The Fae Lord's Fated Mate: Gay Mpreg Fantasy Romance

by J B Black

  “Oh! Are those the CDs?” Taron asked. His deep voice rumbled, burrowing its way into the squirming heat which tightened in the drummer’s core.

  Before Oliver could respond, the fae took the box from his hands and set it on the counter beside the mince pies. He tore it open with glee as if it were a present for him. Lurching, Oliver swallowed. Did he have to buy Taron a present? If the fae wanted to decorate for Christmas, maybe he wanted to celebrate Christmas, but it was already Christmas Eve! Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Recording their first album took over everything, and he’d barely had time to breath this month since Taron came into the picture. If it weren’t for the fae, he likely would have eaten at the cafe and no other time.

  “You can take one,” Oliver offered then winced. That didn’t count as a gift. It couldn’t count when the fae looked them over with such glee as if they were his own already.

  Grabbing one of the CDs, Taron set it amongst the pies and took another photo. “There! Now it’ll be a picture of something I made and something you made.”

  His smile plucked all sense right out of Oliver’s head. Every fiber in the drummer’s body demanded he move forward. It urged him to kiss the fae, but his feet anchored him. Taron acted like a newborn duckling. He tore his way into the world, and the first person he saw was who he followed, but that didn’t mean he felt the same way. Even if he did, the silver-haired fae needed time to recover from the heartbreak of his first love marrying and mating his brother. No matter how easily they seemed to fit together, Oliver refused to forget it had only been a few weeks. Barely that.

  And that’s when it hit him. “Did you post that?”

  “Yes, but don’t worry, I tagged London Frost,” Taron assured him.

  Well, that was fine. Calvin would be happy, and it was a picture of the CD. No one would know they lived together from that. But it wasn’t just that, was it?

  Pulling out his own phone, Oliver hung up his jacket with one hand as he kicked off his boots and searched for Taron’s profile. All the pictures were of food or the Christmas decorations. They showed bits of the flat, but nothing from the bathroom or Oliver’s bedroom. The couch never appeared either. Nothing in them indicated where Taron lived, so that was good. Strange fans wouldn’t be able to come knocking at their door.

  “Here,” Taron said, handing Oliver one of the CDs.

  The drummer frowned. “What? I don’t need —”

  “Smile!” the fae cheered, pressing their faces together as he grabbed the other end of the CD and held it up near their faces.

  Several quick flashes followed then a few clicks without before Oliver threw himself backwards. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t be shy,” Taron chuckled. His lips curled into a charming grin before he brought the CD to the player. “You’re in the majority of the photos London Frost shares.”

  “Because I’m in London Frost.”

  “Yes, and this is your CD,” the fae confirmed, pulling the plastic off before he set it in the stereo system. The first chords of the song blasted out, and as brilliant as they felt in the studio, listening to the track playback, to hear it in his own home left Oliver unsteady. “I still think it would better if you sang more, but you’ve all done such a wonderful job. I’m sure everyone will love it.”

  Caught for a beat by the music, Oliver struggled to clear his head of the joy hearing his music brought. Taron’s compliment only made it all the harder, but he crossed the room, pausing the song as he stared at the fae.

  “Don’t post those pictures.”

  Taron’s brows furrowed. “I already did.”

  “Then take it down!” Oliver demanded.

  Tilting his head, the fae crossed his arms. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

  “I’ve had fans show up outside my apartment before, and London Frost doesn’t have half the fanbase you do,” Oliver explained. “If any of your fans know me, they might know where you live, and that could be dangerous.”

  Setting a hand on the drummer’s shoulder, the fae grinned. “You ward this place every night. Unless you tell people where you live, they won’t know, and the people who live here already know, so it doesn’t matter. No one is going to find me.” He laughed. “Even if they did, I’m a fae.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re invulnerable. Somebody with magic could come after you,” Oliver argued, wishing he could figure out how to explain that associating them together wasn’t to anyone’s benefit.

  Taron frowned, but he clicked on the picture and deleted it, showing Oliver the screen as proof. “I don’t think it matters, but if it makes you feel better…”

  “It does.” Oliver sighed. “Thanks.”

  ***

  When Calvin called crowing about the number of downloads and thanking him for getting Taron to post about their CD, Oliver thought that would be the end of it, but it was only a few weeks into the new year, and they sat on the couch across from a talk show host who fanned himself as he played bits of their music. After struggling for so long, the sharp curve that threw them into the spotlight wasn’t anything like what Oliver expected. He was even less prepared when the host brought up that damn picture.

  “This was only live for a short-time before vanishing, but as we always say, nothing is ever really gone from the internet! My little electronic gremlins find everything,” the host, Harry Maddes, joked, and everyone in the audience laughed. Clapping his hands together, Harry leaned forward. “What’s the story here?”

  Calvin immediately slid in. “Not much of a story. Oliver’s pretty private, and while Taron was getting his start in modeling, he crashed on his couch.”

  He said it all like Taron wasn’t still right there. Still crashing on Oliver’s couch and leaving him confused when he likely had more than enough money to get his own flat.

  Without hesitation, Ben teased, “Taron probably just didn’t want to share the spotlight, and with a face like Oliver’s, his fans were already going ga-ga.”

  When Oliver flushed, Harry crowed in delight. “That’s not hard to believe.” His bright eyes flicked to the photo on the screen then to Oliver. “But you boys look fantastic together. Is there anything else going on there?”

  “Just friends,” the drummer assured.

  Harry’s eyes sparkled. Oliver could practically taste his disbelief, and the man wasn’t one to give up when he caught a whiff of some juicy piece of gossip. “Does that mean you’re single?”

  “Engaged,” Ben piped in, smirking when Harry’s face fell before he added, “I actually proposed to my long time girlfriend on Christmas, but I’m the only off-limits member of London Frost.” He offered a smarmy smirk to the camera. “Sorry, ladies.”

  The hunger in Harry’s eyes returned, and he honed in on Calvin and Oliver. “And you gentlemen?”

  “Haven’t found anyone special yet, but I’m looking for that special gal to call my own,” Calvin retorted smoothly. There was a reason they had him as the frontman. He played up the camera so naturally.

  Oliver offered a small smile. “I’m not looking at the moment.”

  “Because you’re taken?” Harry pushed.

  “Dating has never been a priority for me. I’ve met a few men and women who I enjoyed spending time with, but nothing serious,” the brown-haired man explained.

  Of course, the talk show host jumped on that: “So it holds true, the gorgeous bandmate is always the player!”

  Calvin snorted. “More like painfully shy.”

  Some women in the audience cooed at that, and Harry laughed. “Well, if it is shyness, we’ll get you out of your shell yet!”

  Every show they went on asked about Taron, but the few interviews which Taron agreed to do seemed happy enough to focus on the fae’s incredible rise to fame, talking about how he was the new face for this or that luxury brand. They questioned him about significant others, and the one host who pried into Taron’s relationship status only received a poetic response. It offered nothing of
substance, but they all swooned as if he had reinvented the concept.

  Every single time he came home, Oliver found himself all the more unmoored. Taron always waited for him there. He scheduled his shoots around Oliver’s work, which was insane. If he took all the shoots offered to him, he would be so much more famous, but he happily matched Oliver’s schedule, and the fae’s willingness to teleport from the alley beside their apartment complex meant he could come and go with relative ease. With his magic, he could have easily been in two places at once, and as long as he didn’t do magic in the apartment building itself, Oliver would likely never know.

  “You know, you don’t have to cook dinner all the time,” Oliver informed him once again.

  The fae smiled, setting a roast on the table as if it were nothing at all. “I worked hard to be able to cook the mortal way.”

  “With the band’s sudden fame, I had to quit the cafe sooner than expected, so I’ve got more time, and you shouldn’t feel like you have to cut back on your jobs for this. I can cook too,” Oliver insisted, and Taron tilted his head, offering that small smile which was so unlike the coy twist of his lips which brought him fame.

  It was easy to see why people adored him. He was beautiful. Honeycomb gold eyes which shimmered like a tawny hazel when glamored. His silver hair shined like strands of starlight. Looking at him was almost painful. Handsome and perfect and so close, he left Oliver wanting. Longing in a way he hadn’t ever felt before. Everything Taron did was like music. Calming and comforting and the only thing in the world that made sense, but the fae didn’t make sense. He couldn’t. Because if he did make sense, then Taron wanted him just as bad, and the fae hadn’t done anything or said anything, so that all had to be in his head, which meant the music meant nothing.

  Reaching across the table, Taron covered Oliver’s hand with his own. “If you’re home more, then I get to spend more time with you. I’m good with that. I want to cook for you.”

  “You also want to pay the rent. I need to do something,” Oliver argued, and as much as he knew he should pull back, he couldn’t help but keep as still as possible, hoping to hold onto the warmth of Taron’s touch for as long as he could.

  Taron licked his lip. “We could cook together.”

  Tension mounted. The air hung strangely between them. Some potential existed there, clinging where it shouldn’ t be. Where Oliver wanted it to be. The few other times this happened, the other men involved always made the first move. They put their hands on Oliver’s hips or around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss which turned wet and dirty as hips ground against each other. That sort of tension always lasted only into the next morning, and while some of the men seemed to feel like it continued, most agreed with Oliver that it was a one time thing. Those men rarely ever came back.

  If he gave into this energy, maybe it would be different. Maybe the lingering desire would outlast the night, and he would yearn for Taron the exact same way when the sun rose on the next day. In that possibility, the two might curl around each other, holding tight to the warmth before kissing slowly as glimmers of the dawn flickered through the window, pulling them forth into the day. They would make breakfast and go about their days like the perfect melody, coming back together before tumbling back into bed. A well-repeated chorus. Whispers of love haunted that chance, but Taron remained in his seat across the table, and another option haunted the drummer. Perhaps if he succumbed to the tension, it wouldn’t be gone in the morning for him, but like those men who wanted to continue something but who Oliver didn’t want to continue it with, he would find himself awkwardly rejected and out of Taron’s life forever.

  “Sure,” Oliver murmured, pulling his hand back. “That works. Just don’t reject a job because of me.”

  Frowning, Taron opened his mouth to argue, but he never got the chance. A knocking at the doors startled them both.

  No one ever visited. Oliver preferred to go out with his friends when they had a chance, and Ben hosted them most nights if they spent their free time at someone’s actual house, so he assumed it would be one of his neighbors on the other side, but when the drummer opened the door, his heart sank.

  It had been five years, but he recognized his brother immediately. James stood the same height as him. With black rectangular glasses and a coif of dark brown hair, he matched the posh warlocks they had always seen at council parties which their parents hosted. Even his three-piece suit screamed success. He was everything their parents always wanted him to be, and the gold band around his left ring finger suggested he hadn’t bothered to invite his elder brother to the wedding after all. Which was fine. Oliver never expected an invitation. Not really. He was the shame of the family after all, and people didn’t invite black sheep to their happiest occasions.

  Even if James had invited him, he wouldn’t have likely gone. There wouldn’t have been a point. His parents wouldn’t want to see him, and any invitation would have only been done out of politeness.

  “Oliver,” James greeted. His eyes scanned up and down the elder’s form.

  Finding his mouth suddenly dry, the drummer struggled to swallow as he asked, “What’s brought you around to London?”

  “I saw you on the telly,” James informed him, and he easily walked forward, causing Oliver to step aside though he didn’t want his younger brother anywhere near Taron.

  Closing the door, Oliver tried to prepare himself for whatever would come, but he didn’t expect James to march up to Taron. James’s dark eyes narrowed. He glared up at the fae who hadn’t put up a glamor and looked particularly uncertain about the whole mess.

  “Who is this?” Taron asked.

  Before Oliver could answer, James puffed his chest up. “I’m his brother! Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m —”

  But James didn’t give him a chance to speak either. “A fae! Likely a criminal since you didn’t come through in the proper manner. None of the royal court or any council knows you’re here, do they?” Taron sputtered, floundering as the younger warlock crowded into his space. “What are you doing with my brother? If you are taking advantage of him, I’ll obliterate you! No treaty exists to stop me. No one even knows you’re here to miss you if I did, isn’t that true?”

  “James, what are you doing?” Oliver demanded, stepping in between the two. “Taron is my friend.”

  “Friend,” his younger brother repeated, glaring up at the fae.

  “Yes,” Oliver insisted. “He’s living with me —”

  “So you’ve seduced him!” James cried, and when he lifted his hands, Oliver tensed, expecting his brother to use his magic, but the other man launched himself forward, trying to reach around his elder brother to strangle the fae.

  Despite his magical prowess, James wasn’t terribly strong, so Oliver easily grabbed him by the upper arms and penguin-marched him backward. “What is wrong with you? You can’t just show up to my apartment and attack my roommate.”

  “Roommate, huh? Or do you mean guest!? He has no right to hospitality laws if he broke through the warding without royal permission! You owe him nothing,” James insisted vehemently.

  Oliver sighed. “Roommate. He’s paying rent.”

  “Oh…” James pouted, deflating a bit as he relaxed into his brother’s hold. “Well...I still don’t like him.”

  Taron’s nose wrinkled, and crossing his arms over his chest, he announced, “That’s all well and good. I don’t particularly like you.”

  Gritting his teeth, Oliver shook his head. “What are you doing here, James?”

  “Like I said, I saw you on the Harry Maddes’ show,” his younger brother mumbled, flushing as he glared at everything except Oliver. Likely noting and judging every single thing in his apartment — Taron included. “I bought London Frost’s album. All my friends at uni are playing it non-stop.”

  All at once, everything became clear. Before, he had nothing to offer his brother on the road to success, but if the mortals or magic users around James enjoyed O
liver’s music, he would of course use that to his advantage.

  Letting his brother go, Oliver ran a hand through his long brown hair. “What did you promise them?”

  James’s nose wrinkled. “Why would I promise them anything? You’re my brother.”

  “Just tell me, James. Signed CDs? Tickets? Pictures? We’ve only just started getting other merchandise going, so I can’t offer anything else right now,” Oliver informed him.

  Taron scoffed, “Why should you give them anything? Friends of your brother or not, they should pay like everyone else.”

  “We’ve already bought tickets for the Scotland leg of your upcoming tour,” James announced, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Taron. “Why would I get them anything? I paid for the album, so should they!”

  With a smirk, the silver-haired fae stated, “Oliver gave me my CD for free.”

  Dark eyes widening, James whipped around, exclaiming, “You gave him a free CD! I’m your brother! Why didn’t you send me one?”

  Blinking in shock, Oliver reminded him, “We haven’t spoken in five years.”

  “You kept moving!” James retorted, throwing his hands in the air. “And then you disappeared, and I couldn’t scry you anymore. I had to follow the magical trail of that moron to find you.”

  “I’m not a moron,” Taron growled. His voice dropped deep and low as he stepped up to almost plaster himself to Oliver’s back. Wrapping his arms around the drummer’s waist, he buried his face in the man’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize he was following me. I’ll be more careful.”

  James launched forward, smacking Taron on the top of his chest. “Stop leaning on him, you big oaf!”

  “James!”

  His younger brother glared. “Don’t ‘James’ me! He’s practically clinging to you. It’s disgusting.”

  Oliver didn’t agree, but perhaps the way he leaned back into the heat of Taron’s chest wasn’t exactly right. He wanted to feel the weight of the taller man against his back forever. To curl into the warmth of the fae’s body, but his brother wasn’t entirely wrong. As much as Oliver wanted the touch to never end, the way he was being held suggested they were more than friends, and letting it continue now would only hurt more in the long run.