Hawk in the Rowan

by Sam Burns

  A slow grin spread across Wade’s face. “I guess, if you think that’s really necessary.”

  “You don’t?” Devon asked. He leaned back and peeled off the red button-down, then the black t-shirt he was wearing under it, tossing each aside. Predictably, Wade’s gaze followed the shirts as they hit the floor, and Devon could see how much he wanted to pick them up and put them in the hamper. Instead of letting the man get distracted, he cupped Wade’s cheeks in both hands and looked him in the eye. “I was thinking about that conversation we had. You know, about condoms.”

  Wade’s wandering gaze snapped back to his. “You were?”

  Devon smirked. “I was. I confess, I feel a little like a teenager whose boyfriend is saying he’s allergic to latex.”

  With a vehement shake of his head, Wade protested, “I’m not—”

  Devon kissed him to cut off the flow of words, then pressed his index finger against his lips as he pulled back. “I know, Wade. I trust you. But you know I didn’t grow up here, no matter what everyone seems to think. I’m working on it, but I’m still not used to werewolves or being fae.”

  Wade started to open his mouth again, so Devon leaned forward to kiss him some more. He rarely took control, but something about the evening’s events made him want it. He grabbed Wade’s hands, twining their fingers together and pressing him deeper into the sofa. Instead of keeping the kiss soft and sweet, or letting Wade take over, he kept going, kissing him hard until he had to pull away, panting for breath.

  “If you want,” he started, and Wade was already nodding. He quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say. Maybe I was going to offer to watch TV after all.”

  Wade rolled his eyes and started to move forward, but Devon put a hand on his chest.

  “Nope. You be good and stay right where you are.” Devon undid the first button on Wade’s shirt. “If you’re very still, and very quiet, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

  A little whimper escaped Wade’s throat, but he froze in place, watching Devon remove his shirt, one button at a time. The look on his face was tortured; it was obvious that he wanted to rip the shirt off, or whatever it took to hurry things along.

  “It’s not like you to be so impatient,” Devon told him as he finally reached the bottom button, tugging the shirt free and tossing it to join his own on the floor. Wade didn’t pay attention to the shirt hitting the floor this time. “You must really want this. It’s some kind of instinctive marking thing, isn’t it?”

  Wade swallowed hard and nodded.

  Devon slid off his lap and onto the floor, tackling the trousers next. He unbuttoned and unzipped them, then got Wade to lift his hips so he could slip them off, along with Wade’s usual boxer briefs. Then he stood, held up the pants where Wade couldn’t help but see, and dropped them on the floor. Wade’s eyes never left Devon’s.

  He made a hell of a picture, naked and sprawled against the deep red, velvet sofa, lips swollen from Devon’s kisses, panting in anticipation. He wanted to say something, that much was obvious from the way his mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but whatever it was, he kept it to himself.

  With a slow, steady hand, Devon reached for his own zipper. He thumbed open the button on his slacks and then eased the zipper down. It felt like it took a full minute to Devon, and from the expression on Wade’s face, he felt as though eternity were passing.

  Devon pushed the waistband down over his ass and let the trousers drop to the floor. He kicked them away to an empty spot on the floor that was becoming obscured by the layer of their clothes. He toyed with the elastic waist of his underwear for a moment, and Wade stared at the motion, single-minded in his focus.

  Finally, Devon let his hand slip into the briefs, stroking his cock beneath the fabric. Wade’s right hand twitched as if to reach for him, but instead, gripped the cushion tighter. He turned pleading eyes on Devon.

  With a chuckle, Devon pushed the underwear off. “Better?”

  Wade nodded jerkily.

  “Oops, almost forgot.” Devon turned and walked to the nightstand. Wade made a tiny sound of protest in the back of his throat, obviously assuming Devon was going for the condoms. Devon pulled their bottle of lube out of the nightstand and rolled his eyes at Wade. “You didn’t really think I was going to back out on you, did you?”

  Wade shook his head. It seemed sincere enough, but Devon was pretty sure Wade wasn’t even hearing the words anymore.

  He tossed the bottle of lube onto the sofa next to Wade and climbed back onto his lap. “This good?” he asked. “You want me to ride you right here on the sofa?”

  Wade’s eyes rolled back in his head and he nodded.

  “Good.” Devon grabbed the lube, snapped it open and slicked Wade up with it. Wade gave another tiny grunt, somehow managing to sound inquisitive and concerned, and Devon smiled up at him. “Oh, I know. More prep. Not much of a big bad wolf, you know, the way you’re always worried about Little Red being comfortable.” He braced his left hand on Wade’s shoulder and lifted his hips into position, reaching back with his right hand and holding Wade in place as he slid down onto his cock.

  Apparently no longer able to hold it in, Wade groaned. It was Devon’s turn to whimper, from the stretch and burn of Wade inside him. It was just the wrong side of too much, and Devon loved it that way. He was sure a therapist would have something to say about him punishing himself, but he thought he just liked it to burn a little.

  He sat there, catching his breath, impaled on Wade, who was gripping the back of the couch so tight Devon was afraid he’d break it, or rip the upholstery. “Something you need?” he asked, trying to sound teasing, but it came out breathy. Wade’s hips twitched up, just an inch or so, but enough to make his point without opening his mouth. Devon grinned at him. “Oh, you want me to move?”

  Wade narrowed his eyes but didn’t speak. He was taking the silence thing seriously. Devon supposed he should reward him for that, since he’d offered.

  He drew up, almost off Wade’s cock, and then let himself slide back down. Wade let his head fall against the back of the sofa and moaned.

  Devon grinned and repeated the action. He built up a rhythm, lifting up as far as he could, and then a little faster, fully seating himself on Wade’s cock again. The pressure built inside him even as the burn of friction eased. He braced both of his hands on Wade’s shoulders for more leverage, speeding until the sofa springs creaked ominously beneath them.

  It didn’t matter. It was too much. Even if the couch collapsed beneath them, there was no way Devon was going to stop until he was done.

  He almost reached down to wrap a hand around himself, but on a whim, and since it seemed to be working rather well so far, he looked down into Wade’s eyes and ordered, “Stroke me.”

  Without a trace of hesitation, Wade took a hand off the sofa and reached for Devon’s bobbing cock. The unquestioning obedience, almost as much as the touch of Wade’s hand, pushed him over the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a hoarse cry as he came between their bodies. His own cry was loud enough, his orgasm distracting enough, that he almost missed the way Wade whined, pushing up into him, every muscle tensing as he came too. Inside Devon.

  Devon shivered and tried not to think about werewolf instincts, marking, and what all that might mean. His boyfriend had wanted something, and he’d given it to him; that was all it was.

  He leaned forward, pressing his face into Wade’s neck and trying to catch his breath. “Couch sex is hard,” he muttered.

  Wade chuckled. “I’ll be on top next time if you want. Or am I still supposed to be quiet?”

  Devon gave his chest a half-hearted shove. “Shut up, it was hot.”

  “It was,” Wade answered, his voice a deep rumble that went all the way into Devon’s chest. “Anytime you want to boss me around, you know I’m up for it. Literally.”

  How could Devon respond to that? He might have the perfect boyfriend. He decided to ignore everything else and
maybe take a short nap on top of that perfect boyfriend, sticky and spent or not.

  2

  The Oncoming Storm

  Devon woke to the sensation of being watched. He opened his eyes to find Wade propped up on one elbow, looking down at him. Sometime in the night they had migrated to the bed, and Wade, in his inimitable Wade way, had cleaned them both up. And, of course, he’d picked up the clothes on the floor. Devon didn’t think he had a choice in cleaning. It was an inborn need for things to be in order, probably the same drive that had led him to join the police force.

  “You watching me drool in my sleep?” he asked. His voice was rougher than usual for the morning. He wondered if he was getting a cold. Then he wondered if that even made sense. Did fae get colds? They must; he had before. He coughed to clear his throat, and Wade’s expression went concerned.

  “Are you okay?” He pressed the back of his hand to Devon’s forehead, a bizarre combination of lover and mother.

  If there was one thing Devon didn’t need, it was an extra mother. He brushed Wade’s hand away. “I’m fine. Maybe just coming down with a cold—and don’t freak out about that. Regular people get colds.”

  “You’re not a regular person,” Wade said. “I don’t think your grandmother ever had a cold. We should take you to the clinic.”

  “Wade.” Devon stared at him until Wade blushed and looked away.

  He sighed and sat up in bed, crossing his legs. “Sorry, I know. I’m trying to stop. I know you hate when I hover.”

  “And I know you’re a protective guy, so I try not to get annoyed,” Devon agreed. “But I’m not going to the clinic for a cold. I’ve had them before, and I’ll be fine.”

  Wade sighed, but didn’t argue the point. “So we kind of fell asleep earlier than I’d planned last night.”

  Devon sat up and leaned on his shoulder. “After couch sex, you’re lucky I didn’t pass out.”

  “You practically did.” He snaked his hand out and caught Devon’s. “But I wanted to talk to you about something last night, and we kind of got distracted.”

  That didn’t bode well. Talking was fine, but when someone “wanted to talk” in that tone, it was relationship-ending stuff. Not that Devon had a lot of experience with relationships, but he’d seen it on TV. One person would say “we need to talk,” and it always ended with a breakup scene and someone staring out a window at the rain. He glanced at the gray sky. It was a little cold for rain, but he supposed he could stare at snow instead.

  But the idea that Wade wanted to end their relationship was silly. He’d been all-in for months, practically right from the start. Wade wanted everything. He wanted them to get married and buy a house and adopt kids or kittens or something.

  Not that Devon would be averse to kitten ownership. He liked kittens, even when they grew into cats. Cats were kind of assholes, but Devon liked that about them.

  “Devon?” Wade asked. “You still with me?”

  Devon swallowed but nodded. It wasn’t as though putting off the conversation would make it better. It was obvious what Wade wanted to talk about when he thought about it rationally. Wade wanted to get married and adopt kittens. They had been dating less than three months. To say that Devon wasn’t ready for that would be a vast understatement.

  If he said no, was that the end? Would Wade leave him? He didn’t want it to be over. But he didn’t want it to change, either. He was comfortable with things the way they were; with Wade coming and going but still living at home. No matter what he did, if Wade wanted more and he didn’t, they were both going to get hurt.

  “Are you sure we don’t need to take you to the clinic? You’re looking a little pale.” Wade threw his hands up. “I know, I know, don’t baby you, but you look sick.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Devon said, but his heart wasn’t in it. It wasn’t a shock that he looked sick. He felt sick. For a second, he considered agreeing to a clinic visit just to avoid the talk Wade wanted to have, but he respected Wade too much to play that kind of game. He’d watched his mother destroy one relationship after another using that kind of manipulation. “What did you want to talk about?”

  Wade bit his lower lip, and Devon wanted to lean over and bite it too. Again, that was just his brain trying to stall the inevitable traumatic argument. “Well,” Wade finally said, “we’ve been together a while now. So I was thinking maybe we should talk about the future.”

  Devon was sure he looked like he’d bitten into a lemon, but he couldn’t seem to school his expression. “I, uh, I guess. If you really need to do that. Or? We could just keep doing what we’re doing, which is awesome.”

  “Devon”—Wade sighed—“I know you hate making plans. I understand. It’s a new, weird thing, and you don’t like the idea of being tied down. But you know what? You’re already tied down. You have a shop, an apartment, a job, friends . . . me. You have a life in Rowan Harbor, and I’m not saying you need to change it.”

  “But that’s exactly what you want.” Devon dropped back onto the bed and groaned. “I’m not ready for this!”

  “I haven’t even asked for anything.” Wade remained infuriatingly calm, didn’t even raise his voice.

  It made Devon a little angry. Devon had been figuring out how to carry all of his new responsibilities, and it hadn’t been easy. He didn’t want to call them a burden, but for a man who had never owned more than what fit in his car, they felt distinctly burdensome. And Wade wanted to march in and pile a house and a wedding ring and a cat on top of it all.

  “I’m not trying to make your life harder,” Wade said, squeezing his hand. “I just like to have plans. I don’t like winging it, or flying by the seat of my pants, or whatever you want to call it. I want to be ready.”

  “You are ready. You’re always ready for anything. You’re a freaking scout or whatever.” Devon pushed himself back up to look Wade in the eye. “I’m just not—I don’t know if I’m ready for a cat, Wade!”

  Wade’s brow furrowed. “A cat?”

  “I can’t—” Devon sighed again. “You know, a cat. A cat, and a dog, and a white picket fence. I’m not really a white-picket-fence kind of guy.”

  There was a sudden rumble of thunder outside, and both of them turned to look at the window. Wade hopped up and walked over to it, looking out onto Main Street. “It didn’t snow.”

  “What?” Devon frowned at that. He’d never had one of his “prophecies” fail before. He hadn’t thought it was possible.

  He stood and started for the window, then realized that he was naked. He stopped at the dresser long enough to grab a pair of boxers before joining Wade there. It hadn’t snowed. The sky was still threatening and angry, but there wasn’t a snowflake in sight.

  “The sky’s starting to look nasty, though,” Wade said, peering up at the roiling cloud cover.

  “Starting?” Devon asked. “It’s looked like the apocalypse was coming for more than a week now. It’s a little worse, but not that much.” He turned to find Wade staring at him. “What?”

  “It hasn’t. The sky was practically clear yesterday.”

  They both turned to look out at the endless gray. When Devon spoke again, he could barely hear himself, and he wasn’t sure if it was his voice failing him, or the rush of blood in his ears. “Maybe I should go to the clinic.”

  Instead of going to the clinic, they ended up visiting Madame Cormier. She lived in a giant house on the outskirts of town, overlooking the harbor. It scared the heck out of Devon.

  Not that Esmerelda Cormier was a scary person. Okay, she was terrifying, but not because she was prone to violence or fits of anger. She was actually quite soft-spoken and kind. She was also immensely powerful.

  Her house was decorated in a way that seemed Victorian to Devon, though he wasn’t really that familiar with decorating styles. He just knew that when he visited her, he felt like he was stepping into another country, or era, or both.

  Her housekeeper answered the door and led them into a real-life parlor, whic
h Devon probably would have called a living room or something lowbrow like that. It was full of antique furniture in dark wood with pale blue upholstery. The walls were papered in satiny blue and cream stripes that had a hint of a fleur-de-lis pattern running through them. Devon was afraid to sit down for fear of damaging something with his cheap blue jeans.

  Wade had no such hesitation, plopping himself down on one side of a powder-blue sateen sofa. He’d donned his uniform, since he was technically working, and told the sheriff that he was escorting Devon to visit the elder witch on town business. It was as close to a lie as Devon could imagine Wade telling, and he was grateful for it. It felt stupid, telling anyone that he was seeing freak imaginary weather, and Wade always made things better. Plus, the sheriff would probably need to hear about whatever they found out, so it was work, in a way.

  He sat on the other side of the sofa, letting Wade’s calm presence soothe him.

  Madame Cormier’s slinky white cat came into the room. It stared at Wade for a moment, then, determining that Devon was a less intimidating target, it hopped up onto his lap and shoved its head into his hand. He scratched it.

  “Chouchou, my dear boy,” Madame Cormier said as she came into the room. “You must not bother my guests.”

  The cat looked up at Devon, as though he expected a defense. “Um, it’s okay, Madame Cormier. I don’t mind. I like cats.”

  Wade quirked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

  The lady smiled, the same indulgent smile so many of the women in town gave him, including Salli sometimes. “Of course, but we wouldn’t want to take advantage of your kindness, now would we?”

  The cat gave a put-upon sigh and hopped down, as though he had understood her. Maybe he had. Devon wondered if familiars were a real thing. He had so much to learn about the magical world. Normally he would just ask, but in this case, he thought he might wait and ask someone else, later.

  She seated herself across from Devon and Wade. The woman herself gave an impression much like her house; like she came from a different era than the rest of the world. Devon had never seen her in anything but a dress, and always one long enough to brush the floor. She also always looked like the outfit she was wearing was worth more than Devon’s whole wardrobe. Usually, he had the impression that she was judging his posture, but too well-mannered to say anything.