by J B Black
“How the fuck?” he exclaimed.
Taron threw the bag at Calvin’s feet. “Your bag.”
“Is my door —?”
Before the guitarist could finish, Taron pulled the door shut and teleported back up to his private room. His golden eyes were dark with lust. Sweeping the warlock off his feet, he prowled toward the bed.
“And now,” he growled — low and dark in a way that brought another gush of slick from the desperate warlock —, “you’re mine.”
Chapter Ten
Staring fate down always used to leave Oliver nervous. The expectations others put on him never went right, and he had taken a long road to get to where he was comfortable and capable of standing up in front of his life happily. Love never amounted to anything. Everything fell apart. Darkness found its way in through the cracks as he was cut down time and time again, leaving him cut off at the knees.
Except this time, fate promised better. Before him, the one he loved stood, saying he loved him back — holding him close and raining kisses down upon him as they tore each other’s clothes off. The cold of the storm fell away. All that existed was the heat of Taron’s touch. Tension charged the air. His body trembled. Desire unleashed.
“Taron,” Oliver moaned.
Lean and perfect, Taron’s mate stretched out beneath him. Fae wanted to pin him down. To press inside. To lick every bit of unblemished skin and leave marks in his wake. No glasses could tell Taron what his heart already knew — Oliver was his mate. Fate brought them together. Crushed them into pieces which would fit puzzle perfect. It wasn’t fair. Life never was, but it offered such beautiful results. Flushed cheeks and kiss-swollen lips promised so much.
Nuzzling the warlock’s neck, the fae nipped at the edges of Oliver’s beard. “So beautiful.”
Pink painted the pale skin down his chest, and watching the blush spread drew the fae’s eyes down to those rosy buds on his chest. Pinching them between his thumbs and forefingers, he twisted them as his mate arched, scrambling to take hold somewhere. Fingernails clawed down Taron’s back. The pain only served to make the heat coiling in the fae’s stomach hotter and hotter as their throbbing members aligned. Like beasts, they rutted. Desperate for relief. Caught in the mess they’d already made of each other.
“How many times have you come? If my magic does this to you, how many times did I already make your toes curl in ecstasy?” Taron murmured as reached out with his magic, pulling the storm apart and rushing the remainders inside the room.
Oliver keened, writhing as his legs spread. Slick soaked the blankets beneath him. “Taron! Fuck — please!”
“Please, what?” the fae crooned.
Multicolored eyes glazed as his cock spurted, remaining hard as the magic in the room toyed along his nerves even without Taron guiding it to do a thing. “Fuck, you bastard, stop teasing me!”
He was wet. Wet and slick and so very hot — but it made it all the easier to slide two fingers inside. His body begged to be touched. The scent of him hung in the air. Madness tugged Taron at the edges, drawing him down as he ground down, half-feral at the taste of his mate — at the man he loved — on his tongue. The feel of his skin. The scent of his lust filling the room. Everything softened by blunt nails shifting to clinging fingers which knotted in his silver hair as Oliver offered himself up.
“Can you —” Taron lost track of his words, groaning as he pumped two fingers into the warmth of his mate’s body, which clenched so perfectly around him. “If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to hold back.”
“So don’t,” his mate teased.
With a groan, the fae pulled back, trying to calm himself. “You’ll get pregnant.”
Oliver huffed. “I’m not that useless.”
“You’re drunk on my magic. I already feel like I’m taking advantage of you. If I bred you —” and just the thought of his mate round with their child threatened to undo him. Hungry and hasty, he pressed a third finger inside along the two. Oliver’s body accommodated him so well. “You’d look so good. Round and soft and mine…”
As the fae groaned, sniffing along his jaw, Oliver moaned, rocking back onto those three long clever fingers. “I don’t — I don’t have anything. Fuck — I can keep it from happening.”
“Only if you want to,” Taron murmured, crooking his fingers to feel his mate arch against him. “Will you want to once I’m in you?”
“Do you honestly care?”
The fae huffed, “No.”
With a whimper as if it pained him, Oliver removed one hand from Taron. He reached over his head, drumming on the headboard as he hummed, letting the creaking of the bed which followed his shifting back and forth against the fae’s fingers creating a song with the steady drumming of his nails against the wood and the soft breathy notes he managed to string together. His magic stretched. Delicately, he wove a web around them, chaining down his natural ability to conceive. Every string of it tethered them down, binding away the potential for a child to result, but though he knew well the magic’s purpose, its touch alone excited the fae.
Black consumed all but a slim ring of gold. Even if no child might come, he would enjoy the attempt. They lust-dark eyes met, and Taron removed his fingers.
“I love you,” Oliver whispered, stoking the fire in the fae’s loins as the silver-haired one aligned his cock with his lover’s slick hole.
Round and round, Taron guided his cock’s head to tease the stretched rim before he pushed slowly forward, testing the give as he glided inside bit by bit. His heart thundered in his chest. With this, their bond would be completed. A profession and action based upon their love — nothing could prepare him for this. For the heat of Oliver’s body. For the way the warlock clung to him. Every gasp echoed, carving its way into his heart and soul. Taron would never forget this first time. Oliver was so tight. Tight and hot and clenching around him so perfectly as Taron smoothed his hands up the man’s hips before he took Oliver’s long lean cock in hand.
Swearing, the drummer groaned. “Please — don’t. I’m so close.”
“Good. I want to see you come again —” he pressed a kiss against the bottom of the man’s jaw, “ — and again —” another kiss to the corner of his mouth as Oliver desperately chased, tangling his fingers in Taron’s hair to drag him into a lurid kiss as their tongues entwined. There was no liquor like the taste of his mate on his tongue.
Once in up to the hilt, Taron purred. “Feels so good.”
Oliver shivered, clenching around Taron as he came, spurting onto both their stomachs. As he shivered in the aftermath of his orgasm, the fae waited, allowing his magic to spread over the both of them to clean the mess away.
“You — bastard —,” Oliver panted as his cock twitched with interest once more.
Laughing, Taron shifted, circling his hips as he watched the way his lover’s body reacted to such innocent magic. “This really isn’t fair of me. Should I be worried someone else will do the same?”
“No one else ever made me feel like this,” Oliver said, but his brows furrowed as he added, “Well...there was that fae once…”
Jealousy surged through Taron. Pulling out halfway, he thrust back inside, going back and forth as Oliver melted beneath him. Whoever this fae was, he never wanted them anywhere near his mate.
“Don’t be jealous. He’s probably married,” Oliver informed him.
A retort rose to the tip of the fae’s tongue, but his mind cut short. “At the Treaty Celebration.”
“Yeah — I haven’t exactly met a fae anywhere else that wasn’t you.”
“In the garden?”
Oliver’s eyebrows rose. “Yes…”
“You were young and saw them dancing then ran away…” Taron whispered, and understanding dawned in Oliver’s eyes. He flushed, shifting as if he could get away, but Taron pinned him in place. “I should have gone after you. I wanted to, but I was a coward. Told myself not to follow my instincts.”
Oliver blushed. “I thr
ew myself in the loch.”
“The lake?”
“When I — oh fuck,” the warlock groaned, covering his face in embarrassment, but his hands fell away as he cried out, rocking back to meet Taron’s thrusts. “Your magic made me cum.” When the fae smirked, Oliver smacked him on the arm. “Back then. I’d never...and you made me come in my pants.”
There was no reason for the man’s words to puff up his chest. His heart pounded, overjoyed to hear that his mate had such a powerful reaction on their first meeting, but as much as pride swelled in his heart, he hated how he had ignored his instincts. He could have saved both of them so much grief, but perhaps this is better, coming together when Oliver had escaped and made a home for himself. A home for them both.
“I’d rather bring you to bliss with my touch than my magic alone.” Taron smiled, punctuating his words with a thrust.
Every touch sparked across Oliver’s senses. Despite being pinned beneath the fae with the Taron’s tall muscular frame over him, the drummer couldn’t help but feel as if he might float away. Each thrust coiled the fire in his belly tighter and tighter. The tight glide of Taron’s fingers around his cock, jerking him off, left him caught and desperate.
But it still wasn’t close enough. He needed more. Ached to kiss and touched even as their bodies moved together, chasing pleasure as their bond solidified around them.
Back and forth, Taron rutted, grinding inside his mate, trailing kisses wherever he could reach before Oliver pulled him into a kiss. Their tongues entwined as the warlock writhed, but Taron held him in place with his large hands upon the man’s hips. He swallowed every gasp, moaning at each cry as he rocked, grinding against Oliver’s prostate and tormenting his sensitive body.
Brown hair fanning out on the pillow like a halo, the drummer clenched like a vice. His hips wriggled, struggling against Taron’s hold although the man couldn’t tell if he wanted to get away or rock against each tantalizing thrust. He’d already come so many times. His body melted — there to be held and worshipped at his mate’s lips and hands, but Oliver refused to lay like a prince upon his pillows. Cock quivering, the warlock squirmed, clawing at Taron’s back and giving back as best he could as if the tight heat of his body and the taste of his lips weren’t enough.
Driven near to madness, Taron came. His virile seed flooded the slick heat of Oliver’s body, and if only the spell hadn’t been cast, there would have been no doubt a child thoroughly planted. Within his chest, the beast preened at the bond as it settled firmly in place, but an itch remained. Even knowing that they had agreed to wait — even knowing that nothing would outdo the spell which Oliver cast, Taron ached to keep moving, and the feel of Oliver’s cock still hard in the circle of his fingers drove him forward.
“Going to round you with me cum,” the fae swore, pulling out to spin the warlock onto his stomach.
Oliver struggled, getting his knees beneath him, so that he was ready when Taron sunk back in. Chest to the bed, his nipples rubbed over the soft sheets with each thrust. In and out, deeper and deeper, the fae touched his body, alighting flames where no touch had inspired such lust before. When Taron sucked against the skin of his neck, folding his body over Oliver’s, the drummer screamed, clawing at the sheets as he felt his lust draw him as tight as a bow. He came, spurting his release against the sheets as Taron filled him for a second time.
But it wasn’t enough.
“More,” the warlock begged, rocking and milking the cock within him. “Taron — mhmm — need it. Need you! Fuck — ah!”
And who was Taron to deny his mate anything? Driven near to madness for the love and want of him, the silver-haired fae fell upon him once more. Already the warlock’s belly rounded with the sheer volume of hot cum within his body, but each slick sloppy sound and the magic which thrummed between them only wound the two tighter and tighter. Driving them together again and again until they could no sooner tell where one ended and the other began. In the aftermath, they fell against the sheets. Though their cocks both twitched in almost painful interest, they allowed themselves to rest as Taron pushed two fingers into Oliver’s dripping hole, keeping his cum inside though it would come to nothing.
Curled about each other, the pair entwined their legs. Every inch between their skin seemed too far a distance now that the bond laid heavy and comforting over them both. On Earth or in Faerie, there would be nothing which could keep them apart now. Fate guided them here, and love bound them thoroughly.
“After the tour,” Oliver whispered as he toyed with the fae’s silver hair. “We’ll start trying then. If you want.”
Taron smiled, cuddling closer. “And practice in the meantime, my love?”
“Well...practice makes perfect, doesn’t it?”
With a laugh, the fae kissed his love’s temple. “I love you, Oliver.”
“Love you too.”
Epilogue
Watching from behind the camera was a strange turn of events. Usually, if the pair attended a photoshoot, Oliver was the one waiting as Taron posed. This time, London Frost took the stage, getting updated shoots for their new label and to prep for their soon to be released second album.
“I can’t believe you shaved,” Calvin teased as the guitarist reached up to run a hand through his hair only to be quickly told off by the stylist. “Shit! Sorry! Sorry!”
Sitting behind his drums, Oliver glared. “They said it would better match the aesthetic.”
“You accidentally set the razor setting too short, didn’t you?” Ben teased from the other side.
He had, but Oliver wasn’t the sort to admit that, especially when he had only just explained to his bandmates what exactly had him so scattered. Telling a mortal about magic had consequences, and to tell multiple would have been an incredible feat to get approved, but with James on their side and a baby on the way which would be the first to reinvigorate the treaty between Faerie and the magic users of Earth, they had managed.
However, none of that stopped Oliver from having to wear a glamor, and with Taron the better of the two, the drummer spent his days outside their new house with his husband’s magic coating him thoroughly. Time and exposure tempered the warlock’s reactions, but a simmering level of arousal remained, leaving him more impatient and likely to snap than usual.
It also lit his eyes with a constant flame that had Taron just as desperate. He hated the space between them, and the second the photoshoot ended, he plastered himself to his mate, cooing and fussing as he planted kisses across Oliver’s face.
“You two are ridiculous,” Calvin laughed, but everyone else at the shoot — Ben excluded, but he was already rushing off to go see his wife — awwed over the cute couple.
Taron ran his hands over Oliver’s leather clad ass. “You need to keep these trousers.”
“We both know this is a glamor. These don’t exactly fit anymore,” the drummer hissed, flushing as he and his husband headed off toward the changing room. “We are not having sex here.”
“Of course not,” Taron assured. “No sex until you’re home, and the glamor is off.”
Despite his words, the fae’s hands wandered up and down his husband, exploring the way the leather clung to his mate’s hips. He could feel the edges of his own magic. It teased him. Hinting at the round curve which hit beneath, but if he removed it now while Oliver still wore those tight clothes, the discomfort and arousal which already had the warlock squirming would move to sheer discomfort, and Taron ached to see his mate’s plump ass in those leather trousers again.
“Get off,” Oliver huffed. “I need to take this off and change.”
Taron smirked, sweeping up Oliver’s clothes into his stylish bag before he teleported them back into their entryway. Oliver moaned, his legs going weak. Between the magic surging around him as a glamor and the teleportation, he was a caress away from blowing his load in the leather trousers and ruining them completely.
“You ass.”
With a grin, Taron tossed down the bag
and threw off his coat, letting magic carry both to where they belonged. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll have you out of those trousers in a jiffy.”
“I don’t need —”
Before the drummer could protest, he was teleported out of his trousers, and the glamor fell, leaving him standing naked from the waist down with the fitted white shirt they put him in, stretching obscenely around his swollen belly. With barely any weight gained elsewhere, he looked completely normal from the back save perhaps the cant of his hips, but the curve was undeniable now as they entered the third trimester.
With his cock throbbing between his legs and tapping the bottom of his pregnant belly, Oliver didn’t need to see the way the black of Taron’s pupils swallowed the gold of his eyes to know he painted a particularly sensual image for his mate. With a huff, he leaned against the arm of their couch and spread his legs. His hole winked, slick and loose from where Taron had buried himself only that morning.
“Stop being a menace and fuck me, you brat,” Oliver demanded as he reached out hand to jerk his own hard member as best he could.
There was no more tempting sight in all the world. Unzipping his trousers, the face unleashed his thick girthy manhood. The scent of his mate’s arousal drew him higher and higher, and when he fucked forward into that slick heat, the rest of the world faded away. Nothing existed but them. Them and the child who happily grew inside Oliver, a wonderful reminder of the bond which thrummed so happily between them and the love they shared.
Glancing over his shoulder, the warlock swayed his hips tauntingly. “Well?”
“So impatient,” the fae drawled, rubbing the head of his cock teasingly around the warlock’s rim. Every time the man bucked back, he shifted out of reach. “Patience, my love.”
Multicolored eyes sparked. Dragging his fingers down the gravid curve of his body, Oliver took his cock in hand, playing with the tip before he slid the circle of his fingers up and down the length, teasing the head and slit as his foreskin pulled back with his thumb before sliding on down again. All this while he bent over. His ass grew slicker and slicker as he teased his front, and before the pregnancy, it was so easy to forget Oliver was a warlock. He rarely did magic, and breeding aside, they both spent time upon each other’s cocks — whether sixty-nining on their bed or lazily taking their time on the very couch Oliver leaned upon now.