Fox's Folly

by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  Paul grabbed his own energy, tried to rein it in. He’d meant this to be all about Tag, as one more apology for his stupidity, but that skillful mouth was just too much to resist, especially in tandem with Tag’s scent, Tag’s flavor, Tag’s cock filling him, overwhelming him.

  As Tag sucked, a little finger teased—just teased—an asshole too long neglected.

  Paul exploded down Tag’s throat, and at the first taste, Tag did too, drowning Paul in his musk, in his pleasure.

  Paul rolled off, thunking onto the mattress. He ventured to open his eyes and could see nothing in the room but Tag.

  All was as it should be.

  Epilogue

  Paul and Tag had set their wedding date for late January because it was a time traditional for neither witches nor foxes to marry, and picking a random date seemed least likely to cause discord between their two large families. The good news was both families were delighted by the impending marriage, or at least by the excuse to have a big party in the doldrums of winter, and were coming out of the woodwork to attend.

  The bad news was exactly the same thing.

  By three days before the wedding, five hundred people had filtered into Donovan’s Cove—Donovans, Rosses, relatives and friends both magical and dual, and a few random and rather mysterious folks, including Mr. Aisling and someone who looked like a tall, craggy, old Native American man to Tag, but who Paul swore was actually the spirit of a redwood. More were due in over the next forty-eight hours, including the drag-king Elvis witch who’d be one of the officiants at the wedding, a Donovan third cousin. (Paul was surprised to find out about cousin Mel’s hobby, but as Tag put it, “Trickster always answers prayers. Just be careful what you ask for.”) Tag made a few inquiries among his soon-to-be in-laws and found a cabin in the mountains where he and Paul could retreat, ostensibly so Paul could center himself for the ritual.

  They’d been enjoying the peace and privacy of their mountain retreat, spending most of their time eating, sleeping and fucking. Tag had suggested it for a deep reason, though, and it was high time to carry out his plan. Only he was having a hard time making himself do it.

  Curled up under a heavy layer of blankets, his face relaxed so he looked younger and even more painfully beautiful, Paul slept so bonelessly and peacefully it almost seemed a shame to wake him.

  Almost.

  Tag did hesitate for a few seconds, drinking in Paul’s pale, elegant beauty, his clean smell of ocean and green things and spicy magic overlaid by delicious rut. Damn, his future husband was gorgeous. Maybe he should just slip in next to Paul, wake up slowly and sensually, and then carry out his plan.

  Just as he’d half-convinced himself to be sweet and romantic instead of prankish, Paul rolled over in his sleep. The blankets slipped, exposing his muscled ivory chest down to his nipples.

  Tag’s mischief drive kicked in irresistibly. He put one icy hand on Paul’s warm nipple and used the other to yank the covers back. “Wake up, Witch-Boy. I need to show you something.”

  Paul yelped. Then he reached around and grabbed Tag’s bare butt, kneading sensually but possessively. It would have made Tag nervous if Paul had been a feline dual of some kind. As it was, it was hot. “There are better ways to get my attention,” Paul muttered sleepily. “Remember when I got back into bed in the morning and curled up around you and started kissing…”

  “Yeah.” Tag couldn’t help smiling at the memories of Paul’s mouth tracing down his spine, his clever tongue tickling where the base of his tail hid before slipping between his cheeks…

  “Next time, I’ll use an icicle instead,” he grumbled. Still, he swung his feet to the floor. Tag, hoping to work his way back into Paul’s good graces, handed him clothes and his coat.

  “You’re taking me outside? It’s the middle of the night,” Paul protested, though he was already slipping into the clothes. “In January. In the mountains. This had better be good.”

  Tag kissed him hard, then said, “I don’t know if you’ll think it’s good or not. But it’s important.”

  Rare Oregon snow, light yet wet, fell gently from a starless sky. There was a full moon, but it peeped out only occasionally from between obscuring clouds, and once they got any distance from the cabin, the darkness was nearly complete. Even Tag’s keen eyes were challenged, but his other senses took over, guiding him so he could guide Paul to what he needed his lover, his soon-to-be husband, to see.

  They’d worked out so much on their own during their time apart. Tag had realized that no one else could compare to Paul, that given a choice between Paul and everyone he’d ever slept with, was sleeping with, or might someday sleep with in some version of reality, he’d choose Paul. Paul had realized that his own rigid sense of right and wrong, his belief in Donovan tradition, had almost cost him someone he referred to as “the other half of my soul.” (Tag always guffawed when Paul said that, out of some sense of masculine obligation they both realized was a put-on, but he agreed with the sentiment behind the flowery words.) Coming from such different worlds, they still had plenty to learn about each other, which, overall, he figured was a good thing. Kept you from getting bored. But Tag wanted to be sure Paul understood one important thing about Tag’s nature before they tied the knot. Not that he thought for a minute it would change Paul’s decision. Once the silly man finally let himself commit to Tag, his mind seemed made up forever. But it would make things easier down the road.

  They hiked on in near silence. At first, they’d held hands, but soon it became easier for Tag to lead the way, Paul holding on to the back of his jacket at times to keep up.

  At last they reached a clearing among the trees. Tag’s skin prickled. His instincts told him to stop here, that soon foxes would come to him.

  Calling upon his foxside, he sniffed the air deeply. It wasn’t so much a smell in the way his wordy side would define a smell that confirmed it, though he caught a hint of comforting animal funk in the complex mix of scents that made up the forest. Pheromones, perhaps, that the fox in him could detect but his wordside couldn’t parse. He held up his hand, halted Paul, put two fingers to Paul’s lips to keep him from asking the questions that must be swarming through his always busy mind.

  Paul’s tongue darted out to lick the fingers, a sensual warmth on Tag’s chilled skin. He hadn’t worn gloves—like most duals, he ran hot and didn’t usually need them—and now he was glad.

  He definitely was when Paul sucked the fingers into his mouth, licking and teasing and suckling. Tag squirmed. Paul’s hot mouth on his fingers reminded Tag’s cock just how good those lips and that skilled tongue could be. Hadn’t been inside Paul’s mouth in over twenty-four hours, due to the way they’d chosen to play. He’d sucked Paul. Paul had fucked him. He’d fucked Paul. And tonight, on the rug in front of the fire, they’d spent a delicious couple of hours just kissing and caressing and rubbing against each other, massaging each other with warm, scented oil, kissing some more, eventually using hands and their whole bodies to push each other to orgasms that blended seamlessly with the other pleasuring. But somehow, Paul hadn’t sucked him.

  That would have to be remedied when they got back to the cabin. Or maybe sooner, if Paul was willing. His favorite witch got hot for outdoor sex, but kneeling in wet snow—or more to the point, hiking back to the cabin in cold, wet jeans—might take the fun out of it. Unlike Tag, Paul got chilled easily, and as they’d learned one time when the hot water in the shower ran out, it was a mood-breaker for him.

  As Tag contemplated how they could manage some al fresco fooling around without Paul turning into a Paulsicle, a vixen trotted into the clearing. Tag’s foxside signaled excitedly, immediately picking up that she was in heat, ripe for mating. Tag’s wordside might or might not have caught it eventually, but he was so busy feeling in heat himself he probably wouldn’t.

  Reluctantly, Tag reclaimed his fingers, then pulled Paul close. Paul got what Tag wanted. Someday, Tag might get used to the fact that, even though Paul couldn’t re
ad him telepathically as closely as he would a human or use silentspeech the way Tag could with another dual, he still picked up Tag’s unspoken thoughts. Paul scooted around so he was standing behind Tag, holding him, cradling him against his taller body and looking over the smaller man’s shoulder. “Lovely,” Paul whispered, and Tag didn’t bother to shush him since it summed it up so well: the night, the forest, the fox, so perfect and graceful and complete, and the fact he and Paul shared it all.

  It didn’t take long for a dog fox to join them in the clearing, and what followed was an ancient dance that never got old for Tag. Both foxes were so intent on their purpose they were unaware of their two-footed audience, or, perhaps, relying on their noses and instincts more than their eyes in the darkness, they took Tag as a particularly large one of their own.

  The dog fox chased the vixen, pouncing at her until he caught her. She fought, nipped, eluded him time and again. But she didn’t dart for the forest, where she could have escaped him. Instead, she taunted. Waved her beautiful tail at him. Ran away and then slowed down to a saunter that to a male fox must be the equivalent of a woman doing the catwalk strut in a slinky party dress. Or maybe nothing but a garter belt, seamed stockings, and those high, high heels women only wore to tease men in the bedroom—it was that blatant a come-on.

  She ran until she let him catch her, and then the mating itself became a contest, fierce and wild, with teeth.

  At first, Paul’s whole body stiffened in confusion. Did Tag get off on watching foxes mate and want Paul to share it? Wasn’t going to work. It was fascinating, like being in their own nature documentary with all the senses involved (including, unfortunately, the one that pointed out the leak in his boot). He could see where it might be sexy to someone with a foxside, but he was way too human to appreciate it in that aspect.

  To his relief, Tag didn’t show any signs of appreciating it that way either. A cautious brush of Paul’s hand, so casually done it could be passed off as a happy accident, revealed nothing particular going on with Tag’s cock. He was a little hard, but he probably had been since Paul snuggled up behind him; the man was endearingly responsive and pretty much always horny. If the foxes were doing anything for him, it was the same thing they were doing for Paul: adding wild beauty to the night.

  He relaxed and let himself be caught up in that wild beauty. Before long, he slipped into the joy of the foxes’ moment, perceived how the night, while going about its business, also recentered itself around the two animals making new life.

  Magic flared within him. Not red magic. That grew from emotions as much as from arousal, and while he wouldn’t discount that foxes might have feelings, they weren’t anything a human could comprehend. No, this was a deep magic he usually had to strive to tap, a power with aspects of earth and green and red magic, all woven together. He had no immediate use for this surge of power, so he stored some of it for later but sent most of it back into the universe, going out to anyone in need of a little support, healing or good luck at this moment.

  When the foxes separated and trotted off—completely nonchalant now, as if nothing had happened—Paul whispered, “Thank you for sharing. Magical and powerful, and I mean that as only a witch can. So much wild energy.” Then he laughed. “By human standards, those foxes are kinky. It’s like consensual non-consent, the way she kept running off and fighting but not really meaning it.”

  Tag turned in Paul’s arms and caught him up in a fierce kiss, a kiss that heated the chill of the night to the boiling point, a kiss that promised all sorts of dark delights that Paul had never really let himself imagine—dark delights in which he might be pounced-on or pouncer.

  Tag pulled away just long enough to talk. “Remember, some of that wildness is in my nature. I look human, and I can act human, and I love you, but I’m not human. Sometimes it’s going to show. Even in bed. Maybe especially in bed. When I get like that, I’ll take no for an answer, but you’re going to have to slap me up against the head a few times so I know you really mean it and aren’t doing the vixen come-chase-me thing. I will get crazy on you sometimes, crazier than we already have. I’ve been holding back a little on you because I didn’t want to scare you, but we’re committing to forever, and I don’t want to hold back forever.”

  Paul shivered, remembering some of the fierce moments they’d already shared, acknowledging some of the fantasies they’d sparked that he’d been scared to bring up. “We’ll set up a safeword, sure, but don’t expect to hear it often. You bring out a wildness in me that I never knew was there. Sometimes it freaks me out, because I’ve always thought of myself as a gentle guy, and the few times I tried something kinky in the past, I wasn’t comfortable with it. But with you…”

  “It makes you hot and bothered to know you can fuck me like an animal, doesn’t it? Or when I take you down hard and do it to you?”

  Paul bucked against him, so stiff he thought he tried he could penetrate Tag through their clothes. “Lord and Lady, yes,” he admitted.

  “Good. Because what I want you to do is kneel down and suck my dick, right here in the woods. Just long enough that I can feel your hot mouth and the cold air at the same time. Then I’ll race you back to the cabin. Winner gets to do the pouncing.”

  Paul broke into a wide grin. “That sounds like a race no one will lose.”

  “I warn you. I’ll bite, just like that fox did.”

  “Good.” Paul’s grin broadened, and his already throbbing cock started aching. Yeah, he wanted to be bitten sometimes. He might want to bite sometimes, even. Might want to learn to play a little rougher than he ever had, under the tutelage of his soon-to-be husband.

  Husband. Wow. Husband. Who knew?

  He kept grinning as he knelt in the snow, despite the chill that instantly jarred his bones. The smile broadened as Tag unzipped his rust-brown jeans and let loose his straining cock, because really, how could he not smile knowing that cock, and the wonderful man it was attached to, was going to be part of his life forever—was going to be his husband in a matter of hours. Had trusted Paul with this amazing insight into his wild nature, had trusted him and in turn had let him trust his own desires.

  His happiness grew by the second. It was all so vivid: Tag’s hot cock in his mouth, the cold, damp air scented with pine and the sharp, dark aroma of last year’s leaves going back to earth, the chill of snow and the heat of lust and love meeting in his body. So strong. So very strong.

  As he tasted the first salty, musky drops of pre-come on Tag’s cock, tendrils of magic wrapped around the two of them, binding them together with a silver cord that would be strengthened and made permanent during the marriage ritual. Magic danced on both their skins. The air shimmered.

  What would his beloved fox do at such an intense moment? Bonded as they were, wasn’t it time Paul learned some of Tag’s lessons?

  It was hard to do, but he pulled himself away from Tag’s cock and sprang to his feet. “See you at the cabin!” he exclaimed as he ran at full speed, leaving Tag sputtering and fumbling with his zipper.

  Tag would probably still beat him back—he was more fit and had better night vision—but like he’d said before, Paul figured he’d win either way.

  Tag applauded and shouted, “You’re learnin’, Witch-Boy. I’ll make a fox out of you yet! By injection.”

  Paul imagined Tag thrusting at the air as he said those last words to prove his point. Silly though they were being, his cock jumped. Part of him felt he should turn back, stop teasing, do something sweet and romantic. Then he remembered the foxes in the clearing. “Only if you catch me, which will be hard if you can’t find me.” He wanted to be found, wanted to be caught and trapped and fucked hard, almost punishingly but with love, wanted to see how far he and Tag could push it. But he was going to make Tag work for it.

  He put up a glamour that made him nearly invisible in the dark woods, aware Tag with his keener senses, would eventually be able to trace him, but also aware he knew these trails better than his beloved.
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  The chase was on. And they’d both win.

  About the Author

  Teresa Noelle Roberts started writing stories in kindergarten and she hasn’t stopped yet. A prolific author of short erotica, she’s also a published poet and fantasy writer—but hot paranormals are her favorite. She’s hard at work on more Duals and Donovans adventures and other sexy supernatural tales.

  Teresa, despite a corporate day job, is a crunchy granola girl at heart. When not writing or reading, she enjoys belly dance, yoga, playing in the ocean, cooking, and growing and preserving more vegetables than she and her husband can possibly eat. She shares her home in southern Massachusetts with her husband, a Leo in law enforcement, and two overstuffed cats.

  To learn more about Teresa Noelle Roberts, please visit www.teresanoelleroberts.com, add her on Facebook: www.facebook.com/#!/teresanoelleroberts, and follow her on Twitter: @TeresNoeRoberts. Be warned: you will read a lot about gardening and cooking as well as writing.

  Look for these titles by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  Now Available:

  Lions’ Pride

  Foxes’ Den

  Love has a trick up its sleeve.

  Foxes’ Den

  © 2010 Teresa Noelle Roberts

  Duals and Donovans: The Different, Book 2

  Some guys just don’t take rejection well. Sure, Akane’s affair with an uptight sorcerer’s boy toy backfired, but two hundred years locked in a mortal body is cruel and unusual punishment for a Trickster avatar. To free her fox form, she needs sex magic with a male of her own kind. Except none exist.

  Adorable Trickster-touched fox dual Taggart Ross-Donovan is the closest she’s found. Even better, he’s married to Paul Donovan, whose red magic sizzles the air around him. One night with them will generate the extraordinary power needed to set her free.