarian and Viking figures engaged in war; men and women dressed in historical regalia—of times and places described only in history and preserved scarcely in museums. Those that took particular precedence over the others were far stranger than the rest.
I stared at their shapes, trying to discern the quality of their make.
These things—whatever they were—were nothing like I’d ever seen.
Easing my legs over the bed, I tentatively approached the dresser upon and above which they were assembled, cursing my overambitious ideas after the morning’s worth of fun.
The objects, which I could now see in detail, appeared to be pieces of jewelry—hewn jaggedly by hand. From what stone they’d been made I couldn’t be sure. The blue was similar to sapphire, yet the highlights resembled beryl, and they obviously were not made of different stones, as there was no unnatural split that indicated a binding. They also appeared to swim beneath the light in a way that was not indicative of such jewelry.
I frowned.
The pieces, so strange in their formation, eventually drew my eyes to the ensemble above.
It looked primitive in most respects—resembling Native American craftsmanship in that the clothing had been made from the skin of animals and stitched upon certain sufaces were the stones I’d just marveled over. Long threading hung from the tunic and its sleeves, beaded with yet more stones. And the pants—
My eyes centered on one item that I had only just discovered.
A glove—fingerless, extending only to the top of the second knuckle.
Upon its surface lay a symbol—which, when compared in its most primitive form, resembled a ribbon.
“What in the,” I started.
“Back,” Guy said.
Startled, I jumped, spinning to face him only to run into his chest.
“Sorry about that,” he said, holding me steady as I regained my bearings. “You ok?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I was just… looking.”
Guy’s eyes trailed past me. “Oh,” he said. “That.”
He passed the bottle of water into my hand and stood before the display of objects. Arms crossed, his gaze took much of the same path I did before they came to rest on a particular fixture over the bathroom door—the same symbol displayed on the glove.
“This is,” Guy said, without bothering to turn and mind my attention, “my legacy.”
“Legacy?” I asked.
He inclined his head toward the bed and then gestured me out of the room when I indicated that
I was fine. He led me into the living room with the panoramic windows and settled down on a loveseat, his sigh giving no indication of where he wanted me.
“My father,” he said as I settled down beside him, “was one of the original descendants of the Kaldr people who fled Norway after Vikings took control of their settlements.” He turned his head when I snapped the lock off the bottled water and watched me drink until bowing his head. “There is… hierarchy, here, in a way. As you may have noticed.”
“Your father’s king?” I asked.
“Hell no,” Guy laughed. “What makes you think that?”
My unwavering stare was reply enough.
He frowned. “It’s… confusing, to say the least. My father, he… was merely a steward for much of his time in the Americas. It wasn’t until the Kelda arrived that the positions split.”
“The Kelda?” I frowned.
“The Fountain. Our leader. Our Mother.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” I said. “If your father isn’t king, and if this was his operation until the Mother—I mean Kelda—arrived, then who is—”
“She is one of the original Kaldr.”
I frowned. “What?”
“My father, myself, the people here on this ranch—none of us are firstborn. We bear the name because it is our heritage—ancestry in the sense that we have continued the legacy. But we are not pure. No. We are merely byproducts of human copulation.”
“She isn’t human then.”
“No one knows what she is. Most consider her a goddess. I think of her more as… the bitch that lives beneath the ranch.”
“That doesn’t explain how you fall into all this.”
“My father is one of the few Kaldr spawned by humans in the first generation. Therefore, his blood ties are stronger—more defined, concrete. Therefore, when my forefathers fled their homeland, they considered him their better—closer to the Kelda that arrived thousands of years later.”
“Which explains his status over the property,” I said.
“And which makes me his legacy.”
“His prince.”
Guy shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I am,” he said. “All that matters is that I’ll be forced to copulate to continue the pureblooded generation.”
“But you’re gay.”
“My point exactly.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. The absurdity of it was almost too much to bear. “I understand why they would care about continuing your father’s line,” I frowned. “If your father is first generation and you’re second, that means any child you have would be the third.”
“Which was my argument exactly. The Kaldr of today are not the Kaldr of Norway. We’re descendants—bastards.”
“But if you’re able to have children, then that means—”
I trailed off.
“Yes,” Guy said, as if amused at the prospect of a biology listen. “That means my come has sperm.”
“I kinda figured that,” I said. “But if you can’t catch or give anything, why’d you wear a condom that first time?”
“Because I was under the guise of a human, remember? The point is to appear as unobtrusive as possible. Someone finds out I had sex with a positive partner and, well… there you have it. You’ve got someone who’s immune to AIDs.”
I nodded. “That’s why you left,” I said.
“Because even though I was trapped out there,” Guy said, “in a world full of humans, governments, laboratories and the innate need to make a buck, I was still far more free than I ever was here.”
“What’re you going to do now that you’re here?”
“Become prince. That’s all I can do, right?”
Though the expected response was to nod, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Something had yet to be answered.
If there would never again be a true Kaldr, then why was the Kelda so intent on continuing a diluted legacy?
A knock came at the door in the later hours of the night. Freshly filled from dinner and spread out along the couch, Guy lifted his head from its place on the armrest and sighed as he withdrew his arm from my shoulders.
“Sorry,” he said.
I shook my head to show indifference and watched him walk to the door. When he opened it, I caught sight of Amadeo standing in the doorway, speaking in hushed tones to Guy.
Guy turned and gestured me up.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“My father wants to see you,” he said. “If that’s all right?”
“It’s fine.” I looked up at Amadeo. “Hello.”
“Good evening,” Amadeo said, his kind eyes dull with remorse of a sour situation.
With nothing else to do or say, I turned to face Guy. “Guess I’ll be back later,” I said, stepping out through an open door. “Keep an ear out for me?”
“I won’t lock you out,” he said.
We exchanged awkward waves before the door closed behind me.
“This way,” Amadeo said.
He led me through the series of hallways that still remained confusing and directed us toward the far wing on the east side. Our footsteps sounded monstrous in the silence of the beautiful home, which only further added to my unease, but I managed to maintain myself and kept my gaze straight ahead.
“I was not aware that you and he had such an… awkward relationship,” Amadeo offered.
I stopped in the middle of the hall, near where the banister overlooked the expansive living room, and frowned. “Sorry?” I asked.
“When he brought you here, I assumed that you might have been a longtime lover. But judging by your actions…”
“It’s ok,” I said, in the silence after he faded off. “You can continue.”
Amadeo scanned my face before nodding, the unease wiped clean of his face. “Mr. Winters and I were concerned when we learned about the alleged murder allegations. When you walked through the door, I expected the pair of you to act in a more intimate manner. But now that I see that you haven’t… well… it makes me concerned for your wellbeing. Both of you.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. “Guy called you ‘Papa,’” I said a short moment later, when the memory flickered across my conscience like a lonesome butterfly. “Does that mean you’re one of his parents?”
“Yes. I’ve been in Guy’s life since he was quite young. I practically watched him grow up.”
“I asked because he seems more relaxed around you.”
“Ah… the good parent, bad parent thing,” Amadeo said. He gestured me along and I followed him deeper into the house. “Elliot has always been hard on him, but with good intentions. He merely wants Guy to fulfill his legacy. I could care less what he does so long as he’s happy.”
“But Guy’s gay. Why is his father so concerned about continuing their bloodline?”
“Because he himself did it, despite his persuasion. He believes personal sacrifice is necessary if it is for the good of the people, regardless of whether the individual believes so or not.”
“So Mr. Winters thinks Guy’s being stubborn?”
“In a way, yes. But he fails to acknowledge the fact that Guy’s mother died during childbirth.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. I’d thought that maybe the Kelda might have had something to do with Guy’s conception, or maybe his human mother had simply faded into the back of Guy’s life without question—lost to the tune of the everyday grind through the sway of persuasion wrought by one simple touch. I never expected this.
“How’d it happen?” I asked.
“That isn’t something I should be discussing with you,” Amadeo said. He stopped near another set of double doors and knocked. “Elliot.”
“Yes?” the senior Winters asked.
“I’ve brought the boy. Jason. Our son’s admiration.”
The door opened to reveal Elliot Winters in full, his clothes casual but not inappropriate for the evening. “Come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
&n
bsp; “You wanted to see me?” I asked.
Elliot Winters took note of my request and returned with bottled water. Settling down across from me, he balanced a steaming cup of coffee atop a small China plate and watched me from over the rim as he drank. “Yes,” he said as he lowered the cup. “I did.”
The Kaldr set his drink on the table and crossed his arms over his chest, examining my presence. I’d experienced such scrutiny only once with Guy, and even then I’d adapted to the myriad of gazes that had fallen upon me on the property, when the other Kaldr had turned to look at us. But this—this was something completely different. This was like looking up at the stars and wondering if we were alone.
When the moments began to drag uncomfortably long, I settled back into my seat. “Sir?”
“Jason, please be honest with me when I ask you this question.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Are you the victim of a hostage situation?”
“No,” I laughed, almost out of reflex. His narrowed gaze clearly displayed his emotions. “No, sir. Not at all.”
“And you’re being perfectly honest?”
“Yes. I am.”
Elliot leaned forward. “You’re aware of our powers,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied, unnerved by how bright the outer rims of his eyes were.
“So you know that he could make you do things against your will?”
“I know, sir.”
Elliot stared—scouring my face, objecting my reasoning, examining possible motives. The radiance in his outer irises were too complex for me to tell just what was happening in them, but they appeared to be moving—shifting, slightly, like the gems within Guy’s room. While I could feel no present affect, I was sure he was doing something to me. “You’ve been Glamoured only once,” he said. “Days ago, even, but not for personal gain.”
“He was healing me, sir.”
“Beg pardon?”
I stood and lifted the tail of my shirt, tilting my body to display the fading remnants of a bruise. “I was attacked by an armed robber while I was in your son’s apartment,” I said, settling back down on the couch. “He slammed me into the counter, held me at gunpoint. If Guy hadn’t have done anything, I’d be dead.”