
Bedknobs and Beanstalks
A Ravenous Romance™ M/M Original Publication
Edited by EM Lynley
A Ravenous Romance™ Original Publication
Copyright © 2009 by Ravenous Romance
Ravenous Romance™
100 Cummings Center
Suite 123A
Beverly, MA 01915
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.
ISBN-13: 978-1-60777-306-6
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Jack and the Peenstalk by Clancy Nacht 4
The Rebelliously Single Prince by Lenore Black 27
Cry Wolf by Mercy Loomis 42
Kintaro by S.J. Frost 61
Ashes and Crystal by Jason Rubis 92
Handsome and Grateful by Kilt Kilpatrick 114
Swan Made by Mina Kelly 137
King's Honor by JL Merrow 154
The Merman's Tail by Jay Di Meo 170
Once upon a time. As children, those four words told us we were about to enter a brand-new world: scarier, happier, more enchanted than our everyday life. No matter our own particular expectations and experience with fairy tales, we knew we were in for a wild ride. Handsome princes would save beautiful damsels in distress and the ogres never got the girl.
Perhaps in our own stories, or in our own lives, we aren't quite satisfied with those happily-ever-afters. What sound-minded prince would choose any of those airheaded bosomy blondes that populate familiar animated versions of the original, much darker, and more ominous tales made famous by the Brothers Grimm?
Not to mention, fairy tales were often used as bedtime stories.
Well, put all that behind you and prepare for a new type of fairy tale. Not only are they guaranteed to get you into bed---though not for sleep---you won't find a single of those old-fashioned stereotypical characters.
Instead enter a world where a magic cock ring can grow into a mighty peenstalk, or an unhappy shepherd can meet the sexiest wolf imaginable. A Japanese youth with the strength of a bear finds himself weak in the face of a beautiful samurai, and a young man in a ball gown can charm a prince to distraction. These are but a few of the adventures that await you, once upon a time...
EM Lynley
September 2009
Jack and the Peenstalk
by Clancy Nacht
Once upon a time, in a suburb not very far away, there was a young man named Jack. He was unemployed due to the economic downturn and the fact that he'd majored in philosophy, which had only qualified him to be a barista in the first place---and now Starbucks was cutting back. He lived with his mother in a house that was too big and too expensive, because she'd applied for and gotten a loan she could not afford even before she lost all of her money in the tanking stock market.
"Jack, Jack, we have to do something. The bank is going to foreclose!" His mother's voice woke him with a start.
She stood in the doorway of his bedroom, a bejeweled hand waving an official-looking piece of paper. It had to be around noon, given the quality of light. He didn't even remember when he'd gone to bed.
"I can go see if the temping agencies have anything for me." As far as he was concerned, a job was just a lot of work, the thought of which made him tired. It reflected in his tone.
She smacked him on the side of the head with the foreclosure notice, ruffling his golden hair. "What would you do for a temping agency? You don't have any useful skills! You majored in philosophy. No one needs a philosopher these days!"
He held up his hand to stop the beating. "Ow, stop that! I'm enlightened. I understand the great truths of the human spirit now. Plus, the dean of that college was really hot."
"Oh, Jack." She sat at the foot of his bed and buried her face in her hands. "If only you'd stuck with him. He was wealthy. We could've lived in his mansion!"
"Pfft." Jack held up a pinkie. "He may have had money, but he was deficient beneath the belt. I cannot be expected to live that way."
"Useless!" She shook her head in her hands. "You're completely useless and we're going to end up on the streets."
Frowning, Jack sat up next to her, rubbing the crust from his eyes before looking at her again, or more specifically, the giant diamond ring on her hand. "We could sell that."
"What?" She looked up to see what Jack was eyeing. Realizing what he meant, she held out her hand to examine it. "My... my Precious?"
"I really regret letting you watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy with me."
Pursing her lips, she appeared to consider Jack's suggestion, then finally pulled the ring off. "I guess it's okay to sell it. I really only married your father for the money. He was pretty"---she held up her pinkie---"too."
Jack took the three-carat diamond solitaire from her and held it up to the light streaming in through his bedroom window, feeling smug about his own generous member. "Thank God that wasn't a trait I inherited."
After being tuned away by all of the pawnbrokers to whom he showed the ring, Jack was discouraged.
"That thing is radiating heat, it's so hot!" one insisted when Jack showed it to him.
"No, really, it's my mom's," insisted Jack.
"What, are you selling it to buy drugs? I don't want to get dragged into the middle of that. You suburban boys get a little taste of heroin and then you start stealing family jewels and then cops come in and...yeah, not getting in the middle of that, kid."
"I don't do heroin! I'm naturally thin!" Jack pulled up his sleeves to show he had no tell-tale track marks, but it was all to no avail. The pawnbrokers thought he was a junkie who injected through his toes and he could persuade them no different.
By nighttime he was feeling dejected. "My mom's right. I really am useless."
Rather than heading directly home, Jack decided the whole day wouldn't be a total write-off if he could at least get laid. The line at his favorite gay bar, Wizards, was as chock full of lonely, drunk, hot guys as ever. He elbowed his way in, getting a free pass from the bouncer he'd blown once. Or twice. Maybe a few more times than that. Bouncers were useful friends.
The rhythm pumped and the lights dazzled as he watched men in tight T-shirts and hot pants dry humping to the beat. He intended to plop himself at the bar and tell his miseries to the bartender in the hopes of scoring a few free drinks and maybe some pity sex.
"Oh, honey, I could find lots of uses for you," said a queen painted up in glitter and eyeliner who waylaid him on his path.
But Jack's once-over revealed a bit of lack in the sack and after a pointed glare, Jack said, "As if."
"Bitch!" The queen hustled off to the other side of the club, leaving Jack to wade through the dance floor to the bar.
The one thing Jack was good at was getting men to buy him drinks, so he sat at the bar, sipping a flirtini and wearing his mother's ring on his pinkie.
"Oh my, what a big... stone... you have," said a tall daddy. He looked and smelled expensive, but his gray hair and beard definitely rated a thumbs-down from Jack.
"Well, I'm trying to sell it, but people around here just don't seem to appreciate the three C's." He wouldn't go anywhere with this guy but with any luck, perhaps he would buy Jack a drink, or maybe even the ring. He looked like the sort of guy who would normally wear a diamond pinkie ring.
"Oh, I do. I very much appreciate a diamond ring. What are you asking for it?" The gentleman sat down on the stool next to Jack and the colored lights dazzled in his gray hair and beard.
"It's a steal at ten thousand dollars." Jack had been told to accept no less than five.
"I don't have that kind of cash on me, but I can give you my talisman." The man unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a carpeted chest of white hair and a cock ring tied to a strip of leather hanging around his neck. While this wasn't that remarkable in a club like this, the size of the cock ring made Jack's mouth water. It almost looked the size of a halo. He could shove his whole head through it.
Jack squirmed in his chair and tried very hard not to look at the man's crotch. "That's yours?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes. It does belong to me, but I do not wear it."
"Oh." Jack slumped on the stool, wondering why he'd gotten his hopes up.
"It's very valuable. It's magic, in fact. It will lead you to what you treasure most." The man's eyes glimmered as he said it, which Jack attributed to the light, but one could never be too sure. He sniffed his flirtini to make sure no one had slipped anything in it.
"And I'll trade it for that diamond ring. You're getting the better deal, really."
"What I treasure most...like money?" asked Jack. "Or can I meet the man who wears that?" Jack pointed to the cock ring.
"Yes." The daddy stood up again and with one swift tug on the cock ring, he pulled the necklace off.
Jack felt almost possessed as he pulled the diamond ring off of his pinkie and handed it to the older man with one hand, taking the large cock ring with the other.
"Good choice," said the man, and before Jack could say anything else, the man had vanished.
Jack held the cock ring in both hands, feeling the warmth of it from the man's body. He imagined the size of cock that would fit in it and shivered. "And money."
Jack was very pleased with himself. He'd done a good job. A good job indeed.
"You what?" his mother shrieked when Jack returned at 4 a.m. smelling of vodka and drenched in glitter.
He held up the cock ring like it was a trophy. "The man said I would find the man who fits this, and that I could get money!"
"What man said that? Are you drunk? High? A complete idiot?" She snatched the cock ring from him. "You've doomed us! We're going to live on the street and all we have is this stupid necklace!"
"That's the thing, Mom." Jack tried to snatch the cock ring back, but missed. "That's not a necklace!"
At that announcement, she wrinkled her nose and looked at the shiny silver object in her hand and recoiled. Then she stomped to the back door, opened it and flung it out of the house like a Frisbee.
"Mom! What? Why would you toss that away?" Jack started for the door.
She put her arm out stopping him before he could chase after it. "You leave it out there. You leave it there and I want you to go to bed, and when you get up in the morning and you're sober, I want you to think about what you've done!"
"But---" Jack reached for the door, seeing the shine of the cock ring in the grass, but his mother blocked his way. He sighed in defeat and went to bed.
After what felt like a full night's sleep, Jack awoke to darkness. He hated when that happened, when he didn't get enough sleep and things were still dark and he couldn't get back to sleep. His digital clock read 1 p.m. By now, even if it was storming, daylight should be streaming through his bedroom window.
Wondering if there had been a power outage that shorted out his clock, he looked outside for confirmation it was indeed still night. What he saw instead was a thick, fat cock with a maze of purple-blue veins growing from the grass in his backyard, outlined by the large cock ring. He twisted his body to see as high up as he could out the window, but it appeared the penis extended way up into the clouds.
Jack didn't even bother to put anything on over the plaid boxers he'd worn to bed, and ran out the back door, half drooling at the size of the enormous peen and half worrying what the Home Owners Association would say about it.
But there it was, standing tall and proud in all of its penis-y glory, veins standing out as it strained up into the clouds. Jack shielded his eyes as he looked up at it, gaze drawn to the veins when he noticed a pattern. From tip to tail, so to speak, the swirl of skin and veins formed the latticework of a ladder begging to be climbed. Jack looked to his left, to his right, and finally behind him. No one was around. No signs, no police, no one screaming about the unapproved phallus in the back yard. He thought again of the daddy at the bar and his enticing promise of Jack finding what he treasured most.
The message couldn't have been plainer, so Jack mounted the cock, and began climbing up into the sky to find out what fate might hold for him.
It was a long but rewarding climb as the warm mass expanded with each few feet Jack ascended. While he knew there was nothing he could realistically do with such a huge dick, climbing one was making him unbearably horny, particularly as the shiny tip came into view.
As if by magic, he didn't even feel tired by the climb, each movement causing his cock to swell with the one he was walking up, almost as if they were in sync.
When he finally reached the tip, he flopped down across the hole and closed his eyes as he slipped his hand under his waistband. With as horny as climbing the cock had made him, it didn't take long, and soon he felt that eye-crossing bliss of ecstasy. But he also felt something warm at his back, then the sudden disorientation of being airborne.
Now far below him, the tip of his cock looked small but still spurted as Jack was propelled through the white fog of clouds. Normally he was terribly afraid of heights, but in the afterglow of such a satisfying orgasm, he found flying quite pleasant and simply rode the wave of come as it gently floated downwards. He wondered absently if he was going to fall all the way back to Earth and come to a very messy end. All in all, he would've called his adventure worthwhile. Few could claim to have climbed a giant prick into the sky and to have enjoyed such a unique pleasure of jacking off on the tip of a giant cock.
But instead of falling to earth, he soon found solid ground beneath his come-spattered feet. The grass was almost blindingly green and velvety soft under his bare feet. In the distance, he saw a huge stone castle bedecked with giant penis spires that were all but lost in the clouds. It was surrounded by a huge wall that opened into an arch with a carpet of red grass rolled out before it.
As Jack stood at the entrance, he wondered if what was inside was so terrible or scary it didn't need to be walled off and protected. Then again, having a castle in the sky that can only be accessed by floating on a wave of come from a giant peen probably didn't get a lot of visitors.
The outer wall of the castle had a huge archway that opened onto a beautiful courtyard with a stone fountain that trickled crystal water from three oversized cocks. It was there Jack decided he should wash up, so he stepped out of his boxers and dipped into the fountain, marveling at the giant pricks as he enjoyed the cool water on his skin.
"Hee High Hoes Come!
I smell the come of a horny man,
Be he alive or be he dead,
He'll take my boner and give me head!" said a loud, booming voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Jack sat up in the fountain, suddenly noticing all the open archways that led into mysterious hallways carpeted in the richest of red velvet. As immense as the castle had appeared from the outside, it was even bigger on the inside, and hallways branched out in all directions. It was decorated a little like a bordello, but Jack found that appealing. Unable to place where the voice was coming from, he grabbed the tip of one of the cocks in the fountain to help himself stand.
Not knowing where to direct his answer, he shouted, "If you're hot, I'll give you head!"
It felt like an earthquake, or perhaps several tremors. Jack clutched the peen tighter so as not to fall over as the ground trembled. He felt nervous, wondering just what was coming his way and if it would be icky. Once he laid eyes on the giant, his libido took over. The guy was hot. Very hot.
The giant was big in every sense of the word. Jack judged him to be at least ten feet tall with a hard-on that stood out like a baseball bat. He was lean and tanned, skin glistening in the sunlight as if he'd been freshly oiled. His hair was a deep, silky brown and fell just to his waist. Jack could imagine it tickling his ass cheeks and shivered at the thought.
He had to wonder at the quality of the materials the floors up here were made of to shake so at this man's approach, for though he was quite solidly built, with abs that he could quite literally have used as a washboard and shoulders gorgeously broad, Jack couldn't imagine he weighed that much.
Then again, perhaps the man was made of lead. But with such an obvious and huge erection coming closer to him, Jack quickly gave up any consideration of construction in favor of his growing interest in his new friend. Licking his lips, he stepped daintily from the fountain as the gorgeous giant made his way over, his long, dark hair, and ripe, tanned body glinting in the sun as the clouds parted, leaving him in all of his naked glory like a living statue. It was all Jack could do to keep from falling to his knees and attempting to swallow the giant's cock whole.
"You're very small," the giant observed as he stood before Jack.
"Not where it counts!" Jack said as he tipped his hips forward, showing off his own impressive-in-proportion member.
The giant laughed and clapped. Not in a cruel or mocking way, but because he was clearly so delighted with his new visitor. And it was true that although Jack was a smaller man than the giant in all regards, proportionally he was well appointed.
The giant slid his fingers through Jack's golden hair. "What do I call you, man who is little except where it counts?"
"My name is Jack." He leaned into the giant's touch and reached to slide a curious hand over the giant's shaft. "I believe you said something about making me take your boner?"
Were it possible for a giant man in an impossible castle that could be reached by a cock that grew up into the sky to look sheepish and embarrassed, he would have. In fact, he did, which just goes to show nothing is impossible.
"Oh yes, I did say that. But I didn't realize my intruder would be so delicate." The giant sized Jack up and looked doubtful. Jack had to let him know how much he wanted to ride that bone.
"I'm a lot harder to break than you might think. What do I call you?"
"They call me Lincoln." The giant made a low rumbling noise that must've been a moan. Jack couldn't keep his hands off of Lincoln's cock, utterly fascinated with the size of it, how perfectly formed it was. It was warm and velvety, inviting as any cock he'd ever touched, and it was enormous. He was captivated. "Not that anyone's called me that for a very long time. At least, I don't think so."
Jack continued to stroke Lincoln's cock, inching closer so he could rub his cheek against it. Lincoln sounded lonely and Jack's heart went out to him. It must be difficult to get visitors in such a remote location. "No one comes to visit? You're all alone?"
Lincoln shivered from the touches. It made Jack wonder how long since someone else had given him this kind of attention. This thought drove Jack to move even closer to him, pressing kisses along the shaft.
"Yes, I am alone up here." Lincoln reached down for him and pressed their bodies together into a hug, or at least as much of a hug as he could with the size differences.
Jack tried to wrap his arms around him. "I'm sorry. I don't understand why no one would visit. Maybe you should consider a condo closer to Earth."
Lincoln squeezed Jack so tightly he feared his ribs might break, but then the giant remembered himself and gentled. "I'm a prince of this land. I was cursed by a princess who hated me because I did not love her. She was a witch and hexed me to sleep until my true love found me, upon which time I would awaken." He looked at Jack, his eyes soft. "And now I am awake. And here you are."
"True love?" Jack blinked as he looked up at Lincoln, feeling a strange thrill at the idea of belonging to someone. His mind wandered through his past, his obsession with size. Bigger men, bigger cocks---Jack was never satisfied with what he had. Could it mean he was really meant to find his true love in a giant cloud on a penis in the sky? He clung to Lincoln as he sorted through his feelings and his growing arousal at the idea of being with this man. "I've never been in love before. But then, I've never climbed up a giant penis before either. Or met a man like you. Certainly not as big as you."
Lincoln laughed again, a deep, rich sound that rumbled through his chest and abdomen.
Jack closed his eyes, listening, sighing contentedly at the rumble.
"I haven't either. A giant penis, you say? Bigger than this?" As Lincoln released Jack from the hug, his cock slipped and smacked Jack on the cheek.
Jack staggered a little from the blow, but rather than disorienting or upsetting him, it turned him on and he gave in to his temptation, opening his mouth to wrap his lips around the tip. He had no idea how he was going to get this whole cock into his mouth or in his throat, but he was going to try. His lips were stretched, the cock filling his mouth as he relaxed his throat, taking him as deeply as he dared. Lincoln was gentle, holding Jack's head and moving just a little, his moans like the sound of velvet thunder.
Jack wished he could unhinge his jaws to take more of the giant into him; no matter how much of him he got, he still wanted more. But then he felt an ache in his groin and clenched his cheeks in anticipation before sliding his mouth away. "Fuck me," Jack whispered.
The giant picked him up as easily as if he were a pet, cradling him in his arms as he carried Jack up into one of the tall penis-shaped spires. They came to a room with an enormous bed of velvet strewn with rose petals and a small waterfall that gave way to a marble bathtub. Jack had barely gotten his bearings and taken in the rich tapestries of giants and wars and unicorns covering the walls when he was set daintily face down on the lush bed, his legs spread over the covers.
Lincoln's hands seemed to be everywhere on him at once, massaging, touching. Jack enjoyed the attention when he heard the slide of a drawer and the thop of a cork popping from a bottle. Then he smelled the deep spice of cloves as Lincoln's warm hands started to massage his thighs with a thick, silky oil, working between them slowly, sensually loosening the tension from his hips, parting his legs wider. Fingers slid inside of Jack, testing him, relaxing him. They were huge, almost as big as a normal man's cock.
Jack fucked the velvet bed as he was stretched, writhing in anticipation of coming again. He groaned into the duvet as Lincoln slid a second finger into him. Already this was wider than he'd ever been stretched, and he had yet to feel Lincoln's actual cock. It felt too wide to be real, so empty when Lincoln's fingers were gone that it left him gasping for air and clenching, desperate to be filled again.
Then he felt the bed sink down behind him as the giant mounted it, and the warm pressure of Lincoln's body as he angled himself just so. Even with his thighs spread so wide, Jack could feel the largeness and warmth of Lincoln's cock between them. "Oh God, now. I need you to fuck me now, please!"
If he had any shame at all, he would've been embarrassed for begging to be fucked, but as it was, he pushed his ass up, feeling the thick, hard head of Lincoln's cock like a fist at his opening.
"I'm going to fuck you like you've never felt it, my sexy, horny little man."
Shivering in anticipation, Jack took a deep breath when at long last he felt the dull, aching stretch of Lincoln's giant cock entering him. He curled his toes and tears sprang to his eyes. The stretching was extreme, pushing him apart in a way he'd never felt. It hadn't hurt this much since the first time he'd done it, but then it had never felt so good, either. He was full and getting fuller by the second as Lincoln eased into him.
Lincoln was careful, patient, far more patient than Jack could ever imagine being. He eased inside, shifting his weight forward until Jack was so full of him that he couldn't move. He buried his cheek against the soft velvet bed and inhaled slowly, taking a few more inches of Lincoln's cock inside of him. He smelled the rose petals and the spice of the oil and the musky scent of Lincoln, all melted together into the essence of perfect bliss. Jack's body folded around Lincoln as he pressed down against the soft velvet and rose petals. He'd never been so pleasantly split open, never felt so much a part of someone else in his life.
It was as if the tip of Lincoln's cock could physically touch his heart, warming it, making him feel whole and loved. Lincoln, as big as he was, so deep inside of him like this left no room for anything else. He took up Jack's whole world, covered it and pushed out every other thought, every other feeling, except their connection. Lincoln was deeper than anyone ever had been, ever would be again.
When Lincoln moved, it sent a ripple of sensation through Jack's body. Each time he pulled out, Jack felt incredibly empty, like he'd been hollowed out. Then, when Lincoln was inside of him again he felt full, whole. This was how he was meant to feel. This was all Jack had ever wanted, all he treasured. Spiritually, he never wanted it to end, but his body could only take so much of being filled this way.
After years of being asleep Lincoln must've needed this as badly as Jack did. He could feel the familiar body tightening and rushed thrusts of a man about to come. Even if he hadn't felt it, he could hear it in Lincoln's deep gasps and groans that he was reaching his climax. Lincoln slid a large hand under him to cup Jack's cock as his orgasm began. He was so full of Lincoln's cock and his come, he felt like he was going to overflow. He felt the wetness slicking down between his thighs as the come seeped out and Lincoln groaned again, shifting his weight to one arm so that he didn't flop on top of Jack and crush him.
It didn't take long for Jack to come into Lincoln's large palm. The orgasm trembled through him, shaking from his spine to his prick, making him feel briefly like he might black out until his balls tightened and he it spilled out of him in a wave of complete ecstasy.
Lincoln slid from Jack and lay down next to him. He carefully picked Jack up like a favorite doll and draped his loose body across his enormous chest. There were so many things Jack wanted to say right then, but his body was so spent he couldn't muster up the words. He felt so empty without Lincoln inside of him, gaping and wide. Lincoln seemed to sense this and slid a finger inside of him. Like that, Jack finally dozed off into a blissful slumber.
Jack awoke to the smell of bacon crisping and to the rough, sore stretched feeling of being well and properly fucked. He couldn't remember ever being quite so thoroughly sated, or sore. Still, he slipped out of bed, following his nose through the castle corridors until he found the spacious and startlingly modern and well-equipped kitchen. He stopped, blinked, and when Lincoln noticed him, went to his side.
"I take it you had a good rest?" Lincoln reached to brush his long fingers through Jack's hair.
"I did. You wore me out! I'm surprised you weren't exhausted." Jack leaned into the touches, wincing a little at the pinch of pain from his posterior.
"I might've been asleep for centuries. Just not tired yet. However, your tummy was rumbling so I thought I'd try my hand at some cooking. It's not too difficult." Lincoln flipped the bacon. It sizzled and smelled incredible.
"Oh, I see." Jack blushed that his hunger was so obvious and his stomach was unable to contain its enthusiasm now. "As a matter of curiosity, where did you get the bacon...and for that matter, who installed your Electrolux appliances?"
Lincoln laughed. He was still naked, which is a dangerous way to cook bacon, but clearly he liked to live life on the edge. His log jiggled as he snickered. "Oh, well, it's an enchanted place. I merely have to wish things and they arrive. I'm glad you were asleep a while. The manual for using this stove was hard to read through."
Jack was surprised at this, but decided that "it's magic" was a good enough explanation for everything. Especially considering how he'd gotten here. "So I guess you don't want for anything."
"I wanted you." Lincoln grinned as he cracked some eggs into the pan.
"This is paradise." Jack wrapped his arms most of the way around Lincoln's waist.
"Does that mean you'll stay?" Lincoln looked hopeful.
"Of course I'll stay! I'll stay for..." Jack's voice trailed off as he remembered the errand that had led to all of this. He had everything he wanted here, but his mother...she was down there with the bank foreclosing on her house and facing fines from hell from the HOA. "Well, I'm not sure how long I can stay. See, my mom's in a bit of trouble with money..."
Lincoln turned around after plating the bacon and eggs. He gestured them to a lovely little dining table with cream-colored linens and set with crystal that bounced the light into a shimmer of rainbows. Jack quietly, calmly, and as quickly as he could, explained to the giant what a foreclosure was. He went on about shady loans made by reputable banks, toxic loans sold between the banks and a man who ran a Ponzi scheme that suckered most of the sensible people who Should've Known Better into losing their retirement savings. It was good that Lincoln had all of that sleep behind him, or surely that wrap-up would've put him right back to a welcome dozing.
"So I don't understand..." Lincoln seemed to have lost his appetite trying to fathom the world economy. Clearly he didn't like being confused.
"Oh no one does, not really. This is just what people say. The point is, my mother's going to lose her house and she gave me a diamond ring to sell in order to put the collection agencies off us for a couple of months, but instead of getting cash I got a...well, long story slightly truncated, I bought a ticket to find you, the love of my life."
Lincoln looked relieved. "So what you need is...more credit?"
"We could get more credit, but what we need is real money to pay what we already owe. I have to find a job or something."
Lincoln stood and picked up their plates. By the time he walked to the counter, the plates had magically been cleared and cleaned. "Wouldn't a job keep you from being here?"
"Yeah. But just until we have enough money...to settle my mom's debts. I can't leave her alone down there with no money." His voice cracked as he spoke. He didn't want to leave, but he'd made a promise to his mother and he had, after all, used her diamond ring to finance this little vacation. He had to do the right thing.
Lincoln put away the dishes and grabbed for something in a cabinet too high for Jack to even see. He walked back over to the table and set a large velvet bag in front of Jack.
"I don't know how much it's worth nowadays." Lincoln looked pained. "But if it would get you back here faster, it's yours."
With trembling hands, Jack took the bag. He had no clue what was in there. A talisman? A ring? A spell that would turn him into nothing but a zombie fuckpuppet? Deciding he actually liked that last option, he opened the bag and saw the bright warm glow of gold inside. Gold coins. Probably ancient.
"What? Linky, babe, you can't give me this. You barely know me. I appreciate it and all, but I don't feel right taking your money."
Lincoln clearly approved of that reaction, smiling and shaking his head. "Oh, I have plenty more. I just want you back here and into my bed again as soon as possible."
Jack smiled and pulled the coins closer.
"Hee High Hoes Come!
I smell the come of a horny man.
Be he alive or be he dead,
He'll take my boner and give me head!" Lincoln called, blushing at his own bawdiness. "Just get your cute, tight little hole back here before I go mad for missing you, all right?"
It didn't take more than that. Jack left the bag on the table and flew at Lincoln to give him a warm, tight embrace.
"Are you sure you don't need more?"
"Are you kidding? The exchange rate on gold is a dream right now. I could probably buy the whole neighborhood for half that bag. But thank you very much. I love you. I love you so much and I cannot wait to get back here, to spend my life with you."
Jack imagined living here and never seeing his mother again. The notion didn't bother him as much as it probably should have. After all, he had more adventures with Lincoln and a sore anus to look forward to. He just needed to run this one last little errand.
So he kissed Lincoln goodbye and set out to find the peenstalk.
It wasn't as long a walk as he'd remembered; but then, floating on come is a little disorienting and he was no judge of the distance he'd traveled. Soon he found himself at the tip, the little hole of the giant cock. He peered into its depths. He'd never seen a urethra like this, so he took a moment to examine it before he started down the lattice of veins that would carry him back down the peenstalk. Every move he made softened the cock, winding it down. He felt a little sad to see it wilt. It really had been a magnificent boner.
Still three stories from the ground he felt the hard slam of something heavy on the trunk of the penis-ladder. Wham! Slam! Crack! The noises were loud and the resulting shaking made it difficult for Jack to keep a grip on both the peen and the gold. He wrapped the bag's ties around his wrist and moved down the peen as fast as he could, wondering what was going on below.
When he got two stories above ground he saw several angry members of the Home Owners Association yelling at his mother and each other, pointing to the peenstalk. A group of wide-eyed children were begging to climb it.
One industrious man used an axe to chip away at the peen stalk, making it more and more unsteady for Jack to descend. He moved as methodically as he could and he called down imploring the man to stop. As he reached approximately the first floor, the peenstalk had been cut completely through, leaving Jack to jump for it and he landed ungracefully on his back.
As soon as he jumped, the peenstalk teetered and tottered, as if unsure of which way to go. Finally settling on a path that would lead to the most destruction, the peenstalk gave a mighty heave that sounded like strangled death. It took the route with the largest number of houses in its path, crashing through fences, taking down wash lines, crushing houses until they were little more than rubble. The subsequent explosions felt like little earthquakes.
As the neighborhood burned, the peenstalk shriveled until at last it was the size of a normal man's penis.
"I guess it's a grower." Jack rolled over onto his knees in front of the cock ring, trying to catch his breath again. He picked up the now-useless piece of meat that had taken him to the most wonderful place in the world---his very own Xanadu. Jack had expected more of a clamor about what had happened and how porny the peenstalk was, but the people from the HOA were busy on their cell phones wailing at their insurance providers about why they weren't covered for an avalanche of cock.
"What do you mean a giant penis is an Act of God? It went through my house! What kind of God would drop a semi-erect penis on my house?" one man cried into his phone.
The voice on the other end could be heard, "Maybe God is just a giant dick."
But none of this mattered to poor Jack. His heart was broken because he didn't know how he would get back to Lincoln.
After chasing the neighbors out of their back yard, his mother knelt next to him and stared at the grass where he was looking.
"Where were you?" Her voice was surprisingly soft, and didn't sound angry. He'd thought she'd be screaming at him for destroying the neighborhood with a giant penis. Her calm was a little eerie. Maybe she was just relieved that their house survived the great cock attack. He didn't know and he was too miserable to look at her to find out.
"I went up the peenstalk...and I met the most wonderful man. And he's huge. Huge where it counts. But huge in his heart too and he...he loves me and I love him and now I don't know how to get back to him." Jack's eyes filled with tears as he pondered life without Lincoln. He hadn't known him very long, but the giant had already become such a part of Jack's heart and soul, he wasn't sure he could go on without him, even with a sack of gold. "I only came back to say goodbye, and to give you this."
Jack unwound the bag of gold from his wrist and passed it to his mother. She had heard the coins inside jingle, and gasped. "Not that it matters, but should I ask what you did to earn this?"
"I was someone's true love." Jack pointed at the remnants of the flaccid disembodied peen on the grass. "That's how I got to him---to his penis castle in the sky. And now I can't get back to him. The peenstalk stairway is broken. Those people cut it down. The stupid, ridiculous Home Owners Association board. Now I'm never going to be happy again!" By the end of his tirade, he was fully in tears. He wiped them away angrily with the back of his hands, hating that he was sobbing in public like this, but the loss of the peenstalk was devastating already and he hadn't even had time to miss Lincoln yet.
His mother's fingers closed around the neck of the bag and slipped it out of his grasp. "I see. Well...I don't think there's much I can do for you. Maybe you just need a little space."
He didn't know what to say to her. He could barely hear her over the sound of his heart breaking as he thought of Lincoln and his lonely eyes, how hopeful he'd looked when Jack promised to come back. What would he think now? Would he believe Jack had only wanted his cock and his money, and never loved him?
Jack heard his mother stand up and the back door slammed when she went inside. He flopped over onto his side, curling up into a ball as he thought of all he'd lost and how briefly he'd had it. He thought he'd done the right thing by coming home and bailing his mother out of her financial straits, but now he was cut off and nothing---no amount of money or club nights or glitter---would ever make it better again.
That night Jack slept in the back yard, unwilling to move from his spot. He thought maybe if he stayed right here, the penis would grow again. But it didn't. The next morning, his mother ducked her head outside to let him know she'd had the gold appraised and they'd never have to want for money again.
She came out, forced Jack to have some water and a sandwich, and told him she intended to move to Mexico to enjoy a future as a cougar. She would leave him with enough money to take care of himself if he wanted to continue to live in this disaster area, but she was moving on to something bigger, better, and with hotter boys.
Normally, that would've sounded like Jack's dream life. But not anymore. Not after Lincoln. He could still remember the feel of the giant every time he moved. He was still sore from being fucked. It was all so real and so near. After only a few days apart. Jack didn't know how he could go another minute.
He still had not moved from his vigil next to the cock ring. He quietly sobbed into the fertile dirt where his beloved peenstalk had once grown. He cried and cried and cried and when he thought that he was done with it, he had more crying to do. When the sun went down he was crying, and when it came up again he was still crying. When the sun went down once more, Jack finally passed out from lack of food, dehydration, and exhaustion. It was hard to eat when you were busy crying.
What Jack didn't see, because he had blacked out, was his tears had watered the ground, and settled into a little pool inside of the cock ring. By the next day, the peenstalk had grown again, stretching high up into the clouds having regained all its former phallic glory. The cock protected Jack from the sun, but did little else. It was sad that Jack couldn't wake up to see it there, glorious in its fleshy veininess, but he was down and out for the count. Even if he had been awake, he may not have seen the peen for all the tears.
Just when one might think all hope was lost and that Jack would die there at the base of the biggest cock ever known to mankind, the peen started to tremble and shake as if bearing an incredible weight. It retracted into the ground, but surely, inch after inch, foot after foot, burrowing into the earth until only the tip was visible, and upon it, Lincoln rode it like an elevator down to earth.
He looked as if he hadn't been doing much better than Jack on the crying front as his face was puffy. Fortunately, he had moved through the stages of grief more quickly, and had just enough anger to make his way down to Earth to give Jack a piece of his mind.
But Jack looked so pathetic wrapped around that cock ring, and Lincoln's expression went from hard to adoring. Lincoln jumped off the penis as soon as he dared and tenderly picked Jack up.
"You weren't trying to escape with my money, were you? You just couldn't find a way back to me." Lincoln clutched Jack to his chest until the cock head sat like a little mushroom just out of the ground. Once it had settled, Lincoln stood on it again and let the peenevator carry him into the clouds
Back in his castle, Lincoln set Jack in his bed and fed him honeyed water, dribbling it between his lips until Jack opened his eyes.
"Did I die? Is this heaven?"
Lincoln smiled and leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead. "No, this is the end of the fairy tale."
"The part where we live happily ever after?" He looked up at Lincoln with hope in his eyes.
"Yes, that's the part, my prince."
And in the castle in the sky, they did.
The Home Owners Association, however, didn't dare to cut the new penis down, lest it take out the rest of the neighborhood. Instead, they planted thorned flowers all around it, to discourage innocent little children from climbing it, and hoped no one asked why there was a giant penis growing out of the ground.
The Rebelliously Single Prince
by Lenore Black
Long ago, in a land not entirely unlike our own, there were four kingdoms, each with a different claim to fame. In Azurelee, people pointed with pride to the beauty of their hanging gardens. The mines of Stednemham kept noble households well supplied with silver and precious stones. Darjhan was famous for its horses, spirited beasts unparalleled for speed and strength.
Perhaps the grandest kingdom of all was Celestrina, envied far and wide for its architectural wonders, scientific inventions, and the richness of its coffers. Celestrina's prosperity came in no small part from the obsessions of its current king. Ludovico was as ambitious as he was unscrupulous, a born schemer with one goal in life: to be the wealthiest, most powerful man in all the world. He devised crafty plots to ruin anyone he considered a rival, sneakily filched valuable resources from neighboring kingdoms, and amassed so much treasure even his spare change could have paved the streets of Celestrina with gold.
Now in his mature years, the king had at last reached the point in life when he could look around, survey his dominion, and feel well satisfied with everything...well, almost everything.
King Ludovico had but one heir, the Crown Prince Kieran. The prince was a sensual youth, tall and lithe of body, with chestnut curls, sculpted features, and dark blue eyes. He was so fetching he could have charmed a maidservant out of her bloomers with one of his sultry smiles if he'd been so inclined---and this was precisely the cause of the king's great consternation. Prince Kieran had no interest in the maidservants' unmentionables, but instead was likely to be found down at the barn coaxing the stable boys out of their breeches. The prince's valet often discovered stray bits of straw in his master's clothes and sawdust clinging to the soles of the royal boots.
"It will not do!" King Ludovico berated his son one morning at breakfast, smashing his hand down onto the table with such force that a decanter of wild pomegranate juice nearly upended.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," Prince Kieran said, with an expression that was anything but apologetic.
"You will be the ruler of this land one day. You must find a suitable woman, marry, and produce the next generation to carry on our noble name."
Prince Kieran yawned.
Never one to be thwarted by his son's contrariness---or anything else for that matter---King Ludovico petitioned neighboring kingdoms and found for his son three of the most lovely and sought-after ladies in all the lands. Princess Esmeralda, heiress to the throne of Azurelee, painted still lifes, sang arias, and cultivated rare orchids---as accomplished a young lady as ever could be. Lady Helene, daughter of the Right Honorable Lord Bryce, was not only fair of face, but also quick of wit, a most estimable trait in the mother of a future king. Dame Desideria, known to enchant men with a single glance, had graced the court in Darjhan since her debut at fifteen.
"Any one of these ladies will make you a fine queen. You will spend time with them, get to know them, and choose one for your bride."
Prince Kieran lifted his chin. "We'll see about that."
The king glowered at his son, not at all pleased with his attitude, but one of the great joys of being king was that he gave the orders. Therefore, the royal decree went forth that on three successive nights there would be a ball in each lady's honor and the prince would act as escort on each occasion.
Not even the Crown Prince dared to defy one of the king's decrees, and so Prince Kieran squired each of the ladies to her ball, treating them with perfect politeness, if no actual interest. He danced with them and made small talk, fetched punch, and even went so far as to engage in some mild flirtation. Raising his father's hopes only to dash them was great sport for the young prince. At the end of each evening, he bade each lady goodnight with a formal bow and not even the least bit of regret. In the morning, there was straw in his clothes and sawdust on his shoes, just as there always was.
When news reached the king that the prince had not ceased his nocturnal carousing with the local peasant boys, he fell into such a wild rage that he banished for life anyone unfortunate enough to fall upon his gaze at that moment and smashed the entire royal collection of crystal unicorn figurines.
"Summon my son!" King Ludovico thundered. "I command that he appear before me!"
The royal page scurried off to carry out the order, and the prince sauntered into the throne room some moments later, looking decidedly unconcerned about his father's temper tantrum.
King Ludovico pointed his finger indignantly. "You will cease your disgraceful cavorting at once. I have tolerated your predilections for as long as I have because boys will dabble in such juvenile pleasures, but the time has come to put away childish things and take on adult responsibilities."
"Father, I have told you a million times before that I have no yearning for women. It would be wrong of me to wed someone I have no feeling for. And besides, none of your three ladies is anyone you'd want for a daughter-in-law, trust me. In your eagerness for a wedding, you've failed to observe the truth about them."
The king's face darkened. "Do you dare to slander three such flowers of womanhood?"
Prince Kieran gave his father a knowing little smile. "Oh, it isn't slander, my lord father. You'll find that out soon enough."
His son's defiance only served to make the king more determined than ever that Kieran should marry one of the beauties selected for him, but the ladies themselves soon proved the undoing of this plan. The first to fall from favor was Dame Desideria, who went afoul of the Wise Woman, an elderly crone who had the Gift of sight. She was well trusted throughout Celestrina and always called upon to give her opinion on the advisability of a potential royal match.
"She is a witch," the Wise Woman pronounced with one glance at Desideria. "A dark witch, in fact."
A gasp went up throughout the great hall.
"How dare you, you old bitch!" Dame Desideria shouted, in a rather unladylike fashion.
"Surely you don't believe this?" the king asked the Wise Woman.
She shrugged. "Check her room if you need proof."
The king dispatched his guards, and they returned with enough tools of sorcery to have kept an entire coven of witches busy.
"He would have chosen me!" Desideria screamed as they dragged her away. "I would have made sure of that!"
Prince Kieran did not even try to hide his smile, and King Ludovico glowered with barely suppressed wrath.
The next to disgrace herself was Princess Esmeralda. From the very start, she had spent more of her time cozying up to the king than to Prince Kieran. Ludovico had been a widower these past fifteen years and was still, if he did say so himself, quite the royal catch. He had even considered making Princess Esmeralda his own bride, setting to work producing a new heir and ridding himself of his unruly son the old-fashioned way: by disinheriting him.
Unhappily, though, Princess Esmeralda proved herself unworthy of such an honor when the king came upon her in his chamber, rifling through his desk, reading his private papers.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
She turned red and then pale, but forced a smile. "Waiting for you, of course," she said in her most seductive voice.
"Guards!" the king called out.
The guards came running, and King Ludovico demanded that they search the princess. Hidden in her robes were the king's secret plans for expanding his empire. Ludovico had an uneasy truce at best with Esmeralda's father King Horace, and apparently she'd been sent to Celestrina as a spy.
"Take her away!" King Ludovico ordered.
"You're not half the man my father is, you dirty old pervert!" she proclaimed defiantly as the guards hauled her off.
This time, Prince Kieran laughed openly, and his father raged the rest of the day and long into the night.
Lady Helene still remained, however, and the king quickly placed all his hopes on her. But she, too, proved to have an obstacle to matrimony, one not at all different from Prince Kieran's. Lady Helene was, for the most part, discreet in her liaisons. The king would no doubt have remained ignorant of her secret had he not received a mysterious letter warning that brigands prepared to sneak into the castle, intending to abduct her ladyship, that very night. The king marshaled his guards, and they all went charging off to her chamber, prepared to defend the damsel from outlaws. When they threw open the door, they were startled to find one of the serving girls naked and in bed with her mistress, busily at work between Lady Helene's widely flung legs.
The members of the guard gawked in lewd fascination.
The king sighed wearily. "Get her out of here."
"There should be no such thing as a love that dares not speak its name!" Lady Helene declared hotly.
"My sentiments exactly," Prince Kieran said, with a sympathetic glance in her direction. He'd appeared not long after the commotion had begun.
"Do not delay in making yourself respectable," King Ludovico remarked dryly. Lady Helene was still half-naked, much to the snickering delight of the palace guards.
"What is more respectable than love, pray tell me, my lord father?" The prince raised an eyebrow.
"You know the law doesn't recognize such unions," the king snapped.
"Because you wrote it that way, and you could just as easily change it."
Lady Helene, now properly dressed, was escorted away by the guards. The king scowled, not the least bit pleased by the disastrous turn his plans had taken or his son's obvious triumph in their failure. It was time to teach the wayward prince that the king's will was not to be taken lightly.
"The law does not need adjustment. Your behavior does," he declared. "From now on, you will be locked into your chamber at night. There will be no more secret trysts with your illicit lovers. You will remain so imprisoned until you've learned your lesson and agree to take a wife."
Prince Kieran bowed before the king. "As you wish. But know this, my lord father: I will never marry anyone whom I do not love."
King Ludovico smiled smugly. "We will see, my son, if you still feel the same way after many long nights spent alone."
And so, each evening when the prince retired, the king himself came to lock him away. He kept the key on a chain around his neck and never entrusted it to anyone else's care. He even slept with it under his pillow. A single door led to Prince Kieran's chamber, and the only other way out or in was a large window that overlooked the craggy mountains to the west. The room was so high up in the tower that anyone trying to gain access that way would most certainly have ended up dashed to bits on the hard, rocky ground below.
It was a foolproof plan and King Ludovico heartily congratulated himself. And yet...
Every morning, when the prince's chamber was unlocked, the bed was found in complete disarray, the sheets stained with the evidence of pleasure, the prince's pajamas torn, and marks of passion on his neck.
"You seem tired," the king would say to him over breakfast, hoping to draw him out and learn something that might help solve the mystery.
The prince would reply with such a deliberate lack of expression, it was really quite maddening. "I'm afraid I didn't get much sleep last night."
This drove the king to distraction. He posted guards outside the prince's door to make sure he wasn't somehow able to sneak out or someone else sneak in, but they sat and they watched and nothing stirred all night. And yet, the next day the prince looked as well pleasured as ever.
"This must be trickery of some sort," the king said to his loyal minion, Dalmazio. "I have ordered an observation nook to be created next to the prince's room without his knowledge. You will hide yourself away there tonight, keep watch, and report back to me whatever transpires in my son's room."
The king made it a habit to turn to Dalmazio for assistance when stealth was of the essence; the man was bested in deviousness only by the king himself.
Dalmazio bowed deeply. "As you wish, my lord." He was always honored to serve, and the fact that Prince Kieran was easy on the eyes made him that much more willing.
Before the prince retired for the night, Dalmazio tucked himself away in the little nook. Prince Kieran arrived in his chamber, attended by his servants. Dalmazio strained to see as they helped their master disrobe, but they crowded around him so he was robbed of even a glimpse of the young prince's creamy skin. Even worse, there would be no satisfying his curiosity whether the royal endowment was as impressive as rumor had it. Clad in pajamas, the prince slipped into bed and dismissed his servants for the evening. The king came as usual to lock the prince in. Dalmazio sighed softly and prepared for a long night of watching his lordship sleep.
Dalmazio did not know how much time passed before the prince got out of bed and lit a lamp---an hour, maybe more. He pressed his eye to the peephole in the wall, instantly alert. A noise at the window drew his attention, and Dalmazio feared he might be losing his mind altogether, because what he saw could not possibly be happening. A young man with glowing golden wings had flown through the window as effortlessly as a bird and landed gracefully before the young prince.
"I thought you weren't coming," Prince Kieran said.
"The king demanded the prototype for the new threshing machine, and my father and I worked long into the evening to finish it. I had to wait for Papa to go to sleep before I could sneak out."
The young man stepped into the pale pool of light, and Dalmazio had to clap his hand over his mouth to keep from gasping out loud. He recognized Sereth, the son of Thackeray, Celestrina's Master Inventor. The young man served as an apprentice in his father's workshop, and Dalmazio had met him more than once when he'd been summoned to court.
Sereth was a strapping lad of twenty with broad shoulders, a muscled chest, and the strong, sensitive hands of a skilled craftsman. Dalmazio had often admired his silky dark hair that hung to his shoulders, his wide green eyes, and his soft, pretty mouth. As the heir apparent to his father's much sought-after position on the royal staff, Sereth was one of the land's most eligible young bachelors, second only to Prince Kieran himself.
"You have no idea how it feels when I'm waiting for you." Prince Kieran's voice was strained with emotion.
"Do you think I'm not just as desperate with longing?" Sereth touched the prince's face tenderly. "If you need a demonstration of my desire, then pray let me show you."
He unbuckled the harness that strapped the strange wings to his body and let them slide to the floor. The instant they touched the marble, they transformed from luminous living things to mere pieces of carved wood. Dalmazio stared, shocked to discover that the young man's family must dabble in sorcery as well as science.
Sereth took the prince in his arms, his hands moving over the prince's body, stroking up his arms, across his back, through his hair. "My love," he said in a voice rough with need.
The prince pressed his face against Sereth's neck, breathing in deeply, as if trying to memorize the scent of his skin. "My sweet." He lifted his chin in invitation, and Sereth kissed him deeply, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Their soft sighs and murmurs of pleasure drifted over to Dalmazio's nook, and he could almost imagine he was the one being kissed so sweetly. An insistent heat began to burn low in his belly.
"Please," Sereth said urgently, slipping his fingers beneath the prince's pajamas.
The prince reached for Sereth's shirt, unbuttoning it slowly, stroking bare skin as it was revealed. Sereth clearly grew impatient with such teasing and stripped off the rest of his clothes. He stood naked before the prince. His cock was swollen with need and wet at the tip, jutting out from his body.
"Do you doubt how much I want you?"
Kieran laid a hand against Sereth's cheek and kissed him. "I have never doubted you."
Heat flashed in Sereth's eyes, and he was on the prince at once, the royal pajamas rending in his large hands, exposing all that flawless skin that Dalmazio had been so eager to see.
"Touch me," the prince demanded. "Take me."
Sereth's hands seemed to be everywhere at once, a blur of pleasure. He licked at the curve of the prince's elegant neck, tasting, biting, leaving his mark on royal skin. Dalmazio's cock surged to instant hardness, and he had to shove his hand into his mouth to keep from moaning along with the prince.
The young man laid a greedy kiss on the prince's lips before falling to his knees. He stroked the prince's belly with light touches, bent his head and pressed a reverent kiss to the prince's cock.
Kieran drew in a sharp breath and sank his fingers into Sereth's long, thick hair. "Please."
To hear the heir to the throne beg in such a pretty, broken voice was almost more than Dalmazio could bear, and he pressed the heel of his hand hard against his aching cock.
"I live only to please you," Sereth said, running his palm up the prince's bare thigh.
He went down eagerly, stretching his lips around the prince's cock, making a pleased sound in the back of his throat. Kieran threw his head back with a low moan. Dalmazio could not get his hand into his own pants quickly enough.
The soft, wet sounds of sucking filled the room. The prince murmured, "Sereth, Sereth," threading his fingers through the boy's hair. This spurred Sereth on, and he went at the prince even more fervently. Kieran's voice was rough with passion when he cried out his release.
Sereth caressed Kieran's hips through the last tremors of his orgasm. "So beautiful," he whispered.
Prince Kieran grappled at Sereth's shoulders, urging him to his feet. Their bodies tangled together as they shared heated kisses. Sereth walked Kieran backwards until they fell laughing onto the bed.
They kissed and touched each other urgently, then the prince pulled a small vial from his bedside drawer and pressed it into Sereth's hand. He poured out some liquid, and his hand disappeared between the prince's legs. The room echoed with the prince's soft moaning and his ragged breath. At last, Sereth drew his hand away and gently turned the prince onto his belly.
Dalmazio was no stranger to the ways of pleasure, but he was not prepared for the raw jolt of lust that shot through him at the sight of Sereth slicking his erection, moving between the prince's open thighs, and entering him. Prince Kieran moaned and rubbed himself against the sheets. Sereth scattered kisses across Kieran's shoulders and began to move inside him. Dalmazio's grip on his own erection tightened as he watched Sereth's thick cock pumping between firm cheeks.
It felt like forever passed as Dalmazio stared rapt, stroking himself, the only sounds in the room the creaking of the bed, the rough intake of breath, and the two men's mingled cries of pleasure. The prince came first, then Sereth, and finally Dalmazio, who had to bury his face in the crook of his arm to keep from giving himself away. Afterward, the prince curled up against Sereth, an arm flung possessively across his waist. When Sereth started to slip from his embrace, he held on with desperate strength.
"Don't go. Not yet."
Sereth dropped a kiss to Prince Kieran's nose. "Don't worry. I'll be right back."
He crossed the room to where his clothes lay scattered on the floor and pulled something from the pocket of his pants that glittered in the light. He returned to bed, and Dalmazio could see what he had: two gold rings. He slipped one onto the prince's finger and the other onto his own.
Sereth held up his hand to admire it. "I wish we never had to take them off."
"Me too." Sorrow flashed across Prince Kieran's face. "But the time will come when we won't have to pretend anymore, when we can live together as married people should."
Sereth lowered his eyes and didn't answer.
"Hey." Prince Kieran tilted his chin with his fingers. "Don't you believe me?"
"I believe it's what you want. But your father...he'll never change his mind."
"Perhaps not," the prince conceded. "But my father isn't going to live forever. When I become king, the first thing I'll do is change that stupid, antiquated law."
"Just don't do anything you'll regret to make that day come sooner," Sereth said sternly.
The prince gave him a reassuring kiss. "I'm not going to kill my father. I know how to bide my time."
"At least we'll still have our nights together," Sereth said, with a seductive smile.
They made love again. And again. And yet again. Just before the first light broke on the horizon, Sereth emerged from bed. He retrieved his clothes and donned the wooden wings. Kieran walked him to the window; a trail remained on the floor, straw and sawdust, not from any barn, but from the Master Inventor's workshop.
"My sweet prince," Sereth whispered.
"My beloved husband."
Prince Kieran reluctantly removed the ring from his finger and returned it to Sereth for safekeeping. He took Sereth's face between his hands and gave him a fierce, lingering kiss. The wings sprang to life, again shimmering and golden, quivering with strength, and Sereth climbed onto the window sill.
Dalmazio watched as Sereth flew away, and at last he understood everything. There was indeed magic at work here, the most ancient and powerful magic of all: love.
He had to wait until Prince Kieran had dressed and gone before he could let himself out of his hiding place. The king had commanded that he report his findings at once, and a prudent man never kept King Ludovico waiting. He hurried to his majesty's study.
"Yes, yes, tell me all that you have seen," the king demanded.
"It is just as you have guessed, your majesty. There is trickery at work here."
"Indeed. Pray tell me the details."
"Last night, your son dismissed his servants and went to bed, where he stayed most of the night. Just before dawn broke he rose again, rumpled the bedcovers, pinched his neck with his own fingers to leave behind a red mark, and then..." He hesitated as a sign of respect for the king's feelings. "Took care of his needs, so to speak, leaving behind evidence that would lead you to believe that someone else had been with him."
"What a devious son I've raised!" King Ludovico said with more than a hint of pride. "How much I'll enjoy seeing the look on his face when I inform him that I've uncovered the truth of his duplicity."
"If your majesty thinks that is the best way to proceed," Dalmazio said with obvious hesitation.
The king frowned. "You have another idea?"
Dalmazio bowed low to the floor. "If it pleases your grace to hear it."
"It does."
"Perhaps the best comeuppance is simply to do nothing. Let your son continue his elaborate, futile efforts to deceive you, all the while you will be laughing to yourself at his expense."
King Ludovico smiled. "Indeed, Dalmazio. Your approach has a certain appeal to it."
Dalmazio bowed again. "I am pleased your grace thinks so."
The king touched his finger to his lips. "Not a word then. Let my son continue his nighttime shenanigans, and we will enjoy the joke for as long as we can."
"As you wish, your majesty."
"Good work, Dalmazio."
Dalmazio bowed one last time and took his leave.
With any luck, the king would never discover the truth. Dalmazio would certainly do everything in his power to see that he didn't. He might be a loyal and trusted minion, but he was by no means a stupid one. As Prince Kieran had said, Ludovico would not live forever. Why make an enemy of a future king to win the favor of one who would soon enough be so much dust?
Besides, there was a handsome young lieutenant in the royal guard Dalmazio rather fancied, whom he'd long thought would make someone a fine husband. It might as well be him.
Long live King Kieran! Dalmazio thought with a smile.
Cry Wolf
by Mercy Loomis
"See any wolves today, Wil?"
Wil gritted his teeth and prodded the last of the sheep into the pen, not bothering to look up as he fastened the gate shut. He already knew the look of taunting scorn he would see on John Miller's face.
"Ach, leave off the lad," said Andrew Wainwright, who spoke as if his extra five years over Wil's twenty were a lifetime. "He's not come crying down the hill for nearly a week."
The two men laughed. Wil's hands clenched hard around his stout crook, but he refused to rise to the bait. Without acknowledging his hecklers, he stalked away from the sheepfold toward his home.
A light patter of footsteps behind him made Wil bite back a groan. Emma Miller caught up with him halfway down the street.
"Don't you mind John, that fathead," she told him, hovering at his side with knitted brows.
"I never pay your brother much mind." Wil fought to keep his voice even, trying not to snap at her. Emma was one of his best friends, but in the last couple of years she'd developed an aggravating habit of dogging his heels when he was in the village. The last thing he wanted to do was to show up at home with a girl---any girl---in tow.
Emma lowered her voice, leaning in toward him as they walked. Her hand brushed his, but he pretended not to notice. "Did the wolf come today?"
Wil looked around before daring to answer. He wouldn't have told any of the lads, but Emma could be trusted to keep her mouth shut. "Yes."
She sucked in a startled breath. "It's not natural, Wil. I'm worried for you."
He glanced at her, wondering if she was making a play at him, but her clear brown eyes appeared solemn and refreshingly free from artifice. He gave her a smile, albeit a more tight-lipped one than she deserved. "Be easy, Emma. I don't think the wolf means me any harm, not after this long. You run home to your supper or your da will send John after you."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "All right." She stopped walking, an invitation for him to stop and make eyes at her, or even steal a kiss. As if he had ever tried. He kept moving, looking straight ahead, hearing the obvious frustration in her sigh.
"You can't keep putting me off forever," she muttered behind him.
Wil did turn his head at that, surprised, but she was already heading away from him. He continued down the street more slowly, a sinking feeling in his gut. She wouldn't have said that if she didn't have Master Miller's consent. Da must have gotten tired of waiting and spoken for me. He closed his eyes against a wave of nausea; the very thought of marriage made bile rise in his throat.
I suppose if I have to marry, at least Emma is a friend. He shuddered. But I don't want to marry. I can't be what she wants me to be.
Doesn't look like I'm going to have a choice.
The next day, Wil followed the sheep out of the neck of the fenced passage and into the pasture, shutting the gate behind him. Below him in the hollow between the slopes, the village still lay in shadow, but up here the early morning sun shone full on the grassy meadow. Wil made one circuit of the pasture's lengthy fence, making sure none of the boards had come loose overnight, before settling under a shady tree at the northern edge of the field.
"I suppose I should have expected it," he thought out loud as he so often did. Especially these days. "There's only so long that they're going to let me put it off before taking matters into their own hands. Ma's been nagging me about settling down for ages, but she's my mother. That's what they do."
There was a wuuf of agreement from off to the side, the sound of breath through a canine nose. Wil didn't look toward the noise, didn't really look at anything, focused on the sound of his strange companion's approach. Cautious anticipation shivered through his shoulders. He kept talking.
"They're trying to get me to propose first. It would make Emma happy, and I know she wants me to be happy, truly she does. She just doesn't understand why I can't be happy with her."
Wil heard the light scraping of claws over dirt, and a soft sigh as the wolf lay down next to him. It stretched out its forefeet and rested its chin on its paws. Out of the corner of his eye, Wil saw the ears swivel to catch his words. It was a good listener.
"And you're not helping things at all," he told the wolf. "Bad enough that most of the town thinks I'm either crazy or a liar, but Emma believes me about you. And that just makes me more...interesting."
The wolf sighed again.
It was large for a wolf, its fur unusually dark. Wil had first seen it almost two weeks earlier, when he had caught sight of it skulking along the outside of the fence. He'd shouted and waved his crook, expecting the creature to take fright and run off. Instead it had stared at him with its yellow eyes, just stared, until Wil's throat closed up and he backed away. That wolf knew men, and wasn't afraid in the least.
Wil had gathered the sheep and herded them back toward town as fast as he could. A lone wolf would find their livestock easier to catch than anything wild. A wolf that didn't fear men was a danger not just to the sheep, but to the whole town.
But when the men had followed him back to the pasture to help him drive off the creature, not only was the wolf gone, there was no sign it had ever been there.
Still, the men had believed him then.
After three days of the wolf appearing to him, then vanishing without a trace before the men arrived, that changed.
"Apparently Master Miller is just fine with his future son-in-law being crazy or a liar, if it makes Emma happy." Wil shook his head. "He never could tell her no over anything."
He lapsed into silence. The wolf closed its eyes and appeared to fall asleep.
Shepherding was a lonely business, except for the occasional market day. Most boys gave it up as soon as they could get apprenticed to a trade, but Wil had always preferred it no matter how awful the weather. The sheep didn't care if he liked men. Being in town always made him feel far lonelier than long hours in the pasture ever had.
At midday Wil took out his lunch: two hardboiled eggs and some bread and cheese. He peeled the first egg and tossed it to the wolf, who caught it in midair and swallowed it with an audible gulp while Wil peeled and ate the second.
"I probably shouldn't feed you." He crushed the eggshells and scattered them in the grass. Picking up the heel of bread, he tore off a chunk and eyed the wolf, smiling. "I'd hate for you to start stealing loaves from windowsills or something."
The wolf snapped at the air, gently, in a gesture that said quite plainly, "Shut up and give me some of that." Wil chuckled and tossed the chunk of bread.
After lunch Wil sang for a while to pass the time, while the wolf stretched out on its back in the sun, paws dangling in the air, snoring slightly and looking absolutely ridiculous.
One of the pregnant ewes, mimicking the wolf's position, discovered she couldn't get her unwieldy body right-side-up again, and Wil went to help her. When he got back to the tree, the wolf was gone.
Wil sat down with a sigh. He never saw the wolf arrive or leave. At first it had always appeared on the other side of the fence. The first day Wil had stood his ground---the day after the men had stopped believing him---was the first day it had come into the pasture. It jumped the fence as easily as a child jumps over a small puddle in the street, but soundlessly. It had sauntered over, stopping just out of range of his shepherd's crook, and had lain down.
After a few minutes of standing there, gripping his crook, Wil began to feel foolish. He relaxed slowly. The wolf watched him in just the same way he had seen old dogs watch puppies, amusement and patience writ in the lines of its body.
"Well," Wil said carefully, and the large ears had pricked in his direction, "if you're not going to bother the sheep, I suppose there's no reason not to be civil."
And the wolf had closed its eyes and appeared to go to sleep.
The first few days had been awkward to say the least, but after spending hour upon hour with the creature, Wil's natural caution had faded until he found himself waiting with hushed breath for the wolf's arrival each morning. Now, with night coming on and the trip back home looming, Wil discovered a growing reluctance to return to the village at all. He leaned against the tree, eyes searching the empty forest on the other side of the fence, missing the one friend he could trust with his secrets.
"I wish I could just stay here with you." Will sighed and began to gather the sheep.
"Son, come sit with me a moment."
Wil hid his wince, but only barely. Apparently he wasn't going to be able to sneak away after dinner as he had last night. His mother gave him an encouraging smile as she left the room, but the worry behind her eyes was plain to him.
"Yes, Da?"
His father didn't look at him, concentrating instead on tamping down the tobacco in his pipe. "I spoke to Master Miller yesterday."
Wil's heart sank. "Oh?"
"Emma's getting agitated, waiting for you." He lit the pipe and took a long draw. "I told him you were waiting for Emma's birthday to propose." His father glanced up at him with a penetrating look before turning his attention back to his pipe.
Wil swallowed hard. "Her birthday is next week."
"Aye."
Before he could stop himself, Wil blurted, "But I don't want to marry her."
"Aye, I know." With a sigh, the older man met his son's gaze squarely. "But she wants to marry you, and it's a good match. I know you don't love her yet, but marriage isn't about love, it's about duty, and love may come with time." He got to his feet with much grunting and creaking of joints. "I'm getting old, son. Your mother's getting old. We need a daughter to tend us while you're out with the flock, and grandchildren underfoot." He smiled, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "Emma will settle down when she's has a couple of bairns to chase after, you'll see. Now, we'll post the banns on Wednesday, right?"
"Yes, sir," Wil said glumly.
"That's a lad." He paused. "And try to at least pretend to be happy about it? A woman will make your life miserable if she thinks she's not appreciated."
Wil didn't reply. He watched his father go up to bed, wondering how his parents had felt about marrying. He doubted either one of them had his reservations.
He wandered outdoors, too restless for sleep. It was a fine warm night, the hollow that held the village retaining the day's heat far longer than would the slopes of the hills around them. His thoughts ran in mindless, useless circles, misery chasing misery, and he was halfway to the pasture before he noticed where his feet had carried him. Realizing where he was going, Wil began to walk faster, then broke into a run. He flung himself up the hillside, channeling all his frustration into pure speed, welcoming the painful stitch in his side, the burning in his lungs. His world narrowed down to the fence, a pale blur ahead of him, growing as he ran toward it. With a last effort he reached it and clambered over, dropping to his knees in the grass on the other side.
Wheezing, his hand clapped to his side, Wil began to laugh. "Pointless," he gasped. "There's no safety here." But he felt better anyway, just being away from the village and the lie he had just agreed to live.
The grass rustled, and suddenly the wolf was there. It sat well out of reach, one paw raised as if considering whether to come nearer.
"Hello, friend." Wil smiled. "I didn't know if you'd be here."
With dainty steps the wolf picked its way closer, craning its head to sniff at him. It was so intent, so cautious, that Wil's brow furrowed.
"It's me." He held out his hand for the wolf to sniff. Soft breath warmed his fingers, and then, to his surprise, the wolf moved forward, rubbing its face against his hand, his fingers sliding through the thick fur of its neck and back as it turned and walked back the way it had come.
Wil stared after it in shock. He had never tried to touch the wolf, less for fear of being bitten than for the knowledge that Emma was right, and this was no ordinary creature. His skin tingled with premonition.
The wolf walked only a couple of paces before turning again, letting out a great sigh as it faced him, only this time Wil could see the movement of the air, a great swirling, luminescent in the moonlight. As the wolf moved into the roiling air, its body blurred, dissolving, twisting into that moving breath and pouring out the other side. A new shape formed, a man's shape, pale and lanky and with a shock of dark curls. Black Welsh eyes pierced him through, driving every thought out of Wil's head and leaving him reeling with confusion.
The pookha---for what other creature, mortal or fae, could change its shape so easily?---sat and wrapped his arms around his knees. His voice was a rich, belling tenor, like a hound's. "Did you mean it when you said you wished you could stay here with me?"
Wil swallowed hard, speechless, unable to stop staring at the muscled arms, the sculpted lips. The pookha was easily the most desirable youth he had ever seen. And dangerous as the day is long! A pookha is as liable to lead you over a cliff as to bring you safely home again. The pookha's expression---hesitant and vulnerable---was no comfort to Wil as story after story of fae capriciousness flashed through his mind.
Yet long hours of silent companionship gave wings to the hope that was beginning to rise in him. Licking his lips, Wil answered truthfully.
"I meant it." And then, boldly, "I still mean it."
The pookha's unguarded eyes brightened and his smile made Wil's heart ache. "Truly? Even now?"
"Even now." Wil smiled ruefully, his gaze traveling over the pookha's wiry frame. "Especially now."
The pookha's face fell at Wil's words. "Then you are promised to Emma? Did your father speak for you?"
Wil shook his head. "Not promised yet, but soon," he replied bleakly. "In a few days."
A crafty grin made the sculpted lips curl. "Well, then. That's nothing to worry us now. That's for another day." He unwound himself languidly, stalking toward Wil on hands and knees with the wolf's fluid grace.
"And tonight?" Wil managed to whisper through a throat tight with longing.
The pookha reached him and just kept coming, the very strength of his presence forcing Wil onto his back in the grass. The pookha held himself up on his toes and his hands, his body arrow-straight between Wil's sprawled legs. The air between them was charged as if with lightning, as if that roiling, churning mass was going to reappear and devour him as it had the wolf. Wil shuddered at the realization that he didn't care if it did consume him, as long as he could have this one night to love as he wished. Crazy, maybe, but he didn't want to stop and think, didn't want to fight the tides of passion sweeping through him. The pookha lowered his head, rubbing his chin along the edge of Wil's face, first one side and then the other. "Tonight you're mine," he whispered.
The words rang through him, resounding, almost deafening. "Yours. And what name should I call my master by?" Wil asked, drowning in the reverberations.
Again the cunning grin. "Bleddyn." The pookha kissed him.
Wil moaned into the pookha's mouth, kissing him back fiercely, his hands caressing Bleddyn's shoulders, his narrow hips, his tight, muscled ass. Bleddyn collapsed on top of him, chest against chest, his hard erection pressing maddeningly against Wil's pelvis. The pookha's hands fumbled with Wil's clothes. Wil rolled the lighter man off him and sat up, starting to pull his shirt over his head, but then checked.
"You won't disappear on me if I take my eyes off of you, right?"
Bleddyn laughed. "I wouldn't leave you now for all the fat sheep in the isles."
"Good." Wil stripped faster than he ever had in his life.
Bleddyn looked as if he would object, but then shrugged and smiled. "Ah, youth," he said. "No patience."
Wil tossed his clothes into a pile. "Won't there be time for patience later?"
His question only made the pookha chuckle.
"You have a lot to learn. Getting you out of your clothes is half the fun." Bleddyn drew Wil down beside him. "But I'm sure you'll be a quick study. Later. For now, just observe."
Bleddyn gently pushed him onto his back again, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids, his chin. The pookha's hands roamed over Wil's body, tracing his nipples, sliding over the planes of his chest and stomach. Where the hands led the mouth followed, hot and wet against the cooling night air. The fitful breeze carried Bleddyn's scent to him---musky and dark like the shadows of an oak on the leaf mould---and the starlight gilded Bleddyn's hair with streaks of silver, but Wil hardly noticed any of it. Blood thundered in his ears, ran molten and burning under his skin. Every muscle in his body tightened, trembling under his lover's expert touch.
"Ah, please!" Wil cried as Bleddyn suckled at the hollow of his hip, one hand tracing little patterns on the skin of his inner thigh. It was sweet torment, but torment all the same. His whole being throbbed with the need for release.
Bleddyn sighed, though his expression was more amused than anything. "Youth," he said again. He shifted, laying across Wil's thigh, his hips up near Wil's shoulders. Wil watched in helpless fascination as Bleddyn's long fingers wrapped around his own hard cock, squeezing, sliding up and down the shaft. Wil felt his balls tighten, felt his own erection jump at the sight, before Bleddyn lowered his head and took him in his mouth.
He lost awareness of everything else then, momentarily blinded by the heat; the soft, insistent lips; the dexterous tongue. He had never been with another person, never felt any touch but his own. The newness of it, the years of frustration and longing, and the intensity of the sensations all swamped him. He fought to get ahead of it, wanting to make it last, to never stop, but he couldn't focus.
Bleddyn seemed to sense his lack of control, and for all his earlier teasing he did not try to drag it out now. He sucked hard and deep, rolling Wil's balls between his fingers, still working himself with his other hand. Wil's legs shook, the muscles of his abdomen clenching, curling him over himself. The orgasm crashed through him, taking him relentlessly.
"Bleddyn!" he shouted, and then, in English, "Wolf!"
A hot spurt of seed hit his skin as Bleddyn cried out around the cock in his mouth, and his lover's release sent a second wave of ecstasy raging through Wil on the heels of the first. He clutched at the long grass and screamed wordless pleasure to the night sky.
Bleddyn recovered first. He turned aside and spat Wil's seed into the grass before he crawled up to wrap his body around Wil's boneless form. They lay together in silent, sated contentment, drifting in and out of sleep.
"You should go back home," Bleddyn said after a while.
Wil stirred against him and murmured a sleepy response, "I don't want to. I want to stay here with you."
The pookha stroked his hair. "But you can't. They'll come looking for you sooner or later."
"I suppose." Wil frowned at him. "Are you giving me up so soon?"
The arms around him tightened with more strength than a man Bleddyn's size could possibly have. "No," he said. "No. Not for as long as you are mine alone."
He met Bleddyn's fierce, possessive gaze with a look of calm certainty. "I'll tell her tomorrow night, then." Wil kissed him, taming that unyielding mouth with gentle persistence. "Yours, and yours alone."
Wil overslept the next morning, his father waking him with a worried frown when he didn't appear at the table. Wil shrugged off his concern and headed out without stopping for breakfast, pocketing his lunch and driving the sheep up toward the meadow with a light heart.
There was no sign of wolf or man when he reached the pasture, but that was nothing new. Wil sat down under his favorite tree after making his daily check of the fence, content to watch the sheep and the birds, his spirits buoyant despite the lack of sleep. His stomach rumbled, awake now after the hike up the slope, so he dug out an egg from his lunch and began to peel it.
"Starting without me?" Bleddyn spoke from behind him.
Wil glanced back to find the dark-haired youth leaning up against the bole of the tree, and gave a surprised start to see him dressed out like any of the village men. "Why do you have clothes on?" he asked without thinking.
Bleddyn grinned, toying with the end of one of his sleeves. "Why do you?"
Wil pursed his lips, then shrugged. "Fair question." He pulled his own shirt over his head.
"Still no patience." Bleddyn shook his head, but made no delay in stripping down to the skin.
"Hmph. I'll show you patience," Wil said with mock severity, and dropped to his knees. Bleddyn leaned back against the tree with a groan as Wil's mouth began to explore, teasingly, as Bleddyn had done the night before.
"Oh good, you were paying attention," the pookha murmured.
Wil's only response was to give one quick, hard suck, before returning to a more leisurely perusal. He didn't want to rush this part. Bleddyn was so hard it made Wil ache, but his skin was so soft. He loved the texture, the taste, the smell, every part of---
There was a gasp from behind him.
Both men jumped at the sound and Wil spun around to look before he could think better of it. Bleddyn cursed pithily in Welsh.
Emma stood halfway between them and the gate, her hands covering her mouth. She stared at them in open shock. A small basket lay on the ground at her feet.
Wil snatched up a shirt to cover himself with. "Emma." She flinched at his voice. "Emma, what are you doing here?"
The question seemed to snap her out of her daze, and she turned her back to them. Wil practically dove into his clothes.
"Your mother..." she whispered, then cleared her throat and tried again. "Your mother said you didn't eat breakfast."
So you brought it to me like a good little wife, Wil finished silently. He sighed. Well, in for a penny. "I'm sorry for you to find out this way. I was going to speak to you tonight about it." He took a deep breath. "Emma, I can't marry you."
She stiffened, her hands clenching at her sides. Slowly she turned to face him, chin raised as high as it would go. "Why not?" she demanded.
Wil glanced at Bleddyn, who only raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
"Whatever you've done, it's in the past." She looked a little green, but she forged on stubbornly. "We can have a new life together, Wil."
He shook his head, annoyed at the implication that he'd done something that needed burying. "No, we can't. I'm sorry, Emma, but I'm not marrying you or any other girl."
Her eyes flicked from him to Bleddyn, narrowing dangerously. "And just who are you? It's half a day's ride to the next village."
Wil shifted uneasily as Bleddyn's brows drew down. While he didn't want to marry her, Wil was still fond of Emma, and according to the stories it usually didn't end well for mortals who took that tone with the fae.
"You're Wil's friend." Every line of Bleddyn's body was taut with anger. "And you believed him about me when no one else would, so I'm inclined to ignore you. But don't push me, girl. Wil is mine."
The air around the pookha swirled with his anger, and Wil shivered. Emma took a step back, her eyes wide in shocked realization.
"You're the wolf," she breathed. She turned to Wil, pleading. "Don't you see, Wil? You're ensorcelled!"
Wil gave Bleddyn a sidelong look, but his lover only gazed back levelly. Wil shrugged. "Maybe. But if I am, it was with my full consent."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bleddyn grin.
Emma gritted her teeth. "We'll see about that." Ignoring the basket, she picked up her skirts and ran back toward the gate.
Wil took a step after her, but Bleddyn put a hand on his shoulder. "What can she do?" the pookha asked. "Tell your father?"
Frowning after Emma, Wil shrugged. "I don't know, but I know that look. She always manages to get her way when she's that determined."
"Not this time." Bleddyn wandered over to the discarded basket and started digging through it. "Care for some breakfast?"
Wil was tense and distracted for the next couple of hours, but as the day wore on and nothing much happened, he gave in to Bleddyn's calm and persistent seductions. They made love slowly, without interruption this time, until Wil thought his heart would burst with joy.
As the afternoon drew to a close they reluctantly dressed and began to round up the flock. The two men were so engrossed with making calf-eyes at each other that Emma was almost on top of them before they noticed her.
She kept her eyes downcast, her cheeks bright and flushed. "Wil, I'm sorry I've been such a shrew about all this." She held her skirts up, carefully picking her way through the press of sheep. "It's selfish of me to want you when you've spoken so plainly. Can you forgive me?"
Bleddyn frowned and took a step closer to him. Wil was surprised and touched by her words. He shooed the sheep away and reached out to give Emma a hug. Maybe seeing two men together was more than she could put aside after all. "Of course I---"
Emma darted past him, grabbing Bleddyn's hand. She slipped something around his wrist and ducked away, out of reach. The pookha's breath hissed between his teeth as he fumbled uselessly at the knotted string.
"Where did you get this?" Bleddyn growled.
The air next to Emma swirled. A woman appeared, dark like Bleddyn but as voluptuous as he was spare, a wild, glittering beauty with a sickly-sweet smile.
"From me, of course."
Wil could hardly believe what he was seeing. Emma didn't go to tell my family what she'd seen. She went to tell his. "You found a pookha hole?"
"Took me most of the morning, too." She crossed her arms, sounding disturbingly satisfied.
The strange woman ignored both humans and focused on Bleddyn. "My dear, don't you think you've had enough fun? It's time to come home."
Bleddyn backed up a step. "I'm not going anywhere with you, Maelona. Tell my bedamned father that he can marry you himself if he's so set on a wedding." He glanced from her to Emma. "Bloody women don't know how to take no for an answer."
Maelona's face darkened visibly. "You'd rather waste yourself on a human herd boy, just because he has a little extra equipment?" She waved a hand in Wil's direction, her gesture encompassing and dismissing his manhood all at once.
Bleddyn spat at her, still struggling with the binding Emma had put on him. "Gladly, although not just because---Maelona, no!"
The woman's face was truly dark now, disappearing into a growing shadowy mist. "Well, if that's all it will take," Wil heard her hiss before the mist swooped down on him.
Wil couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He clawed uselessly at the air, unable to tell which way was up or down, no ground beneath his feet, and all the while Maelona burrowed into him, squeezing him, shoving at him, trying to tear him loose from his own flesh and steal his semblance for herself.
Wil dug in his heels. Even if it kills me, I will not let her have my face to torment him with. He clung to the memory of how his body felt, of Bleddyn's hands stroking his skin, the heat of the pookha's mouth around his cock. I'm not giving that up! Out, out, OUT!
Something inside him tore with a terrible wrenching feeling and a shriek that pierced his brain like a lance. Wil screamed, half from pain but more from the fear that she had won. But then he thudded against the dirt, and even disoriented and exhausted as he was, he recognized that having a body to go thud with was a good thing.
Even before Wil had figured out how to open his eyes, he felt Bleddyn pull him into his lap. "Thank the sun and moon and stars," the pookha whispered, his whole body trembling. "I thought she would consume you for certain."
Eyes. Open. There we go. Wil blinked up into his lover's tear-streaked face. "How do you know she didn't?"
Bleddyn kissed him lightly. "If she'd succeeded in sundering your soul from your body, there'd only be one of you left. And no matter what face she wore, yours or hers, you'd be dead." The pookha's embrace tightened. "But here you are in my arms, and there she lies."
The trouble Wil was having with even the most basic movements told him it had been a very near thing. He turned his head with some effort. Next to him, Maelona lay unconscious, a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth. And beyond her, Emma huddled close to the ground, face white as a sheet, her stricken eyes locked on Wil's face.
"She said she wouldn't hurt you," Emma moaned, holding her stomach as if she were about to be sick. "I didn't know, I swear I didn't!"
"Sometimes people lie," Bleddyn snapped at her.
Wil clutched at Bleddyn's arm. "Swear to me you won't hurt Emma." Bleddyn scowled, so Wil shook him as much as he was able. "Swear it!"
"I swear it," came the grudging reply.
"Good." Clumsily Wil plucked at the binding on Bleddyn's wrist, and the knot that had given the pookha so much grief practically fell off in Wil's hand. "What is this, anyway?"
"It's a charm to keep us in one form," Bleddyn replied, his voice dripping with loathing. "So I couldn't try to stop her."
"Oh. Good." Wil reached over and wrapped it around Maelona's arm. It snugged itself tight to her skin, and Wil shuddered. "Ugh. Help me sit up."
Bleddyn propped him up, and when his head had stopped spinning Wil looked over to Emma. "So. He swears not to hurt you, and in return, you will tell your father that you've decided not to marry me. Fair?"
Emma bowed her head. "I promise. I'm so sorry, Wil."
"Don't be sorry, Em, just help me get home."
Bleddyn supported him as far as the gate, where Wil paused to catch his breath. Turning, the pookha glared doubtfully at Emma. "Think you can get Wil to the village on your own?"
Emma nodded wordlessly.
"Good. I'd like to get back to the Underground with Maelona before she wakes up." He smiled, a wolfish baring of teeth. "We have laws against killing humans, whatever your stories may say."
"But you'll be here tomorrow?" Wil reached out to touch Bleddyn's cheek.
The cruel smile softened. "Count on it." He turned and headed back up the slope.
Emma prodded the sheep into the run and Wil followed her, one hand on the fence rail to keep his balance. He was tired all the way to his bones.
Night had fallen by the time they made it to the sheepfold. Wil's father was waiting, casting worried looks up the hill.
Emma gave one last look over her shoulder, but Wil couldn't read her expression. Chin held high, she walked up to his father. "I wouldn't marry your son even if every other boy in the county dropped dead," she snapped, and stalked away.
Wil hid a smile as his father stared at Emma's retreating back, and concentrated instead on getting the sheep settled. The older man turned to him with a perplexed frown.
"What on Earth was that about?"
Latching the gate with a contented sigh, Wil glanced up toward the pasture briefly before turning for home and his bed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Kintaro: The Golden Boy
by S.J. Frost
The young mother's breath came in short, ragged gasps as she stumbled over a tree root, desperately trying to catch her balance and managing to only fall to one knee. She clutched her infant son to her chest and the jolt jarred the boy awake. She pulled him away from her body enough to look at him and make certain he hadn't been hurt. To her surprise, he smiled at her despite the unpleasant awakening he'd received.
The young mother nuzzled into the boy's fuzzy black hair. "Kintaro, even with all we've faced you still smile. You're so small, but so brave. If your father could see you, the great pride he had in you would double."
Her voice shook and tears came unbidden to her eyes. Her husband had been betrayed and slain by those he called friends for his favored position with their liege lord, and now would never see his son grow. The thought of her husband's murder made the darkness of the forest grow thicker and she held Kintaro more tightly. To protect him, she willingly left the comfortable life she'd known and fled into the wilds of Mount Ashigara. Though only an infant, Kintaro's unusual physical strength had been obvious since the moment of his birth and his father's enemies already feared him. They wouldn't hesitate to slay her son before he could grow into a powerful man and seek revenge for his father.
She swallowed her tears. She didn't have time to weep. She had to find shelter for her son before the threatening storm broke. She rose to her feet as the first drops pattered down on the leaves above. Her eyes scanned the forest for shelter. She headed for a spot where the darkness gave way to light. She emerged from the forest's hold to a small clearing and discovered a hut on the opposite side. She ran, rain striking her in the face, and pounded on the flimsy door. It opened on its own.
She cautiously peered around the, single dark room. The hut contained no furniture. It looked like an animal had turned the cooking pit into a bed by lining it with leaves and twigs. Cobwebs and dust covered a stack of wood in a corner. She took a tentative step inside and secured the door behind her.
She sat down on the dirt floor with Kintaro on her knees and smiled. "My beautiful son, welcome to our new home."
Kintaro picked up his hatchet from its resting place near the door of the hut and pushed it through the obi around his waist. He stepped outside and tipped his face toward the sun. It was a perfect day for his favorite activities: wrestling with the bears, romping with the deer, climbing with the monkey, and racing with the hare. All of his eighteen years had been spent on the mountain. He'd grown up with the animals as his only companions, their unique language as easy for him to understand as any spoken word.
He watched his mother hang clothes beside the hut and waved.
She returned his wave. "Have fun today, my son, but remember to be on your guard against strangers."
"I will, mother."
Kintaro disappeared into the forest, his heavy thoughts making his shoulders sag. His mother sought only to protect him as she always had, but he wouldn't mind running into a few strangers. He'd been considered an adult for two years now, yet he'd never experienced any of the things a man should.
He had an understanding of what men and women did together, though he had another problem; a woman's body wasn't what he craved. It was the men he saw, their bodies firm with muscle, who sparked a primal need in him. But the village men, with their bawdy jokes and stories, spoke only of relations between a man and a woman, and left him feeling ashamed of his desires. None ever mentioned if feeling lust toward one's own gender was appropriate.
A heavy mass landed on Kintaro's back from above, startling him from his thoughts. He snapped his head around. His eyes met the toothy grin of Red Back, his monkey friend. A stag stepped toward him and a hare hopped out from under a bush. He turned at the sound of leaves crunching as a mother bear ambled with two cubs in his direction. His mood lifted, and surrounded by his animal companions, he led the way through the forest toward a stream.
On a rise hidden behind two large pine trees, Sadamitsu stared in wonder at the beautiful young man wrestling a bear cub near a stream. The youth pinned it to the ground with ease despite the fact the cub's strength should be so much greater.
He had doubted his eyes when he first saw the lovely young man emerge from the forest surrounded by beasts. It seemed a vision too unbelievable to be real, though now he questioned his sanity as he witnessed him interact with the animals and they responded as if they understood. It amazed him as equally as the young man's breathtaking appearance.
The young man wore his black hair bound in a long tail down his back. He stood tall, his build powerful, yet he moved with grace. Sadamitsu gazed at his face, an image of masculine beauty, his finely shaped black eyes shone with intelligence. He wore an un-dyed, short cotton kimono, his leggings fell just below the knees, and his feet were bare---peasant's clothing. He looked as wild as the beasts he had befriended, which only added to his allure.
It all made Sadamitsu wonder, was he really awake or having a very strange dream?
The animals stomped and chattered in celebration of Kintaro's victory over the bear cub, then fell silent. The deer sprang for the forest, and the mother bear and cubs galloped after it. The hare darted under the closest bush, the monkey shot up the nearest tree. Kintaro turned to see what had frightened his friends and tensed at the sight of a strange man coming toward him, leading a chestnut horse by the reins.
Kintaro's eyes moved over the other's sun-darkened skin, and though the man looked more than twenty years his senior, his confident stride, upright posture, and solid body harkened to the youthfulness still within him. His gaze rested on the two swords on the man's left hip, the silent markers of a samurai.
"You needn't fear my swords," the man called. "They'll stay at rest unless you awaken them. Now, can you speak, boy? I'd have your name, if you can."
"I can speak, master, and I have no fear of your swords. My name is Kintaro. I'm no boy, and I'll have your name in return."
"Usui Sadamitsu, general to Minamoto no Raiko." Sadamitsu's eyebrows rose. "Perhaps you're not a boy by age, but it takes more than age to make a man. I saw you wrestling with the cub. The strength you displayed greatly impressed me. I'd like to experience it for myself. Would you test it with me in the same way you did the cub?"
"I'm always ready for a new opponent."
"Good. Take hold of my arms and we'll begin."
Kintaro grabbed Sadamitsu's forearms below his elbows and looked at Sadamitsu, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "I'll try to be careful with you, grandfather."
"Impudent boy!" Sadamitsu bellowed, though a smile rose to his lips. "I can see you're long overdue to learn respect, so I'll educate you on the count of three. You can count that high at least, can't you?"
Kintaro snickered. "I'll do my best."
"Then one...two...three!"
Sadamitsu pushed against him, trying to rock him, bend his arms, anything to get Kintaro off balance. Kintaro held his ground with little effort and noticed Sadamitsu's right arm, his sword arm, was stronger than his left. Deciding to flaunt his strength with the stranger, Kintaro tightened his hold on Sadamitsu's arms and pressed down on the right one. As Sadamitsu's right arm buckled under his power, Kintaro lifted him by the left arm and tossed him to the ground. Sadamitsu landed hard on his back, his breath blasted out of his lungs, and he stared up at the sky in a daze.
Kintaro leaned over. "I didn't hurt you, did I, grandfather?"
"I'm certain my back will answer that question by nightfall, though it's my pride which aches now." Sadamitsu turned his eyes to Kintaro and smiled. "Tell me, Kintaro, how would you like to become a samurai?"
"A samurai?" Kintaro shook his head. "But I have no training, no education, and no lord to serve."
Sadamitsu forced himself into a sitting position. "Admittedly, you are rather old to begin training, but you can still learn if you're willing to be dedicated. Though you may be uneducated, a man never stops learning throughout his life. As for a lord, I believe my own would be very pleased to have a man of your strength enter his service. Simply by chance, or perhaps the good spirits of this mountain guided me here and I happened across you while taking a shortcut and finding myself lost. I think it's your destiny, Kintaro, to come with me to Kyoto and meet Lord Raiko."
Kintaro extended his hand down to Sadamitsu. "Then take me to meet him!"
Sadamitsu laughed and took Kintaro's hand. Kintaro tugged Sadamitsu to his feet and nearly off them again with his great strength.
"Your strength is equal to ten men!" Sadamitsu righted himself. "To have such power, you can only be blessed by the gods."
"I don't know anything about the blessings of gods. All I know is before I leave, I must speak with my mother."
Sadamitsu followed Kintaro as he moved toward the forest. Kintaro's feet carried him toward home, though he noticed none of the journey. A samurai. He could become a samurai. It seemed a concept beyond his grasp, trying to capture a dream as it fled from a roused mind. To be a samurai would mean he could provide a comfortable life for his mother. He'd meet new people, have experiences beyond what his imagination could conjure, but most importantly, he'd finally become a true man. His steps quickened as if his future pushed him forward. Nothing would stop him from becoming a samurai.
Kintaro had never been to Kyoto and he feared if his eyes widened any further they'd fall from his head, but he couldn't stop staring at the sights around him. He walked at Sadamitsu's side as they passed shops where beautifully dyed and patterned silk kimonos hung. Stands filled the spaces in between selling trinkets said to bring luck, happiness, love, or any other heart's desire. The tantalizing aromas of fresh tea and noodles drifted into the street from teahouses. But what captured his attention most were the people. Everywhere he turned he saw people: young and old, wealthy and poor, women, children, men...so many men. He thought either his heart or his loins would burst at viewing so many attractive men.
"A bit different from your mountain home, isn't it, Kintaro?"
Kintaro smiled. "Yes, but it's so exciting."
Sadamitsu guided Kintaro through the crowded streets toward the district housing the mansions of the daimyo. Kintaro's mouth dropped open at the sight of the massive homes, each one immaculately kept behind stone walls, the gated entrances guarded by samurai. Sadamitsu aimed toward one gate, and as they approached, the two samurai standing guard bowed deeply to him.
"Welcome back, Usui-dono," one said.
Sadamitsu nodded in acknowledgement and walked through the gate into the courtyard, Kintaro noticed both samurai gave him curious looks as he followed. A groom rushed forward to take Sadamitsu's horse. Kintaro gazed up at the tall mansion, the black tiled roof sweeping gracefully against the blue sky. The veranda wrapped around the perimeter, so highly polished the wood gleamed even from a distance, and not a tear or crinkle could be found in the rice paper windows.
"This way," Sadamitsu said..
Kintaro hastened to catch up as Sadamitsu led him around the house and through a small gate in a bamboo fence. In the garden beyond, he saw maples groomed into rounded domes and pines manicured to sharp points. Rhododendrons bloomed lavender blossoms, and in the center of the garden, a small pond reflected the sky in its serene waters.
Kintaro saw three men sitting beneath a canopy of cherry trees in full bloom. With every breeze, blossoms floated from the branches like pink snow and settled upon the silk kimonos the men wore. Kintaro noticed first the man in the center, whose robes of lavender matched the rhododendron blooms. From the man's noble bearing Kintaro assumed this must be Sadamitsu's lord, Minamoto no Raiko. Not far into his third decade, the man wore a thin mustache and small pointed beard on his handsome face.
Kintaro glanced at the man to Lord Raiko's left, who looked close to Sadamitsu's age. His crown shaven in samurai tradition, the man's face had a rugged appearance; each line spoke of the many travails and battles he'd seen. Kintaro noticed, as this man and Sadamitsu's gaze met, an unmistakable fondness in their expressions. He pondered what such a gaze meant as he looked to the third man.
Kintaro came to an instant halt, his eyes unwavering from the other man's ebony gaze. Only a few years older than himself, the other's features balanced between delicate and masculine to create a vision of beauty unlike anything Kintaro had ever seen. He did not have his crown shaven, though he did wear his hair bound in a topknot. His dark green kimono hung open to the waist, and Kintaro admired the finely shaped collarbone, the muscles knitted in the center of his smooth chest, and the curves of his pectorals.
"Kintaro."
Kintaro blinked and snapped his head toward Sadamitsu, who stood in front of him grinning with an amused smirk. He moved to his side as Sadamitsu went to one knee before his lord and bowed his head. Sadamitsu grabbed the hem of Kintaro's short kimono and gave it a hard tug. Realizing what he should do, Kintaro fell to one knee and lowered his head.
"My lord," Sadamitsu said, "I humbly and gratefully return to your honorable presence after completing the errands you sent me on. At your leisure, I will give you full details of all I experienced and encountered."
"At the moment, nothing would please me more than hearing the story behind this lovely creature you've brought to me. I sense a wildness about him. If I didn't know better, I'd think you plucked from a forest."
"Your insight astounds me, Lord Raiko, for I found him running wild with beasts for companions on Mount Ashigara. His name is Kintaro." Sadamitsu shifted on his knees to take his position next to the older samurai and sat back on his heels. He gave Kintaro a look telling him to remain before Lord Raiko, and Kintaro copied his sitting position. "It would bring me great pleasure to tell you the full tale, but may I first give the names of all present to him?"
Lord Raiko nodded his consent. "You may."
Sadamitsu looked to Kintaro. "Kintaro, as you may have assumed, before you sits the honorable Minamoto no Raiko, about whom I told you so much during our journey here."
Kintaro bowed at the waist to Lord Raiko. "My lord, I thank you for the kindness you have bestowed upon an unworthy creature such as myself in allowing me into your home."
Lord Raiko laughed. "Sadamitsu, you've done a beautiful job teaching him the proper and pretty things to say, but his tone is all wrong. I can hear arrogance in his every word, not humility."
Sadamitsu sighed. "Forgive me, my lord. I did my best in the short time he's been in my company, but I see I failed. He's like a beast who can speak."
Kintaro gnashed his teeth, though he kept his gaze focused on the ground to hide his anger. Sadamitsu had told him not to speak unless spoken to, and he'd given his word to conduct himself properly, but to remain silent while being belittled so took all his control. The conversation called for his attention.
Lord Raiko waved Sadamitsu's words away. "It's of little concern at the moment."
"Thank you, my lord." Sadamitsu turned his gaze once again to Kintaro. "The man beside me is Watanabe no Tsuna. Across from us is Urabe no Suetake. Together, the three of us have the most honored position of all Lord Raiko's retainers. He has bestowed upon us the unworthy title of shitenno, his Four Guardian Kings."
Kintaro lifted his eyes to Sadamitsu's. "But there are only three of you."
Sadamitsu's gaze fell downward.
Kintaro sensed the shift in the atmosphere around them from light and cordial, to weighted and strained.
Lord Raiko gave Kintaro a sad smile. "They are only three because my fourth brave warrior left this world a little more than a year ago. He had been a man without equal in combat, but here in this very garden his end came to him by nothing more than a hornet's sting. His body reacted violently to the insect's poison and nothing could stop its spread. It was not a fitting death. He should have died in battle, like a true samurai. It is ironic no weapon of man could defeat him, yet the tiny sword of an insect stole his life."
Lord Raiko's gaze flicked to Suetake, then back to Kintaro. "His death has left a horrible void because what makes my shitenno so powerful is each man is paired as lovers with his partner." Seeing Kintaro's stunned expression, he said, "You do understand what that means, don't you?"
"Um, yes, my lord," Kintaro said, though he wished he understood it better.
"My Four Guardian Kings fight so gallantly in order to protect the one who is dearest to them, who is also fighting at their side. And, of course, to protect me." Lord Raiko laughed at his last statement.
Kintaro managed a weak smile, his mind reeling at the information. Men loving other men. If it took place openly here in the court of Lord Raiko, then it couldn't be wrong. The desires he'd carried in silence for so long were nothing to be ashamed of. He cast a sidelong glance at Suetake.
Sadamitsu cleared his throat. "My lord, if I may, I'd like to tell you how I happened upon Kintaro to better explain his presence here."
With Lord Raiko's consent, Sadamitsu launched into his tale of how he discovered Kintaro.
Kintaro thought he embellished a bit, though the long story gave him plenty of opportunities to steal glances at Suetake. Suetake, however, didn't bother to spare him a second look.
Lord Raiko stroked his pointed beard, his thoughtful gaze on Kintaro as Sadamitsu finished the tale. "I have to admit, even though I found your story greatly entertaining, I also found it highly fanciful. I must ask, how much sake had you imbibed when you thought you saw Kintaro doing these things?"
Tsuna chuckled under his breath. Suetake sat stoic.
"I can understand your doubt, my lord," Sadamitsu said. "If you would allow it, perhaps a demonstration by Kintaro would be helpful."
"I should find it very much so."
Sadamitsu scanned the garden, his gaze settled on a boulder near the pond as large as two men. He pointed to it. "Kintaro, go and lift that boulder above your head."
Kintaro sprang up from his kneeling position and marched toward the boulder. He stretched his arms around it and hefted it up with the ease of lifting a pebble. He raised it above his head and turned in triumph to the men, who stared at him with eyes rounded in amazement. All save Suetake, who looked unimpressed.
"Impossible," Lord Raiko whispered.
"You may put the boulder down, Kintaro," Sadamitsu said.
Kintaro carefully placed the boulder back on the ground and returned to the other men, sitting before Lord Raiko again.
Lord Raiko glowed at him with an enthusiastic smile. "With such strength, it would please me greatly to have you enter my service as one of my samurai, Kintaro."
Kintaro bowed so low his forehead touched the ground. "Lord Raiko, a thousand thanks for your kindness and generosity!"
Lord Raiko laughed. "So you can speak in a sincere tone."
"If I may make a suggestion, my lord," Sadamitsu said. "I think with training, Kintaro would be a great Guardian."
The humor fell from Lord Raiko's face. "Such a decision is not my mine to make." He gaze turned pointedly to Suetake.
Suetake sat silent, his own gaze focused on the ground, and made no indication he had heard any of the conversation.
Kintaro saw such profound grief in Suetake's eyes and he wanted to go to him, to wrap his arms around him and comfort him.
"Suetake," Lord Raiko said. "What do you think of Sadamitsu's suggestion?"
Suetake raised his gaze to Lord Raiko. "Though you say the decision is not yours, my lord, I believe it is. I live only to serve you. If it is your wish this person becomes your new Guardian, then I will abide by your will. But if I may speak plainly, I think he is unworthy of such an honor. He's uncouth, unkempt, uneducated, and untrained. So he has great strength and can speak with animals. What good is his strength when any skilled swordsman could lop off his head? What good is his ability to communicate with beasts unless we're going to war against an army of monkeys?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I see little value in him."
Kintaro's breath rushed from him in a hard exhale. He nearly put a hand to his chest at the deep ache Suetake's words caused.
Lord Raiko nodded slowly. "I understand your views. However, I'd also like to give Kintaro a chance to prove himself. Would you duel with him?"
"I will and gladly if you bid me, my lord. Though I fear it will be a short duel since he doesn't know how to use a sword."
"I'm sure he'll find a way to defend himself." Lord Raiko stood. "To the practice yard, then."
The other men fell in around Lord Raiko. Kintaro hastened to be near Suetake, walking slightly behind him. He wanted to tell Suetake he would work to earn his respect, but the words stopped in his throat. He needed to speak to Suetake alone if he could get the chance.
They reached the practice yard near the barracks. Lord Raiko flicked his hand toward the center of the yard. "You'll begin at my command. There are no rules other than you may not kill or maim one another. I'd also like to avoid broken bones---major ones, at least. And Suetake, keep your sword sheathed or use a wooden one."
Suetake pulled his katana, still sheathed, from his obi. "I'll not draw my blade, my lord."
Kintaro faced Suetake. Lord Raiko had given Suetake the right to decide whether he wanted to fight or not, but no one had bothered to ask him. He didn't want to duel with Suetake. His attraction toward the samurai repelled the very idea. He wanted to hold him, caress him, explore him. Such thoughts surprised him, but for the first time in his life, he accepted them. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear Lord Raiko call the start of the duel until Suetake charged him. Kintaro dodged at the last instant. Suetake rushed past, but as he did, he spun and cracked Kintaro on the arm with his sheathed sword.
Kintaro stumbled, wincing in pain and gripping his arm. Never before had he been struck by anyone or anything, He hadn't even seen the blow coming. He whirled around, only to find Suetake nearly on top of him in a second attack. Kintaro realized he'd have to fight. It could well be the only way to gain Suetake's respect., At the minimum, he had to prove himself to remain in Lord Raiko's service so he could continue trying to earn Suetake's respect.
Suetake lunged.
His reflexes honed from years of playing with his animal companions, Kintaro snatched Suetake's sword arm. He pulled Suetake forward, caught him under the ribcage with his other hand, and flipped him. Suetake grabbed a fistful of Kintaro's kimono as he flew toward the ground. He crashed onto his back, a grunt of pain forced from him with Kintaro on top of him. Lying chest to chest, Kintaro quickly snapped up on his arms. He looked down at Suetake's beautiful face contorted in pain.
"Urabe-dono, are you hurt? Please tell me I didn't hurt you. I won't forgive myself if I have."
"Quit wailing like an old woman and get off me." Suetake shoved Kintaro off.
Despite Suetake's abrasiveness, Kintaro smiled wide and scrambled to his feet.
"The victory goes to Kintaro," Lord Raiko said.
Suetake pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Kintaro's offered hand, and slapped dirt from his kimono. "Yes, I agree. Though were it a real fight, his maneuver would've been impossible with only one arm."
"True, but training will correct those flaws in his defense. Since you've humored me this far, Suetake, I'll ask one more thing of you. Tonight, it would please me if you would take your evening meal with Kintaro and inform him of what's expected in my service. I also think it'd be best for you to take your meal in your chambers tonight, to avoid interruptions from the curious seeking to learn about Kintaro."
Suetake stood silent for so long, Kintaro wondered if he was going to reply.
Finally, Suetake gave a single nod. "If that's your will, my lord."
"It is." With a smirk, Lord Raiko turned and walked away, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. "I'm returning to the garden. Sadamitsu, you, and Tsuna show Kintaro around and let him bathe. Suetake, join me."
Suetake trailed after Lord Raiko without a deigning to give Kintaro another glance.
Kintaro took a step forward as if to follow Suetake, then halted as a hand fell on his shoulder.
"You'll get your time with him soon enough, Kintaro," Sadamitsu said. "For now, let's show you around."
Kintaro nodded and followed Sadamitsu and Tsuna.
Dressed in a pale green kimono of fine silk, his skin still tingling from the hot bath he'd taken, Kintaro stood outside the door to Suetake's rooms. His heart thumped in unfamiliar nervous flutters, and he didn't understand why his palms were so damp. He cleared his throat to announce his arrival, since his voice had fled him.
"Come in, Kintaro."
Kintaro's heart galloped faster. Suetake's voice sounded deeper, smoother, than he remembered from the afternoon. Kintaro inhaled, exhaled slowly, and slid the door open.
In the center of the large room sat Suetake wrapped in a dark blue kimono, his hair free from the topknot and falling past his shoulders in an ebony cascade. Before him, a low table of black lacquered wood held an assortment of foods. Kintaro picked out the scents of grilled fish, roast duck, steamed rice, and vegetable soup. He noticed bowls of various nuts, a plate of peaches, and a decanter of sake. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and saw out the corner of his eye an open door to Suetake's bedchamber, the futon already laid out for the evening.
Kintaro walked to the opposite side of the table from Suetake and bowed deeply to him. "Thank you for sharing your evening meal with me, Urabe-dono."
Suetake let out a soft snort. "Formality doesn't suit you, Kintaro, so don't bother attempting it with me."
Kintaro sat on the floor at the table, meeting Suetake's eyes. "That's true. I'm the ruler of Mount Ashigara, so coming here to learn all these rules of propriety is difficult for me."
"You'll adapt soon enough." Suetake waved a hand over the food. "Take as much as you like."
Kintaro stared down at the table. "Are all meals so extravagant here?"
"Lord Raiko had his cooks prepare this especially for us---or you, more likely---to welcome you into his service."
"I'll have to remember to thank him." Kintaro laughed as he placed a portion of fish onto his platter. "I can be sincere enough when thanking someone for food."
Suetake chuckled. "I have no doubt."
Kintaro looked up at the sound of Suetake's soft laugh. The smile still on his lips transformed him into a breathtaking and heavenly being. Suetake's gaze met his. Kintaro's cheeks flushed. He dropped his gaze and put his attention on picking out food. His voice hushed, he asked, "Urabe-dono, if we're going to be casual, then may I call you by your given name?"
Suetake remained silent for a long moment, then gave a single nod. "I'd like that. I'm curious about your name. Is Kintaro the name you've had since boyhood? Didn't you change it when you came of age? Have you no family name? If you're to be a samurai, you'll need a family name."
Kintaro couldn't restrain the smile that broke out over Suetake's interest in him. "Kintaro is the only name I've ever known. I didn't have a coming-of-age ceremony, so I never changed it. My mother told me my father had been a samurai and his clan name was Sakata. For an adult name"---Kintaro paused in thought, then snapped his fingers---"I like Kintoki. Does that have a good sound?"
"Sakata no Kintoki," Suetake said slowly, testing it on his tongue. "I like it. Though, I'll still call you Kintaro until you've decided on it fully."
"If you see me as a friend, you can call me whatever you like."
A smirk touched Suetake's lips. "That's appealing. What if I see you as a lover?"
Kintaro coughed on the rice he'd just put into his mouth.
Suetake laughed. "I see you're not used to people being so bold. I tend to be outspoken, even demanding, when it comes to my desires. My previous lover used to chastise me for it, though always with good humor."
Kintaro saw Suetake's brief moment of lightness fall from him, how the playfulness in his voice weighted with grief on his last words. He knew then he had glimpsed the true Suetake, the man who existed beneath the sorrow.
"I'm sorry for the loss you've endured," Kintaro said softly.
Suetake acknowledged his words with a small incline of his head and reached for the sake decanter.
"May I ask his name?"
"Hosokawa no Masahide." As soon as the name left his lips, Suetake placed his sake cup there and drained it. He set it down on the table and sighed. "After his passing, despair claimed me to the point where I neglected my duties to Lord Raiko, I forgot what it meant to be a samurai. I fell into the bed of any man who would have me. My body ached in grief, so I sought to soothe it with pleasure. But the acts were never pleasurable, and each one made my heart cry. I turned to drink and it worked better, numbing me, so days passed and I had no recollection.
"Lord Raiko had been patient with me through my mourning, but I pushed him too far when I disappeared for days in a drunken stupor. Before, I had always returned to his compound, but when I didn't this time, he sent the other shitenno to find me and they did, lying in a pen with hogs in a small village not far from here. Sadamitsu stepped into muck himself, lifted me from the filth, and tossed me over his saddle as he brought me back. Lord Raiko ordered me bathed, dressed, and locked in a room. He allowed me nothing to eat or drink but water and rice for fourteen days. When he released me, I begged him to return my swords, to allow me to commit seppuku so I could preserve what little dignity I had left. He did return my swords, but told me my life belonged to him to do with as he pleased and forbade me to kill myself.
"What could I do? My lord had given me a direct order and I still had enough honor left in me to obey, and so I've remained alive with no other purpose than to serve him with all the loyalty and skill I possess. For his part, Lord Raiko does have an uncanny way of knowing what is best for me more than I do." Suetake reclined on one arm. He lifted the other hand to comb his fingers through his hair. His dark blue kimono opened in a wide V, exposing his chest down to the obi around his waist. "When he and I returned to the garden this afternoon, he hinted, suggested, cajoled, everything to tell me I should bring you into my bed short of ordering me to allow you to mount me."
One chopstick slipped from Kintaro's fingers. His mind stumbled as he sought to make certain he'd heard correctly.
"He'd never force me into taking a lover," Suetake continued. "Though I wonder if he may be right in this case, as he is in virtually all things."
With one leg curled in front of him, Suetake bent the other and rested his elbow on his knee, the action causing the bottom half of his kimono to spread apart. Kintaro's gaze traveled to the parted fabric. The second chopstick fell from his fingers. Suetake wore no loincloth beneath. His semi-hard cock lay toward his left thigh, his delicate sack hung heavy and rested just above his small hole.
Kintaro's body temperature rose at the sight. His own cock awoke and filled more quickly than he'd ever known.
A husky chuckle left Suetake's throat. "I see from your reaction you really are not used to men being so bold. Lord Raiko has left the decision to me whether you become one of his shitenno, but I must first see if we're compatible as lovers. If we're not, then you'll still become a retainer to Lord Raiko, but you won't gain the favored position as a Guardian King."
Kintaro forced his gaze to Suetake's face. "If I'm not a shitenno, then you and I would not be lovers?"
"We could be, but only until a new Guardian is found. When he is, my life and body will be devoted only to him and Lord Raiko." Seeing the scowl that crossed Kintaro's face, one corner of Suetake's lips curved upward. "Are you already so attached to me that jealousy comes to you at the idea of me with another?"
"It seems what I feel matters very little since I have no say in my own fate."
"Such is the life of a samurai. Our lives are ones of servitude to our lord. But your emotions will influence my decision."
"I don't see how. Nothing would change how you view me. Whether I lied and said I held disdain for you, or I spoke honestly and told you..." Kintaro paused, wondering if he should let loose the words that lingered on his tongue, and decided they couldn't harm his situation. "Or if I told you when I saw you, for the first time in my life I understood weakness because your beauty stole my strength."
Suetake stared at him in silence. He slowly lowered his gaze. "And how do you think I view you?"
"You've made it clear you're showing interest in me only for Lord Raiko."
"Yet you still stand by the words you just spoke?"
"Until my last breath."
Suetake met Kintaro's eyes. "Come here beside me."
Though confused by Suetake's request, Kintaro rose, walked around the table, and kneeled at Suetake's side. As he settled himself, Suetake untied the obi, which barely held his kimono on. Kintaro's heart raced, his breathing shifted to shallow and quick to feed it.
Suetake let the obi slither to the tatami. His kimono pooled around him. Kintaro took in each detail of Suetake's bare body: the smooth skin, defined pectorals. His gaze went over each ridge of muscle in Suetake's abdomen, then his gaze froze just below the navel as it met Suetake's hard cock arching up from shiny black curls. Now so close, he picked up Suetake's scent of freshly washed skin tinted with a light flowery fragrance. Heat swirled through his groin. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He couldn't do anything but stare at the stunning man before him.
Suetake laughed softly. "From your expression, I'd think you've never been so close to a naked man."
The husky timbre of Suetake's voice made Kintaro's cock throb more fiercely.
Suetake laid his hand over Kintaro's. "I'm willing to give you a fair opportunity to become my partner."
He drew gentle circles and swirls on the back of Kintaro's hand with his fingertips. The gentle touch shot directly to Kintaro's cock. His heartbeat hit a thundering pace, yet he barely breathed, the touch had so incapacitated him. Need filled him, but he didn't know how to act upon it.
"I prefer taking my lovers into my own body, but I can alternate also. Really, there's not much I don't enjoy. Tell me what you like, Kintaro. What positions do you favor? Is there one thing you enjoy above all else? I want to know it all."
Kintaro willed his voice to come out, though he stuttered, "I've...I've never..."
Suetake's eyes widened. "You've never been with a man? But you look at me like a starved wolf." He waved his hand through the air as if brushing away Kintaro's nervousness. "It's of little matter. The motions are similar as with a woman. Let your instincts guide you."
Kintaro took a deep breath, his words rushed from him as he exhaled. "I've never shared my body with anyone, man or woman."
Suetake sat silent, blinking at him. A slow smile spread across his lips.
Kintaro saw the primal hunger in his eyes. "Suetake-dono, you look just like the beast you just mentioned."
"And you have a gift with animals, don't you?"
The tone of Suetake's voice told Kintaro the question didn't need an answer.
Suetake took Kintaro's hand and placed it in the center of his chest. "You can touch me anywhere you please. Do not be ashamed or embarrassed. I want you to learn what it is you like."
Kintaro savored the warmth of Suetake's body seeping into his palm. He lifted his hand so only his fingertips touched Suetake and lightly trailed them under one firm pectoral. His fingertips floated to the nipple. He watched, enraptured when it perked at his soft touch. A hushed groan left Suetake, his eyes closed. Kintaro brought his other hand to Suetake's chest so he could finger both nipples. Suetake's moans increased. Blood pulsed in Kintaro's cock, but he forced himself to keep his full attention on Suetake.
He brushed the fingertips of both hands down Suetake's chest and across his abdomen, and fixed each ridge of muscle into his memory. His hands went to either side of Suetake's cock without touching it, and as they did, Suetake rolled his hips the slightest bit. Despite his inexperience, Kintaro recognized the silent plea. As his fingertips touched the cock head, a low groan rumbled in Suetake's throat.
Kintaro caressed the solid flesh, amazed at the softness of his skin. Certainly he had touched his own cock countless times, but handling another man's was completely different. He wondered if Suetake would enjoy the same things he did to himself. Deciding to try, he enclosed the thick shaft in a tight fist. Suetake's breath rushed from him. Kintaro took it as a sign he approved and slowly pumped Suetake's cock, rubbing the foreskin with his thumb.
Suetake gasped loudly. Kintaro looked up at him. His head had fallen back on his shoulders, his lips parted. Kintaro stared at him, amazed how his beauty increased as he fell into a state of pleasure. Amazement spun through his mind that his actions made Suetake to look so enraptured.
"You're doing well, Kintaro," Suetake said, his voice slightly out of breath. "If you could for me, move just a little faster."
Kintaro increased his pace and heard Suetake's long moan of approval. He slid his other hand to Suetake's sack. Suetake spread his thighs wider for him. Kintaro gently rolled the testicles in his fingers, lightly squeezed and massaged the sack. He noticed how Suetake's breath had quickened. He studied his body, the way Suetake's abdomen tightened and released.
Suetake's fingers clenched the kimono beneath him. His hips snapped up to meet Kintaro's hand for a few thrusts. He threw his head back and moaned loud as he came. Kintaro continued to pump him through his climax, watching the pearlescent fluid spray Suetake's stomach and lower chest. When Suetake's cock no longer throbbed in his hand, Kintaro stopped his motions.
Suetake eased off his elbows to lie flat on his back, smiling as he caught his breath. "You have good instincts, Kintaro."
Kintaro looked at his hand, coated with Suetake's fluid. He couldn't resist the temptation to taste the other man's essence. He lifted his hand to his mouth and licked across his palm. He saw Suetake's gaze on him and lowered his hand. "Is that wrong to do?"
Suetake sat up and slid close to him. "When we're alone like this, the only thing that's wrong for you to do is to hurt me." He took Kintaro's hand and licked across the palm.
With Kintaro's hand in his, he stood up and gave him a tug to follow. Once Kintaro got to his feet, Suetake led him toward his bedchamber. He guided him to the edge of the futon, then faced him. His hands went to the knot of Kintaro's obi and pulled it free. He let it drop to the ground and pushed the kimono from Kintaro's shoulders. As it fell around their feet, Suetake took a half step back to admire him.
Kintaro stood motionless, uncertain what to do. For the first time in his life, self-consciousness touched him. He wondered what Suetake thought of him, if he found him attractive. He glanced down at his own body, so opposite from Suetake's lean one. He had a torso of thick muscle, his abdomen cut in deep grooves. His thighs and calves showed ropes of definition. He saw the large bulge behind his loincloth and his cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Suetake removed the loincloth. Kintaro swallowed hard and forced himself to remain still. As it fell away, he looked at his own cock compared to Suetake's, the shaft so much thicker and veined. To him, Suetake's slender rod had a much more appealing appearance. His unease caused him to shift his weight from one foot to the other.
Suetake lifted his gaze to Kintaro. He gently cupped his cheek. "You're magnificent. I've seen men with powerful builds before, but none like yours. And your cock..." He lightly brushed the foreskin with his fingertips.
Kintaro sucked in a quick breath. "Then you find me attractive too?"
"Very much so." Suetake wrapped his fingers around the solid shaft.
Kintaro grabbed Suetake's shoulder as if he needed support.
Suetake smiled at him. "I think it'd be best if you lie down before we proceed."
Kintaro lay back with Suetake on his side next to him, head at Kintaro's hip. Suetake gripped Kintaro's cock again, evoking a husky moan from him. He bowed his head to Kintaro's groin, touched the tip of his tongue to the cock's base, and licked a slow line up the length to the head. When he opened his mouth wide and took as much of the cock in as he could, Kintaro couldn't help the loud groan that escaped his. He gripped Suetake's shoulder. Suetake sucked hard and groaned as the cock head brushed the back of his throat. He kept hold of the shaft with his hand while he pumped and sucked.
Kintaro couldn't stop his hips from thrusting to meet Suetake's mouth and moved his hand from Suetake's shoulder to his head. He twisted silken strands of Suetake's hair around his fingers. As his cock became slicker with Suetake's saliva, never in his life had he imagined his body could know such pleasure. It continued to build with each quick heartbeat. Pleasure on top of pleasure until it consumed him. His breaking point overwhelmed him. He arched and released a moan that bordered on a shout as he climaxed.
Suetake tried to swallow all of Kintaro's salty fluid, though the amount overwhelmed him and some escaped his mouth. He lavished gentle attention on Kintaro's cock, then eased up. He licked his lips and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. He gazed at Kintaro, flushed and panting, though still hard. He rubbed one hand up Kintaro's abdomen to his chest and back down. "You enjoyed that, I take it."
"There are no words for how much," Kintaro said between fast breaths.
"Then you'll greatly enjoy what we're going to do next."
Kintaro's eyes open to meet Suetake's. "We're going to do more?"
Suetake laughed. "Yes, and we'll continue to until our bodies have reached complete exhaustion."
Before Kintaro could respond, Suetake reached beside the futon and lifted a vial of oil. He shifted around with his back to Kintaro, then swung one leg over his hips. He opened the vial and poured thick oil on his fingers. He placed one hand between Kintaro's thighs and leaned his weight forward. With the slippery fingers of his other hand, Suetake reached back, sliding them between his own buttocks.
"Now I'll show you how to prepare another man's body when you plan on taking him."
"Yours is the only body I want to learn about."
"Then pay close attention." Suetake chuckled.
Suetake's words were unnecessary; Kintaro couldn't pull his eyes away from the vision before him as Suetake's fingers circled and stroked the outside of his hole. When Suetake eased his index finger into himself, a heated rush surged through Kintaro. He watched as Suetake rotated his hand back and forth, and thrust his finger in and out of his body. After a few moments, he pulled it away, dribbled more oil onto his fingers, then returned them to his hole and penetrated himself, this time with two fingers..
A warm, moist drop fell onto Kintaro's stomach and he looked at Suetake's rigid cock. The slit overflowed with white fluid. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft, the flesh unyielding to his tight grip. Suetake moaned loudly and allowed himself to thrust into Kintaro's hand before he stopped to insert a third finger into his body. Kintaro watched with amazement how Suetake's small hole stretched to accommodate his fingers. His mind filled with the image of his cock doing the same thing. His breath quickened with anticipation.
Kintaro's cock twitched beneath Suetake, the small movement evidently caught Suetake's eye. He removed his fingers from his body and turned to face Kintaro. As he reached for the oil, Kintaro realized what his next experience would be. He placed his hands on Suetake's hips and gave him a gentle downward pull. Suetake smiled at his eagerness and poured a thin stream of oil over Kintaro's cock.
Kintaro groaned softly as the warm oil coated his sensitive skin, then Suetake gripped his shaft. The tip of his cock met Suetake's hole. Suetake pushed his weight down on top of it, and on Kintaro's next heartbeat, the heat of Suetake's body engulfed his cock head. Kintaro closed his eyes as the wet silk walls of Suetake's channel held his cock in a tight embrace.
He had thought the nothing could surpass pleasure of Suetake's mouth Now he fully understood his naiveté. This it went beyond simple physical pleasure. With their bodies joined, he and Suetake were one. Kintaro opened his eyes and gazed at him. Suetake's half-closed eyes opened fully to meet his. As Suetake settled upon his hips and rested with his full length inside him, Kintaro laid his hand over Suetake's.
A warm smile graced Suetake's lips. Using Kintaro's chest to brace himself, he rocked his hips in slow movements. Each motion sent a wave of euphoria through Kintaro. His eyes closed again. He surrendered his body to Suetake's skill. Suetake lifted himself up Kintaro's cock and worked only the head with short thrusts, then sank down and lengthened his motions. He sat back on Kintaro's hips, parted his thighs wider, and took hold of his own cock, stroking it in unison with his hips.
Kintaro opened his eyes at the shift in Suetake's movements. Captivated, watched Suetake pleasure himself, as the sinewy muscles in his forearms flexed with each motion. He flicked his gaze up to Suetake's eyes. The carnality he saw in them brought his own lust to a new level. He snapped his torso up and pulled Suetake to him. He rolled them both to the side, landing on top of Suetake. The movement caused Kintaro's cock to slip out and he thrust hard to push back in.
Kintaro supported his weight above Suetake. He thrust quickly, though his movements were awkward---nowhere as smooth as Suetake's had been. Suetake placed his hands on Kintaro's hips, and guided him with pressure and pulls. Kintaro changed the angle of his hips, and Suetake gasped beneath him, his fingers clenching Kintaro's hips with bruising force. Kintaro slowed, afraid he'd hurt him, until Suetake spoke, his voice breathless.
"Don't stop, Kintaro. All men have a special place inside us that's a source of supreme pleasure, and you touched it in me. Keep doing what you were."
Kintaro resumed his movements and was rewarded by Suetake moaning high, writhing beneath him. The sounds Suetake made spurred Kintaro's desire. He thrust harder, faster, encouraged by Suetake's groans. The fire of his burgeoning climax roared through his groin and stomach, but he wanted Suetake to peak with him and fought it back. His body trembled, he groaned hard through clenched teeth.
"Now, Kintaro!" Suetake yelled, bucking up against him.
Kintaro let his release break free. He moaned loudly and lost himself in the rapture of it as his seed emptied into Suetake's body. As the pleasure subsided, he eased more of his weight down atop Suetake, and sweat and Suetake's come slicked the skin between their bodies. A jolt of surprise passed through him when Suetake embraced him.
After several long moments, Suetake spoke, his voice soft. "Kintaro, tomorrow, or whenever we manage to pull our bodies apart, I'll speak with Lord Raiko about allowing you to fill the empty shitenno position."
Kintaro raised his head, and looked into Suetake's eyes. "But why? I didn't think you liked me well enough."
Suetake chuckled. "I like you more than well enough at the moment." He lifted one hand to Kintaro's cheek as he turned serious. "Your impression of me is wrong. Yes, I was cold to you, but it was because the emotions you stirred in me when I first saw you frightened me."
Kintaro shook his head in confusion. "I don't understand."
"I wouldn't expect you to. I barely understand myself. The wound left by my lover's death has healed with time, but its scar is very deep and will never be gone. There are days when it aches terribly. When I saw you, for the first time since he died I remembered what it was to feel attraction for someone, and remembering frightened me. I had grown content with the knowledge I'd never again experience what I had with him, that I would spend my life alone with only casual encounters to satisfy my needs. But seeing you, and now knowing more of you, Kintaro, you've made it so I don't want to be alone any longer, not if I could have you at my side."
Kintaro smiled against Suetake's neck. "Your side is the only place I'll ever want to be."
"Sakata-dono, Urabe-dono, Lord Raiko sent me to find you both to inform you he'll be ready to leave by mid-morning." Even though he bowed low, the young servant's blush was obvious. "He said to tell you knowing you both as he does, he wanted to give you much time to finish and not be late to the gate to meet him."
Suetake laughed and rolled his head on Kintaro's thigh. He held one hand up to block the sun from his eyes and looked at Kintaro's face, framed above by the branches of cherry trees in full blossom. "You see how you've tainted my reputation, Kintaro? Lord Raiko doesn't even believe I can make it to on time to escort him for his errands because of you."
Kintaro laid his hand on Suetake's chest. "It's my reputation also. He believes we're both lechers obsessed with each other."
"Such a wise man, our lord."
"Yes, but for once, his concerns are unwarranted. We'll have to tell him that we are capable of partaking in a beautiful spring morning with our clothes fully in place."
"But our past behavior has set a certain precedent." Suetake glanced over his shoulder and noticed the servant still watching, a baffled look on his face. "Is there something else, boy?"
The servant quickly bowed his head. "No, master. I was only confused because I thought you called Sakata-dono by a different name."
"I did. To all others he is Sakata no Kintoki. The other name is reserved only for my use." Suetake brought his gaze back to Kintaro. "Isn't that right, Kintaro, my golden boy?"
Kintaro smiled down at him. "It is."
Suetake pushed himself up. A few stray cherry blossoms had fallen atop their swords. He picked them up and handed one set of the long and short swords to Kintaro. "We should prepare to escort our lord, mighty commander of the shitenno."
Kintaro gazed up at the cherry trees as he slid the swords in place on his left hip through his obi. "Three years. Has so much time really passed?"
"Just as sorrow weighs time down, happiness gives it wings. But look at all you've accomplished. There's nowhere your name isn't known for bravery, loyalty, and beauty."
Kintaro cupped Suetake's cheek with his hand. "I've only accomplished great things because I had you to help me."
"All I did was beat you around the practice yard a few times and give you special punishments for your errors and motivation for doing well."
"And I never could tell the two apart," Kintaro laughed. He took Suetake's hand in his and walked toward Lord Raiko's mansion. "Now let's go make sure we live up to our reputations. I believe they will become legendary."
Ashes and Crystal
by Jason Rubis
By the time the royal entourage reached the merchants' quarter, the night sky had filled with clouds. Roland leaned back in his saddle and watched the first flakes of snow swirling down. They stung his cheeks and eyelids.
Here, maybe. Perhaps this is where my search will end. He patted his horse's neck absently and looked around the shabby square. Was this the place that hid her? It seemed unlikely; this district was a long way from the discreet, carefully kept streets of the nobility. He had promised himself that his search would exclude not even the meanest part of his realm. Yet these tall, poor houses with their darkened windows, the narrow trash-filled alleys, and the central fountain with its snow-filled basin seemed strange to him. How much stranger would they seem to one of Lady Zelynda's birth and breeding?
He smiled to himself, almost laughed. He was a prince of the royal house, yet he was as in awe of the Lady Zelynda as the poorest subject might be of his own crown.
Very far away, bells rang---rang on for some time.
"Midnight," Sir Jasper said briskly, dismounting and opening his saddlebag.
Careful. Roland watched the older man produced a leather-wrapped parcel. You hold my heart in there.
"You're quite sure you wish to go on, Highness?" Sir Jasper asked in his crisp, offhand way. "If you're fatigued I could requisition quarters for you. We're unlikely to find anything the equal of the Winter Palace in this place, but it might be amusing to stay in one of the inns."
"Only a few more houses." Roland was painfully conscious of his wheedling tone. "In the meantime, have Thomas to search out an inn for us. I know the men are tired, so have Johannes accompany us and let the others bed down."
Nodding, Sir Jasper turned to relay the orders to his squire and the chief guard.
Roland stopped him with an upraised hand. "Give it to me first." The slight emphasis he placed on it could not be ignored. "I'll...prepare it for our continued search."
The knight smiled tightly as he handed the parcel to his master. "You'll find her, Majesty. I feel sure of it." His voice was warm but Roland heard doubt in it. Jasper had served the crown for years, and as a child Roland had idolized him. He was an odd, fussy little peacock of a man, but his wits were as sharp as any in the kingdom, and the prince knew it was only love for him that made Sir Jasper hide his habitual misgivings.
"I hope so, old friend." The prince was distracted as he undid the wrappings. In the last week the object inside had become his talisman, the constant companion of his dreams. He was used to seeing it by daylight, at having his breath taken away by the splendor of the thing. Even now, as he held it up to the dim winter sky, he was awed by it. Its blaze of reflected light was softer now, but when Roland shut his eyes the shape of it still burned under his lids.
It seemed surreal, this thing; its substance seemed otherworldly, a white gem torn from Heaven itself, yet it was bent into the shape of something as mundane as a lady's dancing slipper.
The shape of it was exquisite, the work of a master craftsman. Its lines caught and held the eye, drawing it first to the daringly split toe, then to the icicle-like fragility of the heel. Only the most beautiful foot could do justice to such a slipper, and it was on that fact Roland had hung all his hopes. There could not exist two women in an entire kingdom---in the entire world---with such a foot. Find the foot, find the slipper's owner. It was appealing in its simplicity, like the syllogisms he had memorized in his student days. But a week of searching had passed with no results. Life, it seemed, was determined to be less simple than a schoolboy's lessons.
"When are you going to get rid of that ridiculous thing? It's going soft even as we speak, and it smells revolting."
"It's my coach." Ashes laid his hand tenderly on the pumpkin. He knew Bianca thought he was mad and would pay no mind to anything he said. She never had, and that had proven particularly useful this past week.
"And that." Bianca stabbed a manicured nail at the little cage on Ashes's table. Inside, a large rat sat hunched and sulking. "That's supposed to be...what, your lapdog?"
"Ambrose is my coachman, Bianca."
"Ah, but of course. And what of your coachman's fine team?"
When they were children, Ashes and his stepsister sometimes played like this, talking together as though the fancies Ashes so effortlessly spun were as true as anything in a history book. There was something in Bianca's voice now that reminded him of those days, but she had grown up and become as vicious as her mother and sister.
"I left my door open and they all bolted." This was only partially true. Cook's big tabby had gotten at least one of the team. Ambrose was big enough to take care of himself, but the cat had taken to hanging around the door to Ashes's room and it was only a matter of time, he reasoned, before Stepmother found the team and turned them out. Mice were not welcome pets in inns. Reluctantly, he let the rest of his team go---all but Ambrose. Ashes had been desolate ever since. Now even if Godmother came back and gave him a second chance, he would have no way of using it; a coachman and coach weren't much good without horses.
Bianca shook her head of ringlets. "Honestly, Ashes. You get crazier ideas every day."
Ashes nodded glumly. He knew it was true. He knew what his stepsister saw when she looked at him: a tall young man whose hair had been allowed to grow too long, who filched cinders from the inn's big hearth and crushed them up to darken his eyelids as ladies did with fine powders; a strange young man whose tiny room was decorated with tiny bits of tinsel and ribbon from the trash heaps; a wretched young man, quite probably mad, who in no way deserved anything more than to live as a scullery wench.
Yet only a week before he had been given a chance for something more. But he had wasted it, and now would never have another.
"Here." Bianca all but threw a pair of shoes at him.
Ashes picked them up distastefully. They were men's shoes, most probably his size, but cheaply made and nothing he would ever choose to wear.
"What are these supposed to be?"
"I bought them for you, idiot, since you lost your last pair. You can't go on walking barefoot in winter."
"I like being barefoot, Bianca."
"Do it in bed, then, like a sensible person. You'll catch your death or step on a broken bottle. I'm not going to nurse you back to health if that happens. Besides, Mother says you look like a peasant."
Ashes stared balefully at his stepsister, knowing he had already lost the fight. He could only be grateful she didn't ask him how he had lost one of the dilapidated ladies' slippers he had been wearing. He had thrown its mate away shortly after, unable to bear the memory of the loss.
The door to his room banged open and Verity stuck her head inside. "Ashes, Mother wants you to come upstairs now. We have important guests coming and she needs you to make up the fire."
"At this hour?" Bianca looked in surprise at her elder sister. "Who on Earth engages an inn after midnight?"
Verity's long, sly face screwed up in a smile. She was cleverer than Bianca and had been prettier until her twenty-fourth birthday passed without delivering her a single suitor. Now she looked more like their mother with every sour day. "Shall I tell you?" she drawled.
Bianca strode to the door and seized her sister's hand, trying to pull her into the room. "Don't tease, Verity! Get in here and tell us!"
Verity let Bianca tug at her for a moment, using her free hand to anchor herself to the doorway. "Mother won't appreciate you wasting time this way."
"Tell! Ohh, you hateful thing! Ashes! Tickle her!"
Ashes stood up, his fingers clawed. "I'll do it," he threatened.
"Fine." Verity pouted, shaking off Bianca's hand and flouncing past her. "I'll tell you, but then we have to get to work." She looked from her sister to her stepbrother, drawing the moment out for as long as possible.
"It's the prince," she said finally.
Ashes went cold to the soles of his feet. "The prince?" he whispered.
Bianca jumped and clapped her hands like a child, her squeals ringing in Ashes's head. "What? Prince Roland? It's not! You're lying!"
"It's true." Verity gloated. "All the rumors said he'd be coming here next! We'll both have our chance at him, just like all those bitches at court!"
"But why...why would the prince come here...?" Ashes asked, so softly he wouldn't have been heard if a fit of nervous coughing hadn't taken him immediately after speaking. He sat back down on his narrow bed until his coughing stopped.
Verity gave him a single disgusted glance. Unlike Bianca, she had no liking at all for her peculiar stepbrother. "You had better go upstairs directly," she snapped. "Or Mother will have you skinned!"
But Bianca, her face still glowing with delight, took pity on him. "Oh, let me tell him!" She sat down next to him and patted his hand. "Listen, Ashes, you won't have heard about this, of course, but something simply outrageous happened at court. Prince Roland gave a ball for his birthday. It seems there have been some rumors about him recently..."
"What sort of rumors?" Ashes knew perfectly well if his existence weren't so utterly without importance, he would almost certainly have been the subject of similar rumors himself.
"You know." Verity smirked, unable to help joining in the fun. "Him being so old without taking a bride, naturally people have wondered if he doesn't simply, you know, not prefer women. People have been watching his every move to see if he wasn't having trysts with his fencing-master. His poor father was getting positively desperate!"
"So this ball..." Bianca was impatient to take up her story again. "The old king had the idea of bringing together a whole great mob of the most eligible ladies you can imagine and saying, 'All right you, now choose!' Not just from this kingdom, mind you..."
"They came from all over the world." Ashes looked down at his hands. He pulled at the fingers of one hand for a moment, then stopped and shut his eyes.
Oh, he remembered them. Tart-tongued Russian princesses wrapped in what seemed whole forests of bearskin. Doll-like Japanese and Chinese maidens, the daughters of emperors, brilliant in fantastically elaborate silk gowns. Indian girls of the highest caste, with coffee-brown skin and bottomless dark eyes. All the world's sophistication and beauty laid before the prince like a banquet.
But the prince---Roland---had barely looked at any of them.
"It seems his Majesty only had eyes for a stranger who appeared later in the evening..." Bianca stood up and strutted about the room, hands clasped behind her back. She affected a haughty, upper-class accent. "A certain Lady Zelynda. A real beauty, apparently, exquisitely coiffed and gowned in the very latest styles. Of course, she was a bit tall..."
"They say she was an absolute giraffe!" Verity snickered.
Bianca made a dismissive gesture as she continued her circuit of the room. "His Majesty certainly didn't seem to mind! The two were inseparable the entire evening. The prince barely so much as glanced at the other girls, they say. He and this Lady Zelynda just swooned around together, chattering on and on. Talking the most utter nonsense, like two babes in a nursery..."
"It sounds," Ashes ventured, "as if they just liked each other."
Verity rolled her eyes. "Liked each other! I should say they did! Word is that they were out on the balcony for nearly an hour, practically cheek to cheek! Stupid creature! He was hers for the taking, and then she simply evaporated!"
"She what?" Ashes demanded.
"Vanished!" Bianca squealed, wriggling her fingers dramatically in Ashes's face. "Into thin air, like a ghost. And no one knew where she'd gone. No one knew so much as where she'd even come from. Ohh, the prince went mad!"
"He did?" Ashes asked timidly. "I thought...I mean, he is the prince, after all...you'd think he'd forget about her...about any girl in only a moment."
"No such thing!" Verity scoffed. "He decided to search for her! He's spent a fortune and driven his father to absolute distraction! All court business has come to a screeching halt while darling Roland goes out looking for this dream woman of his. He's vowed to search every house in the kingdom---every house in the entire world until he finds her."
Ashes shook his head. "But how will he know it's her? She could be in disguise, or...perhaps not quite what he imagined her to be."
"She left a shoe behind." Bianca laughed. "A lovely slipper, made of the most exquisite crystal. Crystal! Have you ever heard of such a thing?"
"Seems rather contrived to me." Verity sniffed. "'Oh, look at me, I'm in such a hurry to get away, I dropped my slipper!' Still, it'll mean the fortune of any girl who can cram her foot in it. Why shouldn't it be Bianca nor I? We're as good as any of the trash the nobility pops out these days."
"It does seem strange, though, no one's foot fit it by now..." Bianca mused.
"It's obviously a very small slipper. All the girls at court have feet as big as...as big as Ashes's!"
Ashes glared at her. "Your feet aren't all that small, Verity! And the point is, anyway...you're not the girl. Neither of you was at that ball."
"Never you mind about that, funny boy. Remember, it's our inn the prince is stopping at. We'll have plenty of time to bring him round to the wholesome virtues of a girl from a good family. By the time I'm done with him, he'll be dying to marry me."
"If he does marry you, he'll die anyway."
"My, someone's getting bitchy, isn't he? I think you've been told already to go take care of that fire. I'd do it, if I were you. Now."
The girl at the last house they stopped at was lovely: a merchant's daughter with straw-colored hair and large eyes, still a bit bleary from having been roused out of bed an hour after midnight. Roland knew from his first glance at her she was not Zelynda---this girl was far too petite---but in accordance with his own proclamation, he had to go through with the whole ridiculous ritual, standing by listening to Sir Jasper read the decree, smiling at the parents (the father dumbstruck, the mother in curlers, all too able to speak), politely refusing a terrified maid's stammered offers of coffee or chocolate.
When the thing was finally done and the girl's toes wriggled inside the slipper, she and Roland exchanged rueful smiles. Not only did the slipper not fit, but the girl and her entire family could practically have moved into it.
Sir Jasper handed the father a coin and bowed. "The crown thanks you, and will not forget your accommodation in this matter."
It was important their escape be made quickly; too much time had been wasted over the past week in visits that turned into interminable social calls with ambitious parents. If the slipper did not fit, perhaps his majesty could use Soubrette or Lisabet at court? At first Roland had tried to accommodate these requests, but there was simply not room at court for every Lisabet and Soubrette in the kingdom. It was all tedious and sad...so unlike the time he had spent with Zelynda, the two of them together on the balcony, defying gossip, defying royal responsibility, as though neither was a person of any standing at all.
"In the deserts of Araby, there is a bird called the Phoenix, which burns with all the colors of creation---not unlike that woman's hair there. She might burst into flame at any moment. I don't know how likely it'd be she'd experience a rebirth, though."
Roland remembered laughing at the things Zelynda said---so lusciously improbable, so absurd and yet so---fluent was the best word he could come up with. She was a girl schooled in fancy.
"And would you go to Araby?" His father was friends with the current Caliph; for a moment he fantasized he might take her on a voyage. Properly chaperoned, of course. And why stop at Araby? They might sip mulled wine together on the Tartar steppes, or walk the jewel-strewn beaches of Ind. Alas, his lady had more exotic tastes.
"I would go to the moon," she said in her husky, enthralling voice. Her large eyes shone through her mask with pleasure at the prospect. "On a chariot pulled by birds. The old philosophers said it was on the moon that birds nested."
"And if they were wrong, your philosophers?"
She shrugged, tossing her dark hair. "They must nest somewhere. I could test the theory, at least. And I'm certain the moon must be a very charming place. I see it all in marble, like an old Roman villa..."
There had been something about her, not merely her charming conversation, but something about her physically. Roland loved the beauty of women, yet to him something in them always seemed wanting. He found some of that quality in men, though male beauty also didn't satisfy completely. Zelynda embraced everything the prince longed for. She was nearly as tall as Roland himself, and she seemed so much more solid than the tsars' and khans' daughters all around them; were all women in the world built so, his father would not have had so long a wait for a royal wedding. Something about Zelynda's shoulders seemed to cry out for his embrace, to demand he hold her. And finally, he had---some chance bon mot had moved him to take her into his arms and kiss her.
Her perfume had intoxicated him; it was sweet and at the same time warm and earthy. It spoke to him of worlds beyond the palace, beyond even the magical and far-off places she so eloquently conjured with her conversation---something he had always longed for without knowing even what it was called. Roland breathed in her scent as they kissed, eyes shut to better enjoy this intoxication. When at last the kiss ended he found her smiling up at him, her own eyes shining with such pleasure that he had laughed like a child. No woman at court had ever smiled at him so.
Never in his life had Roland ever felt such desire for another human being. He wanted to kiss her again, to take her hand and run with her, to talk and laugh with her for hours. He wanted with enormous intensity to make love to her...
Then suddenly the bells in the palace chapel had rung midnight, and everything had shattered into shards and fragments. Roland remembered the stab of loss as Zelynda tore out of his arms, the sight of her running---with such surprising speed and grace---stumbling briefly, then running on.
He had found the slipper on the steps, still warm from her foot.
And so had begun his quest.
As a boy, he had devoured tales of knightly quests, undertaken by men pure of heart and motive for the sake of women of superhuman beauty and virtue. For Zelynda's sake, he vowed he would be such a man. His quest, though, had led not to duels and battles with monsters, but to sitting rooms and endless, mindless chatter.
"Come on." He clapped Sir Jasper on the shoulder as they left the merchant's house. "Let's to the inn, and our beds. We have days and days of disappointment before us to relish."
Roland didn't relish the prospect at all, of course, but making a joke of it made him feel more the equal of the situation. He knew in this quest he had undertaken, laughter might succeed where the power of his crown and station meant nothing.
Building fires was the one thing Ashes was good at. Or rather, it was the one thing he was good at that Stepmother acknowledged. The fancies that occasionally amused Bianca meant nothing to the old woman. On a more practical note, it was true Ashes could carry more trays of filthy crockery and scrub more yards of common-room floor than any of the scullery wenches, but the sight of him, Stepmother said, put the regulars off their ale.
Fire was different. Everyone else in the inn might struggle for an hour or more to make a proper fire, either in the big central hearth or the kitchen's ovens. Ashes had no such trouble. It was as though his fingers could call forth flames from the air itself; it required barely a single strike to bring sparks from the tinder, and then it was simply a matter of encouraging the blaze to step forth and show itself. Ashes loved the hearth; the sweetness of wood smoke and the music as the logs cracked and split. Even the ashes were dear to him, but mostly he loved the fire itself. He leaned back before the hearth now as he had on countless nights before, watching the blaze he had made, seeing wonderful things in its shifting colors and hot light.
I made another fire like this only a week ago, he thought, picking up a twig from the heart and bending it, until it snapped in two. A fire in a man's heart.
That blaze, a voice said, has not yet died.
Ashes started and leaned forward until he risked his hair catching fire. "Godmother?" he whispered.
He thought he could see her in the flames, the red and white tongues suggesting a mane of red hair, framing a face of regal beauty. The face shifted and turned endlessly in the fire, now staring him frankly in the eyes, now showing him a haughty profile. Ashes could not remember ever having had a godmother; certainly his father had never mentioned one to him before he died. But that was how this magnificent woman had introduced herself to him on that night a week before. He could not doubt her any more than he could doubt the sun was warm or that spring would follow winter.
"Godmother!" Ashes cried, bracing himself on the hot hearthstones. "Godmother, I failed you! I should have listened to you and left before midnight..."
You didn't fail, child, not entirely. You have great beauty, as I told you once, and a wit even greater. The prince loves you, and will not rest until he holds you again. Even now he comes for you.
"But I can't receive him like this! He'll know...what I am."
You speak to me of reality? Perhaps you had better go back to your dolls and ash-bucket.
"Please, no. It's only...I'm frightened."
As you should be. To accept love is to take a great risk, far greater than one of your years can appreciate.
"Yes, Godmother..."
Listen to me, Ashes: those tricks I played with mice and pumpkins were nothing compared to what you face now. I can lend you a little more magic, but the outcome of it is up to you.
There are those here who will oppose you. They are not entirely cruel or evil people, but they have their own dreams before them and care nothing for yours. Remember, Ashes. Be judicious. Use your wits. Your beauty has empires talking, but it's your wit that's captured the prince's heart.
"Yes, Godmother."
"Who are you talking to?"
Ashes started and turned to confront the always fearsome spectacle of his stepmother glowering in the common room's doorway.
"No one."
"So I see. The fire's built, I can see that as well. I'll have one of the kitchen girls tend it. You can go back to your room."
Ashes bit his lip. "Can't I stay and see the prince?" He hated the childish way his voice trembled.
"No. We have important visitors tonight, and I don't need you swooning about in your ridiculous outfit. Go on," she said, somewhat less harshly. "Bianca will bring you a cup of chocolate tomorrow morning and tell you all about it."
"Yes, Stepmother." Ashes wanted to beg or rage, but he forced himself to be silent. He knew this was part of what Godmother meant by using his wits.
Hanging his head, he padded past Stepmother to his cramped little room. He knew Stepmother would be close behind him. He knew the span between his door closing and the click of her key turning in the lock could be measured in seconds.
The tattered shoes Bianca had given him sat side by side on the floor next to his bed. They tore readily into scraps of leather and he slipped one of these easily between the doorjamb and the closing door, ensuring the lock would not catch. The hallway was dark and if Stepmother suspected she had been played a trick, she gave no sign of it.
Ashes lit a candle and sat down to pray and wait. He wished he could catch a comforting glimpse of Godmother in the tiny flame, but no matter how he squinted and stared, she didn't reveal herself. Ambrose was restless in his cage, turning round and round and squeaking shrilly.
"What's wrong with you?" Ashes scolded, turning the glow of the candle on the rat. The flame seemed to gutter, then flared so brightly in Ashes's hand that he almost dropped it as the room was lit bright as noontime in its crackling light. Then he noticed how much larger Ambrose looked and how much larger he was becoming moment by moment. As though his head weren't already brushing the top of the cage, he sat up on his haunches, rearing upright, his tiny eyes blinking in confusion. Almost as though he were trying to stand up like a man.
I can lend you a little more magic, Godmother had said.
"Oh!" Ashes hurried to let his pet out of his cage before he grew too large for it and was injured.
The tall one was Verity, apparently. She was somewhat ill-favored physically, if reasonably intelligent and witty. Her younger sister was...Bianca, that was it; plump and vivacious, with a slightly---not displeasingly---acid bite to her personality. Either might have done well at court, but neither of the pair was Zelynda.
Roland had tried to forestall the audience until the next morning, pleading exhaustion, but the mother was as insistent an old dragon as any other parent they had encountered. The girls were awake anyway, she said, having just returned from an evening salon held by one of their friends. Would his majesty not care to meet them? Since the royal decree clearly stated that every maiden in the kingdom was to try the slipper...why not let them try it now? That way his highness would not be inconvenienced in the morning, both girls being such late risers.
Sir Jasper made no attempt to hide his exhaustion or irritation, but he managed to get the slipper onto Bianca's foot. He even managed not to snap at the mother as she hovered over him.
Bianca stared down at the gleaming crystal hanging precariously on her small foot. "I didn't realize it was so big. Honestly, it's the biggest slipper I've ever seen. Almost as if it had been made for a..."
"For me!" the taller sister snapped. "It's just my size, I'm sure of it." Her impatience had been palpable since Roland and his men had entered the inn, but once she had actually seen the slipper, she had practically begun salivating. "Come on, Bianca, you've had your turn. Let me try."
"Let her, Jasper. Never mind reading the proclamation." Roland managed to keep his voice courteous, but he was more than ready to end this.
Pouting, Bianca was hustled off, her seat claimed by the triumphant Verity. The girl's own shoe was scarcely off before she thrust her foot into the crystal slipper. She turned her ankle, grinning in ugly triumph. Bianca squealed and hopped repeatedly up and down. The mother laughed delightedly, not so much clapping her hands as striking them together in a gesture of vindication and violent pleasure.
Roland blinked bleary eyes. It wasn't possible. It wasn't. But for a moment, he felt with a horrible certainty that his fate was sealed. He would be forced by his own word to marry this awful creature and wake up every morning to that grinning, spiteful face.
Sir Jasper cleared his throat. "It doesn't quite fit, Majesty."
The girl turned on the knight like a viper. "What are you on about? It does fit! Look, you see? Look at it! It's the right size exactly!"
"How wonderful!" The mother was already bustling in, laying proprietary hands on Verity's shoulders. "You see, I knew from the start this girl had something special. Some certain elegance, some innate..."
"It does...seem to fit." Roland employed all the diplomacy expected of a king's son. "But Madame, your daughter is not the girl I seek. She looks nothing like the Lady Zelynda."
"Begging your majesty's pardon..." The mother's smile was oily and wholly unpleasant. "It was a masked ball, yes?"
"That's right!" Verity's eyes were ablaze with a not-quite-healthy fervor. "You can't prove I'm not your precious Zelynda! She was masked, like everyone else."
"The point," the mother went on quickly, "is the slipper fits..."
"Nearly fit," Sir Jasper said stolidly.
"Oh, rubbish," the woman snorted. "Nearly or completely, who is this man to say? The royal proclamation made no mention of other considerations of identity. I am certain your majesty intends to do the right thing..."
Bianca screamed suddenly, lifting her skirts. A tiny dark shadow darted across the floor between her feet, seeming to make for the hearth. Verity screamed as well and the little thing veered, apparently confused, back in the direction it had come. But a moment later there was another, then a third, until the floor was swarming.
Sir Jasper stared in bewilderment at the little creatures. "Mice..."
"Your majesty," the mother said, her face aghast. "I can assure you, this is a clean establishment...we don't have mice!"
"Well, Madame, you most certainly do tonight." Roland laughed.
"They're behaving oddly," Sir Jasper said. "Why do they stay out in the light like that? Surely they should be seeking a place of hiding."
"There, there, now," a new voice said behind them, rough and good humored. "There, my beauties, don't take on so."
A small man entered the room as if from nowhere. He was an ugly, bandy-legged fellow with protruding yellow teeth, his hair in a long black queue that hung between his shoulders looking for all the world like a rat's tail. Despite that, his uniform was as fine as those worn by Roland's own men, and his eyes sparkled with cheer. Even more inexplicably, he carried a large pumpkin under one arm.
"Your pardon, gentles." He set the pumpkin on the floor, then removed his hat for a moment and made them a sweeping bow. Pushing a hand into his pocket for a moment, he brought out a mouse nestled in the palm. "My team has gotten away from me, you see. It's a bit of a job collecting the little buggers...begging your pardon again."
"Who are you?" the mother snapped, all iron and ice. "How did you and those filthy animals get in here? This is royal business, and..."
"Me? I'm no one at all, mum, leastwise, not on my own. It's merely my honor and privilege to serve the Lady Zelynda in the humble office of coachman..."
"Lady Zelynda?" Roland felt his heart seize with fresh hope. "You know her?"
"Oh yes, sir. She's on her way now, you see. Just getting herself ready. You know the womenfolk, sir. Why take an hour making themselves beautiful when they can take an hour and a day?"
"But I'm the Lady Belynda...or Melynda, or whatever you said!" Verity snarled.
The self-styled coachman looked her up and down, stroking the mouse in his hand with one finger. "Begging your pardon, miss. You are not."
"This is not right," the mother said, teeth gritted. "If your mistress is the one the prince seeks, why did she wait till now to show herself?"
"She was delayed, you see," the coachman said. "A regrettable but unavoidable matter. You know how the roads are these days, mum." Suddenly he removed his hat and gestured with a flourish to the room's far corner. "And here she is now! You must never underestimate timing in these matters," he added, winking. "So my old mother used to say, bless her heart."
All heads turned to stare at the tall, dark figure standing in the narrow doorway that, until now, had seemed invisible in the room's shadows.
"Good evening, Highness," said a soft, husky voice. The figure dropped into a curtsey of sorts. He had bare feet and wore a tattered slip, his hair hanging around his face.
"Oh, you foolish boy," the mother moaned. "What are you playing at? I told you to stay in your room!"
The boy's voice was gentle but firm. "I'm sorry, Stepmother. But I'm the one the prince seeks."
You are. Are you? Roland stood silently and his eyes roamed over the boy, taking in the full effect.
"You? The Lady Zelynda? What utter nonsense!" The mother twisted her head from the prince to his servant with a strange pleading look. "Please forgive him, Majesty. This is my deceased husband's son. He's mad and has fits of thinking he's a girl." Turning back to Ashes, she snapped, "You're not this Lady Zelynda! There is no such person!"
"You're right, Stepmother. There is no Lady Zelynda. I'm not her any more than Verity is. I'm only Ashes." He stepped up to Roland, gaze locked on his. He smiled slightly. "But I know where the Phoenix nests."
"Majesty?" Sir Jasper's voice seemed leagues away to Roland. "Majesty, this is highly irregular."
Roland made no reply. His world had collapsed, narrowing until its sole inhabitant was this ragged, long-haired boy. Are you? Yes. Yes, I think you are.
"Let him try the slipper," Roland said finally.
The room rang with protests from the mother and her two daughters, but a direct royal order was not to be denied. Sir Jasper gently guided Ashes to the stool lately occupied by his stepsister and carefully eased the slipper onto his long foot.
"The fit," he said and nodded, "is perfect."
The prince smiled as he took Ashes's hand. "This is her. I would know her anywhere, whatever shape she wears." The prince's voice was firm and warm, and as certain as a stone wall.
"I should have known you would recognize me." Tears glinted in Ashes's eyes, but he smiled.
"You didn't doubt me?" Roland asked
Ashes shook his head. "Never you. Myself, rather. It was foolish of me, but I've had help and love, and I'll doubt no more. I love you." His voice echoed the prince's certainty. "I love you, Prince Roland."
"And I you, Lady Zelynda."
"But he's not a Lady!" Verity cried. "He's a he...ohh! Mother!"
"Your Majesty, be reasonable. I don't...here! What are you doing?" The mother stared down in ferocious indignation at Sir Jasper, who had interposed himself between her and the couple.
"The slipper fit the foot," Sir Jasper said firmly. "The prince's search is at an end. Any questions of the young lady's...identity...are purely between herself and his highness."
The mother seemed likely to explode. "Are you mad? The prince marrying a boy? A boy in a dress? There will be a scandal. The church will never sanction such an unholy union. The crown..."
"The crown has survived many scandals. It will survive many more. I hope, Madame." Sir Jasper raised one eyebrow, "you do not presume to make a threat upon the royal house?"
The prince's guard had stood by looking bored throughout most of the proceedings but now he smiled unpleasantly and laid a rough hand on the hilt of his sword. The mother and her daughters---though plainly with great reluctance---shut their mouths.
"Here." Ashes took the slipper from his foot and handed it to Bianca. "I won't need this anymore. It should provide you with some money. More than enough to live comfortably, or open another inn if you like." Bianca's mother and sister looked quite ready to snatch the gleaming slipper from her hands, but she held onto it tightly.
"Ambrose." Ashes smiled at the coachman and handed him a stub of candle. "Ambrose? Would you be so good as to prepare our coach?"
"As you wish, m'lady." The little man grinned. By now his pockets were stuffed full of squirming mice. He took the candle, picked up the pumpkin and trotted out of the room, Roland and Ashes close behind him.
Bianca squirmed as they left, clutching the slipper to her bosom. Ultimately, it seemed, she couldn't keep silent---or keep from smiling. "Ashes, where on Earth are you going? Where are you taking the prince?"
Ashes smiled at her over his shoulder. "Nowhere on Earth. We're going to the moon, actually. I believe Ambrose's team will make even better birds than they do horses. We'll have to see what my godmother says about that, won't we? But she's an open-minded lady. I'm certain she'll prove accommodating."
Handsome and Grateful
As told to Kilt Kilpatrick
Hello, I'm Udo Kier. Perhaps you know me from such films as Andy Warhol's Blood for Dracula, or Flesh for Frankenstein, or the classic Hexen Bis Aufs Blut Gequält. This is the story of Hansel and Gretel. Would you like to hear it? Wunderbar. Let us begin.
Once upon a time in a modest hovel near the woods, there lived a poor woodcutter, his wife, and his two children. The boy's name was Hansel and his sister's was Gretel. Their life was decent but hard, and many a night the four had very little on their supper table. In the hardest seasons, the poor woodcutter could not even earn the daily bread to feed his family.
One night, he dwelt on their troubles with a heavy heart. "What will become of us?" he sighed. "I cannot even feed my children."
His lady wife scolded him, "Your children? What of you and I? What manner of man are you to let us starve so?" The wife was hardhearted, for she was only the children's stepmother; their own mother had died many years before.
She devised a cruel plan to solve their dilemma. "This is what we shall do, Husband. Tomorrow we shall take the children deep into the woods, where it is thickest. We will make a fire, and bid them wait there for us by the fire. Then we will leave them alone. They will never find the way home again, and we shall be rid of them."
What a dreadful woman she is, isn't she? I think she would surely be played by notorious drag queen Divine, were this story to be immortalized on film by John Waters. Not that their father is so much either. As you can see, he is a spineless, distasteful worm who I believe might also be played by Divine in our hypothetical John Waters film.
These two go back and forth for several more minutes over whether or not to abandon the children to be devoured by wild beasts of the forest, but since they are quite tedious people, let's skip ahead a bit.
Unknown to the cowardly woodcutter and his plotting wife, the two children had not been able to sleep for hunger, and had heard what their wicked stepmother had proposed to their father. "Oh Hansel, we are surely done for." Gretel wept bitterly.
"Hush, Gretel," said her brother. "Do not fret. I will think of something." And when the parents had at last gone to sleep, he got up from his bed and slipped out the door. The moon shone brightly and all about, little white flint stones glistened on the ground around the cottage, like pieces of silver. Hansel filled all his pockets would hold. Then he went back in again, and said to Gretel, "Rest easy, dear little sister. God will not forsake us."
The next morning, the family set off into the forest to cut wood. When they had gone a little way Hansel stopped, and turned back towards the house, and this he did again and again, till his father said to him, "Hansel, what are you looking at?
"Oh, Father," said Hansel, "l am looking at my little white kitten, who is sitting up on the roof to bid me goodbye."
"Foolish boy," said their stepmother, "that is not your kitten, but the sunshine on the chimney-pot." Of course Hansel had not been looking at his kitten, but had been taking a flint from his pocket every now and then and dropping it on the road.
Udo here again. I'm sorry, but you see where they are going with all this. Hansel leaves a trail of flint stones; the children are abandoned in the woods but they follow the trail back home, blah, blah, blah. Such telegraphing! I think we need to skip ahead a few pages. Let's see...yes, yes, yes...his little flint plan works out just fine...skip ahead a little further -- okay, they get dumped in the woods once more, Hansel tries it again, but with breadcrumbs instead of flints, but that doesn't work so well. And we haven't even gotten to the gingerbread house yet! Mein Gott, this story is going to take forever! Sorry, liebechens, I forgot how truly tiresome this fairy tale is. No, don't go! Okay, I tell you what. I'm putting the book down. Let's start again, and this time, your Uncle Udo will tell it the right way...
Once or twice upon a time, in a modest hovel near the woods, there lived a poor woodcutter, his wife, and his two children. The boy's name was Hansel and his sister's was Gretel. Now, for the purposes of our story here, the poor woodcutter's children were not so terribly young, but rather in the full bloom of their youth, and quite a fetching pair of young people, poised precariously on that first step towards adulthood. They were of marriageable age, but still full of childlike innocence and wonder due to their isolated upbringing. Suffice it to say they were at this age old enough to know several important things---but young enough to be quite unaware of others.
So then, when we last left our young protagonists, they had become lost in the deep woods a second time, and Hansel's idea to use a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way home, which had worked so well with flint stones, had sadly backfired and only served to feed the local squirrel population. So they were now quite, quite lost.
Gretel shivered from the cold and clung to Hansel, who was only a bit chilly in his sturdy lederhosen. But as the family was so destitute they couldn't even afford a full-length dirndl for poor Gretel, the maiden had to make do with a very short skirt, lace-up corset, and creamy white thigh-high stockings tied up with little red bows. She was often mistaken for a French maid.
It was about this time when things seemed most desperate and their hopes for rescue were dwindling, that the brother and sister came upon a wonderful sight, and our story finally gets going. It was a picturesque little cottage, built appropriately enough in a 1920s Storybook design style: a charming, one-and-a-half story bungalow with a whimsical faux Tudor half-timber exterior and a playful, somewhat Gaudi-esque visual esthetic. But most surprising of all---well, only surprising if you had never heard this story before---the entire cottage was constructed from a basic gingerbread structure with a roofing of crispy cream wafers, topped with great spiraled bundt cake gables and a huge rock-candy chimney. Its fine lebkuchen construction was reinforced with butterkuchen and zuckerkuchen, and honey-glazed, almond-sprinkled bienenstichkuchen, with the whole place festively decorated with a colorful assortment of every kind of cake, cookie, and sweet imaginable.
There were heavy beams of Toblerone and marzipan molding. Enormous waffles and wafers shaded windows cut from glassy sheets of transparent sugar glazing. There was ornamental brickwork of strudels and stollen dusted with confectioner's sugar. There were gummi bear gargoyles and window dressings of jellybabies and bonbons. The doors and blinds were sugar-glazed choco pfeffernüsse, coated and drizzled with three kinds of dark chocolate, with a hard candy door latch and knocker. Rows of giant bittersweet chocolate Schluckwerder cream-eggs, covered in tiny nonpareil sprinkles, trimmed the eaves in four different colors and flavors---lemon, orange, forest-raspberry, and vanilla. There was even a beautiful rich chocolate schwarzwälder kirschtorte of prodigious size, over seven feet tall, soaked in cherry Schnapps and covered in cream, sprinkled with chocolate shavings and luscious cherries the size of cannonballs, which unfortunately did not smell quite as tantalizing as it might have, since it contained an outhouse.
Hansel and Gretel, now famished and exhausted, rushed to the miraculously well-preserved cottage and eagerly began to gobble up exterior fixtures and decorative elements to their heart's content. So distracted were they while trying to sate their ravenous hunger that the young pair did not notice the pfeffernüsse door open, or see the black-clad figure observing the serious property damage they were causing.
"Ahem." The stranger cleared her throat, for it was indeed a her. She was dressed all in black, as I mentioned, sporting a tall, peaked hat with a flat, round brim, and a long, slinky dress with an even longer slit up the side---the better to show off her long, slinky legs to good advantage. She was a handsome woman, her face a beautiful work of art with perfect silky skin, and the high, elegant cheekbones of a countess. Voluptuous waves of luxuriant golden hair spilled from under her hat and glittered like diamond dust. Her hooded, cat-shaped eyes regarded them with the languorous, dangerous interest of a panther.
"You seem rather large to be termites," she at last remarked in a husky voice. The siblings looked up, startled and ashamed to be caught with their mouths full of candied cottage siding.
They dropped their ill-gotten handfuls and apologized profusely. "Oh, please forgive us, Lady," they cried. "We didn't mean to eat your house. But we became lost in the woods and we're so hungry."
The woman-in-black's stern but alluring countenance softened slightly. "What are your names?"
"Hansel...and Gretel," they replied courteously.
She raised one immaculately sculpted eyebrow. "Handful and Great Tail?"
It was a perfectly honest mishearing, but not without telling Freudian implications. They corrected her politely and she appeared to warm to them.
"Well, then, you must come indoors and stay with me awhile, my young Herr Hansel and Mädchen Gretel." Before you could say Willkommen, Bienvenue, Welcome, she took them each by the hand and led them into her little house. The pair, too innocent to even to recognize the traditional garb of a wicked witch, followed as meekly as little lambs.
"Hmm..." the witch said thoughtfully, tapping her full lips with a well-manicured finger as she considered her plan. "First of all, I think we must fatten you up, my ravenous little house-breakers."
She sat them down at her big oak table and, quick as a wink, conjured up a fine supper for them, the grandest they ever had. The overflowing table groaned beneath every manner of dish in all four of the proper German food groups: Sweet, Sour, Salty, and Smoky. There were big mugs of buttermilk and pancakes dusted with sugar; baskets of sour apples and roasted chestnuts; great slices of pumpernickel slathered in salted butter; trenchers of pears, beans and bacon; cheese spätzle dumplings with fried onions; racks of smoked eels; clay pots of baked potato hash with bauchspeck and leeks; and still more besides---along with a big silver tray of plum tarts for dessert.
Their kindly hostess sat between them throughout the bountiful meal, plying them with food until they could eat no more. At one point she turned to Gretel and offered her a briny treat. "Here, have an oyster, darling. I've shucked it for you."
Gretel's eyes grew big, and she balked; the simple country girl had never seen one before. The witch lifted it to Gretel's mouth. "Don't worry, my little sugar mouse. I'll show you how." She slipped a hand behind Gretel's neck and gently but firmly tilted her head back so that the young woman's lips parted. "That's it," the witch cooed, tipping the shell into Gretel's waiting mouth. "Now use your tongue and slurp it all up like a good girl."
The fräulein did as she was bidden, which pleased the older woman. "There now, wasn't that nice?"
Gretel blushed and smiled shyly.
"Don't you want to eat too, miss?" Hansel asked the witch.
She turned from Gretel and gave him a sidelong glance. "Not just yet, Hansel. But soon enough, my scrumptious little blutwurststrudel." She rose from the table. "The two of you have had quite a night and morning. I think it is best I take you two little turtledoves to bed for a bit of a nap." She put her hands on their shoulders and gently led the logy, stuffed pair down the hall.
She stopped at a door and ushered Gretel inside. "Here, Liebling, take this bedroom." She took the sleepy girl by the hand and led her to the soft white feather bed. The witch sat down on the bed, unbuckled Gretel's shoes, slid them off one by one, and tucked her in. She leaned over and ran her fingers through Gretel's fine ash-blond Swiss-braided hair and gave her a gentle kiss. "Sweet dreams, little one." The girl fell fast asleep in an instant.
The witch turned to Hansel, still waiting at the doorway. She regarded him with a cool ambiguous smile, which Hansel returned uncertainly. "Come with me, young man. I have plans for you."
The witch extended her hand and Hansel hesitantly took it. She led him, trembling with the gormless excitement of Paris Hilton's Chihuahua, to another door at the end of the hall, and pulled him in behind her. Or rather, out, since this was the back door of the little cottage. A trail of giant gumdrop stepping stones serpentined from the porch to a festive blue-and white-checkered tent in the garden. "Be a good boy and wait for me in the gazebo now," she gently commanded. He grinned and scampered off like an eager puppy. Her lips curled into a sardonic smile as he ran inside, and she pulled a nearby candy cane lever. The tent cover fell away as a sturdy chain hoisted the iron cage---for that is what Hansel had just stepped into---off the ground, and its door slammed shut and locked fast. A loud whistle blew, and a red banner unfurled atop the cage, which read DINNER IS SERVED.
The witch went back inside, pausing just long enough to call out "Yell for help all you like, darling. Gingerbread this thick is quite soundproof."
Gretel awoke and imagined she heard a woman's voice purring: "Mmmm...Delicious..." She opened her eyes to find the witch leaning over her. She sat on the bed, softly stroking Gretel's cheek and shepherding stray locks of hair back behind her ear. "Did you sleep well, my little sugar mouse? You were so very tired, darling."
Gretel smiled, and stretched happily. "Mm-hmmm." She sat up and looked around, puzzled. "But where is Hansel, miss?"
"Not to worry, my pet. He went off into the forest to play with the woodland creatures. I expect he'll be out all afternoon. But perhaps you and I can find a pleasant way to spend the time till he returns. In fact, there's something you can help me with right now." She helped Gretel off the bed and into her shoes again, and led her into a pleasant sitting room with walls of bookshelves stacked with dusty old tomes and great plush settees soft as spider's silk. The witch wheeled over a tall bookstore ladder. "Darling, you can climb up and fetch something for me now, can't you? Of course you can. Such a clever girl."
Delighted to be of assistance, Gretel took hold of the rungs and the witch held the ladder firmly on either side---which also meant enclosing the girl closely in her arms. The witch leaned in quite close and told her, "I'll hold the ladder steady for you, my long-legged angel. Careful now, take your time..."
Meanwhile, poor Hansel had no idea that the dinner bell had been sounded above his cage. He only knew he had been grievously mistreated and his beloved sister was still inside with their captor. And what sort of peril might she be in? After hollering for help as loud as he could for what seemed like hours, he finally despaired that any help would ever arrive, and cried bitterly. He was in such a sorry state that at first he did not hear the heavy footfall of some large animal approaching him, nor did he notice the ominous rustling in the bushes until it was quite too late, and he realized with a fright that he was no longer alone in the little clearing behind the cottage.
Gretel felt a strange sensation grow in her tummy as she slowly, carefully, climbed out from between the witch's arms and went step by step up, up, up to the very top. The witch watched Gretel's footing very carefully to ensure she kept her balance.
"Oh! What am I looking for up here?"
"There should be some items just above you there. If you stand on tiptoe, I think you'll find them. Take your time, Liebechen. There's no hurry."
Gretel stuck her tongue out a bit as she reached above her head and fished around on the topmost shelf.
The witch was extremely patient with Gretel, and her gaze never wavered from the girl's legs.
"Ah! I found something. It's a long shaft with a thick head---Oh! It's a bottle!"
"Bravo, my lovely! Bring it down and we'll have some."
Hansel wiped his eyes quickly when he realized something large had emerged from the underbrush. A great brown bear or a hungry pack of wolves would make short work of him, cage or no cage. He held his breath until caught sight of the new intruder. He gasped in surprise when he saw it was no fierce animal but a rugged woodsman: tall, bold of eye and strong-jawed, with a great axe slung over his shoulder.
"Sir!" Hansel called. "You must help me!"
The man sauntered over in no great hurry and took a long look at this strapping youth in a go-go cage. "Must I?"
"You must," the witch told Gretel firmly.
"But I've never---never tried it before," the girl protested.
"You'll find it's exquisite, I promise you. Now sit down here with me on the settee and stop your foolishness."
Gretel meekly did as she was told and sat down next to the witch, leaning back into the oh-so-soft cushions.
"That's much better, my little honey blossom. Are you ready?"
Gretel nodded mutely, eyes wide.
The witch smiled and leaned in close to Gretel's lovely face. Both women's mouths parted as she closed the distance between them, and brought a flute of Champagne up to the girl's lips.
"Prost, darling."
Gretel's first tentative sip stretched out into a deep drink. She giggled, and covered her mouth with embarrassment. "Oh -- that is wonderful!"
The witch laughed heartily.
The woodsman laughed heartily. "I'm only joking, lad. Of course I'll help you out of there. Hmmm...let's see what we have here..."
He examined the hanging cage and its prisoner carefully. The trap was suspended about ten hands high off the ground. It was locked by unknown means, and had strong iron bars.
Hansel tried to tell the woodsman about the woman---no doubt an evil witch!---who had imprisoned him and even now was surely planning diabolical harm to his sister, but his would-be liberator remained unfazed and unhurried.
"I have an idea," the woodsman finally announced. "Take off your clothes."
"I have an idea. I'm going to take off some clothes," the witch announced after their second glass of champagne. "This dress and silly old hat are so cumbersome." She ran her hand down her long exposed leg. "Don't go away. I won't be but just a moment."
Gretel waited patiently on the soft, plump settee, sipping her Champagne. She had never felt such strange anticipation growing in her, but anticipation for what, she didn't exactly know. "Miss?" she called out to her unseen hostess after a few minutes had passed. "Are you all right in there?---Oh!"
The witch reappeared in the doorway. "Call me Lili, darling."
She had exchanged her peaked hat and clingy black floor-length dress for a short black silk nightie and high heels. She looked like Venus herself in her glittering, gold-dust tresses, and with her lovely arms and legs so bare and negligee so sheer, it was almost like she wore nothing at all. "Isn't that better?"
Gretel's sweet doe eyes marveled at the sight.
The goddess strode over regally and sat down beside her young companion. She smiled, then reached over to take the flute of Champagne from Gretel's hand and put it aside. She gazed deeply into Gretel's eyes. "Now, here's what I want you to do..."
"You want me to do what?" Hansel stammered.
"Strip them all off," the woodsman insisted. "It's the only way to get you out. Go on, hop to it."
Hansel frowned, then reluctantly began to pull off his shoes and socks, and undid the suspenders of his lederhosen.
Meanwhile the woodsman set down his mighty axe and began to stack giant, crisp cream wafers and pfeffernüsse until he had a serviceable platform that reached Hansel's level. He hopped up and took off his knapsack.
Hansel stripped off his shirt, but then clasped it to his chest like a security blanket.
The woodsman knelt and rifled through his pack, then looked over and growled, "Off with the shirt. And the rest of it---underpants too." He pulled a fat little clay pot from the pack.
Hansel dropped his leather trousers and then, with a sharp breath, pulled down his underwear and stepped out of them. He stood there, holding his privates. He had never felt such strange anticipation growing in him, but anticipation for what, he didn't know exactly.T
The woodsman stood close to the cage, uncorked the little pot and gestured with his finger for Hansel to come closer toward him. Hansel blinked, gulped, and tentatively approached. The woodsman dipped two manly fingers in the pot and came up with a dollop of pale white goo.
"What is that?" asked the wide-eyed Hansel.
"Goose grease." The woodsman began to smear the ointment over Hansel's naked chest.
"Oh, that feels so lovely," Gretel murmured as Lili softly rubbed her chest while she, in accordance with the witch's wishes, obediently reached back to undo her crown braid.
Lili playfully traced the girl's collarbones with a fingertip and watched with approval while Gretel continued to work nimbly behind her head until at last she freed her long ash-blond hair and gave it a gentle shake.
The witch leaned back into the settee, resting her head against her fist as she admired Gretel's new look. "Has anyone ever said you look like Rita Hayworth?"
"I look like who?" asked Hansel.
"Like Michelangelo's David," answered the woodsman. "Or maybe a honey-glazed ham." He took his work seriously, reaching through the bars to slather the youth up and down in long, slow strokes. Hansel tried not to shake as the man's strong hands glided over his chest, making his nipples rise. He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling bashful and unable to meet the man's gaze. The warm, slippery concoction felt marvelous on his skin; his mounting body heat made it slicker still. He imagined himself a statute that the man was sculpting from sternum to stomach with slick, creative hands. His stalk began to swell---he hoped the woodsman didn't notice!
He felt warm breath on the sensitive indent of skin above the bow of his lips and opened his eyes again. The woodsman's face was very close, their noses nearly touching. The man's unflinching eyes seemed to drink him in without the slightest qualm.
"Now, then..."
Hansel's lips quivered slightly as he tried to respond. "Y---yes?"
"Now, turn around and lift your arms. I need to do your back, too."
Hansel blinked a few times, in a bit of a daze, then recovered and did as the man asked. The woodsman set to work, industriously coating Hansel's back and flanks with the ointment. Hansel was grateful the man could not see the effect on Hansel's shaft as those big outdoorsman's hands slid up and down, first on his back and ribs, then both his legs. At last the woodsman finished and paused to admire his handiwork.
"All right now, turn around, get down on your hands and knees, and back towards me slowly. Then we'll be able to slip you right through the bars, my lad."
Hansel looked dubiously at him.
The woodsman returned his gaze, and made a twirling motion with his finger.
Hansel frowned slightly and slowly got onto the floor of the cage.
Lili slowly got onto the floor at Gretel's feet and made a happy face. "What precious little buckled shoes!" she exclaimed. "Let me curl up here on the carpet and get a better look at them." She gently took hold of Gretel's dainty feet, and pulled them closer to her.
The woodsman took hold of Hansel's feet, and pulled them closer to him.
Hansel squirmed on his belly, trying to get his oiled-up legs and trunk past the gap between the bars.
"Almost there!" the woodsman grinned as he slid his hands up Hansel's slick thighs.
"Such lovely stockings!" sighed Lili as she slid her hands up Gretel's thighs. "They go so high up your long lovely legs, don't they? And these tiny red bows are adorable." She toyed with them, tracing her fingers over the seams and little ribbons and running her hands along the material. Then, shooting Gretel a playful smile, she began to lift the girl's little dirndl skirt. "And what do we find if we go up a little further...?"
"A little further... A little further..." grunted the woodsman, tugging on Hansel's hips as he braced himself against the cage with his foot.
Still on his belly and facing the other way, Hansel groaned as he struggled to squeeze his naked backside free, worming his way backwards inch by inch.
The woodsman observed this provocative display with interest. "Hmmm...what's this?"
"What's this? You have such darling little panties!" Lili growled in delight and her voice grew huskier. "Let me see what you have here..." She gingerly raised Gretel's little dirndl skirt like a theater curtain, putting her lacy white panties and silky thighs on full display. "Mmmm...she purred. "Hello there, pussycat." She drew closer, her eyes alight and mesmerized by the show. She slowly slid eager fingers up the young woman's thighs.
Gretel bit her lip, eyes wide at the beautiful woman's boldness. This attention was wildly exciting, but should Gretel let her continue? "Wait," she protested. "Wait..."
"Wait! Wait! I'm stuck!" Hansel cried.
"So you are..." the woodsman concurred. He stepped back and rubbed his chin with a thoughtful expression, watching poor naked Hansel dangling from the cage, half in and half out. Then he picked up the jar again, scooped out yet another dollop of goose fat, and took his place between Hansel's legs. "I just need to touch up a few more nooks and crannies. Let's start with this." He took hold of Hansel's root in a firm grip.
Hansel gasped. The big man's hand felt better on his shaft than his own did. The woodsman---such an evocative title, when you think about it---gave the rod a friendly squeeze, then abruptly released it and poked his head up to Hansel's.
"That is, unless you want me to stop."
Hansel, eyes shut and mouth agape, reversed both and looked at the man in surprise. "Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes!"
The witch rose from the floor, pinning Gretel to the settee with her gaze. "I'm afraid I've quite fallen head over heels for you, my little sugar mouse. So now, my dear girl, I think it only fair for you to fall heels over head for me!" She seized the young woman's ankles and hoisted her legs up. "The time has come. Now I'm going to eat you up!"
"The time has come. Now I'm going to blow the man down!" The woodsman laughed as he settled back down into a comfortable spot, kneeling under Hansel's manly parts. He reached up and took hold of the shaft once more; it quickly grew even longer in his fat-slickened hand as he worked it up and down.
Any lingering reservations Hansel might have been harboring lost their potency as abruptly as his cock gained it. The sensation as it slid in and out of the greased fist was heavenly. The woodsman leaned into Hansel's groin, breathing in his musk. He tenderly nuzzled the youth's sack and grabbed his bottom for support as he licked and sucked on the head of Hansel's phallus. When he dragged his tongue down the shaft and back up again---and again, and again---Hansel moaned and his legs trembled.
The woodsman paused only long enough to murmur, "Mmm... you taste like goose."
Gretel squealed with delight as her hostess goosed her and shoved her hands beneath the girl's bottom to seize her panties.
Lili tugged them down and off in triumph, and then there was nothing between the witch and her gleaming prize. Like a pair of pythons, she wrapped her arms around Gretel's thighs and brought those long legs up to rest on her shoulders. Then she her brought her hands to Gretel's cleft, fingers slipping through the golden curls to stroke the mons and tease open the lips. Lili's eyes remained locked on Gretel's as she lowered her open mouth into Gretel's wet softness for a deep tongue kiss. She lingered there, their respective lips locked in a sweet embrace.
Gretel held the older woman's gaze as long as she could, until her eyes fluttered and closed. Then she suddenly groaned and arched her back and ground her head back against the cushions, stretching out her arms to find a handhold on the back and arm of the settee.
The woodsman was clearly hungry for more. Using both hands like a circus strongman, he lifted Hansel's thighs and supported the lad, steering the young schlong to his waiting mouth. He opened wide and took it in, then used his great strength to slowly lower Hansel's entire body to take the young man's cock deeper into his throat---then, just as slowly, lifted his entire body to pull it up again.
As he effortlessly continued this sword-swallowing feat, Hansel's vision blurred from the waves of pleasure. Stars began to swim before his eyes like tiny electric-blue fairies.
Lili found the scent of Gretel's arousal wonderfully intoxicating, inhaling it deeply. She surfaced just long enough to groan "You are so delicious, Liebling," and returned to her delights. She kissed, lapped, and sucked her everywhere: her soft warm thighs, the sides of her mound, the rosy inner lips. Slowly, she began penetrating the girl with her tongue; first with light teasing flicks, then gradually plunging in deeper and faster while above her, Gretel gasped and panted.
In the clearing behind the house, Hansel was gasping too. Half stuck in a cage, dangling above the ground and unable to see the shenanigans going on below him, he found himself entirely at the mercy of this supposed rescuer. He vaguely recalled there was some urgent matter he needed to attend to, but he had completely forgotten what it was now. The sensations below his belt, had he been wearing one, were more powerful than anything he had felt in his life and drove all his anxiety away. When the woodsman began his reps of Hansel-dipping into his mouth, the lad grabbed the bars of the cage for support. His vision fogged, and just when he thought he would lose himself, a completely different tingling began...
When Lili judged her delectable morsel was at the brink of coming again, she changed tactics. Moving up higher to get better access, she spread open the hood with two fingers and experimented with a variety of the techniques upon the little button of Gretel's clit. First she swirled her tongue over and all around it, then flicked it back and forth across, and finally kissed and sucked with her whole mouth around the pearl and its surroundings; ever so gently at first and then more forcefully, Frenching it passionately. All the while, she had reached down with her right hand and slipped two fingers inside her; the girl was so wet they slid in without the slightest friction. Palm up, she curled her fingers, moving them in and out, and stroking the sweet spot inside Gretel's body...
Up and down went Hansel's penis as the woodsman's mouth pumped away on him. Finally he pulled his mouth away to let the youth's cock pop free, and tenderly lowered his dance partner's legs to dangle free again. Then the burly forester crouched closer beneath Hansel, greased up his hand once more and slid it past the lad's thighs, slicking the smooth skin behind the balls all the way to his tender young hole. He lifted Hansel's scrotum out of the way and gave the taint a nice, long lick that made the youth let out a squeak and buck like a bronco not yet broken in. Finally, he stuck his middle finger in the fat little goose grease jar one last time. With a generous coating on his long finger, he started massaging Hansel's virgin rosebud, easing in slowly but insistently...
Gretel's clothes had become too binding and she pulled off her tiny dirndl skirt and tossed it aside, leaving her in little more than her buckle shoes, thigh-high stockings, and bodice: quite an eye-catching ensemble. Eyes shut tight and lips parted, she pulled feverishly at the lacing to free her stiff and aching nipples from their captivity as well.
Lili approved. She traded her mouth for her hand at Gretel's slit, and rose up to clasp a breast with her other hand and bring her lips to the tight, aroused nipple, sucking on it lovingly.
Gretel drew a sharp breath, and clutched the back of Lili's head to her. "Keep doing that," she said. "And then I want you to take that nightie off."
Two knuckles in, the woodsman decided Hansel was ready for more. He extricated his finger with extreme delicacy and crawled out from under the lad. Standing behind Hansel's behind, he pulled off his own shirt, his belt, his breeches, and all the rest, until he was fully undressed at last. He stood, admiring the view for a moment while idly greasing up his rod, running his free hand up Hansel's back and down the crack of his backside.
The young man looked over his shoulder at his admirer, as if half wishing he could reach back and touch him, half pleased to be completely at this tall handsome stranger's mercy.
The man returned his gaze. "Are you ready for me?"
Hansel nodded mutely, and took hold of the bars again to steady himself for what he hoped was coming next.
Gretel looked up with enraptured eyes as Lili stood before her like the magnificent goddess Gretel thought she was.
With regal grace the witch plucked open the tiny silk clasps and let her lingerie silently fall away from her. She was a dazzling vision in the nude, wearing only a pair of high heels. With a cool smile, Lili stepped between Gretel's open legs and lowered herself down like a descending angel onto the younger woman's thigh. Imperiously, she took Gretel's other leg and raised it up, then sunk herself down until the two met body to body. She wrapped an arm around Gretel's raised leg and licked behind the knee.
Gretel reached around Lili's exquisite derriere and pulled them closer into each other. The two women embraced and began to grind their sexes, sliding and rocking their hips together.
Hansel trembled with anticipation as he felt the woodsman come up behind him and gently knead his cheeks apart. Then without ceremony, the head of his hefty cock slid right in. Hansel gave an unearthly low, guttural moan at the sensation. The big man took his time, proceeding patiently and slowly in and out and in again, each time deeper inch by inch.
Hansel clenched his eyes tightly closed and made strange faces while the woodsman held him by his suspended thighs and encouraged him with soft words.
"That's it...good man...you're doing fine...take it all now, that's the way ..."
As the woodsman pulled himself by the hips into the younger man, grunting with desire, Hansel felt the sweet excruciations inside him slowly began to uncoil from pain to a deep, animal pleasure as he adjusted to the pressure and rhythm. He felt the woodsman's cock plunge into him to the hilt, felt the heavy press of the man's body full against his ass, only to pull back and repeat. Tears streamed down his face in an ecstatic flow as the woodsman began to huff and thrust with vigor, and when Hansel felt his lover thunder into him and release, he did the same.
Gretel and Lili tightened their undulating embrace. Their breasts and bellies glistened with sweat as they caressed one another. Their faces drew closer until their cheeks touched, they pressed together while they panted and moaned as one, and soon they were passionately kissing with open mouths. Gretel's upraised leg began to tremble in Lili's arms, but she couldn't bear to stop. Lili broke the kiss to give her a long, hard lick from collarbone to chin.
Gretel began to shake and made a keening sound. She hugged Lili tightly to her and gently bit the older woman's shoulder. She dragged her nails down, down Lili's back from neck to legs, then took hold of Lili's derriere once more for leverage while she worked her sex into that of her lover's. She locked eyes with her so Lili could see the climax building on her face. Then her orgasm broke, and grasping with all her strength, she pushed the witch deeply into her oven. The wicked witch cried out and collapsed into her arms, melting, melting...
There came a rap on the door of the modest hovel near the woods where Hansel and Gretel used to live. The poor woodcutter and his shrewish wife were startled to find a rugged woodsman standing on their front step.
"Good news! Your children have been found, safe and sound!" Then he punched the miserable woodcutter right in the stomach. The man collapsed to the floor groaning in pain while his wife shrieked and clung to her fallen husband.
Hansel and Gretel stepped up to the door. "You are terrible excuses for parents!" they cried. "Well, you don't have to worry about us anymore. We're moving to the woods with Lili and Manfred"---for that was the woodsman's name: Manfred Manly Mantooth.
The stepmother scowled up at them from the floor where she huddled over her husband. "Good riddance to you both. I never liked either of you brats. We're better off without you!"
But then the witch came forward to confront the awful woman and her moaning husband, eyes glaring like the gleam of iron daggers. "Oh, you really don't think the two of you will get off that easy, do you?"
With an eldritch incantation and a puff of purple-green choking smoke, she turned both of them into fat little warty toads, or perhaps into a pair of gingerbread garden gnomes. Whatever it was, you can be sure it was most terrible and quite ironic.
And so Hansel and Manfred and Gretel and Lili all returned to the big enchanted gingerbread house in the woods, where the unconventional quartet all lived---well, you know.
The End.
I'm Udo Kier. Good night, and sweet dreams, liebechens...
The King's Honor
by JL Merrow
One bright, clear day, a fair young man walked through a forest that lay before a castle. He was dressed as a soldier, and a fine figure of a man he was: his back was straight, his countenance handsome, and his weapons shone like the sun. It so happened he came upon another young man chopping wood in a clearing, his slender, bare back glistening with the sweat of his honest labors.
Feeling a sudden desire to rest his feet a while, the soldier laid down his arms and seated himself with his back against a tree. He watched the young woodcutter at his work, admiring the play of muscles under tanned skin and the easy strength of his motions.
The woodcutter began presently to feel a prickling sensation upon the back of his neck, as so often happens when one is observed. He placed his axe upon the ground and turned around with a ready smile.
"Good day to you, sir." The woodcutter mopped his brow with one well-shaped forearm.
"And to you too," the soldier replied. "Can you tell me if I am on the right path for the king's castle?"
The woodcutter regarded him thoughtfully. "Aye, that you are. But what would you be seeking there? We are not at war, so the king has no need of an army."
The soldier smiled. "I have a mind to try my luck at the mystery surrounding the king's daughters."
The woodcutter nodded his dark head at the soldier for indeed, a great mystery surrounded the royal princesses, and the story was known throughout the land.
The king of had twelve beautiful daughters, each of them fairer than the flowers in spring or the trees in autumn. And although his people thought him blessed for this, the king himself thought it a curse, for his daughters loved nothing more than to dance. They would dance, if they could, every night from dusk to dawn. The king, who did not approve of such licentious behavior, grew stern. He berated the princesses for their lack of regard for their family's honor, and gave orders that each night they should be locked up in their room.
At first the princesses wailed and cried, but soon enough they grew placid and agreeable, and the king began to think his family's honor was saved. But then the servants began to whisper amongst themselves, and at last word reached the ear of the king himself: somehow, the princesses were going out dancing every night. For each night, the twelve princesses retired to their room wearing twelve pairs of soft new shoes, and each morning, the maid found the shoes lying carelessly upon the floor, their soles worn right through from dancing.
The king's rage and despair upon hearing this was both terrifying and pitiable. He called each of his daughters to him in turn; each protested her innocence and professed herself unable to account for the state of the shoes.
In desperation, the king issued a proclamation: Whosoever might discover the secret of where the princesses went to dance would receive a marvelous reward: he would gain the hand in marriage of the princess of his choice, and live in the castle, and be king hereafter. But any who tried in vain would be put to death, for his attempt would of necessity involve spending the night with the princesses, and if he were not to marry one of them, the king's honor would not allow him to live.
There were many young men in the kingdom, it seemed, who desired to marry a beautiful princess and live in the castle and be king hereafter. But none of them succeeded in the task, and they were all of them put to death.
And the princesses continued to dance merrily until the dawn, every night.
The woodcutter's handsome face was solemn as he recalled the tale. "So you've a yen to marry a princess?" He raised one dark eyebrow.
The soldier took a moment to admire the young man's figure as he stood there, his hands on his hips, sweat running down his finely-sculpted chest, before answering the woodcutter's question. "No, I've no desire for a princess. But I find I'm strangely inclined to live in a castle, and be king hereafter."
"Ah, there's many a man has had such a wish, and all of them lie buried at the foot of the tallest tower. I'm thinking 'twould be a shame to see you there too, that handsome head cut from your shoulders."
"You'll not dissuade me from my task." The soldier shook his head regretfully.
"Then can I tempt you to tarry here a while?" the woodcutter asked. "For I've to finish my work here and take the wood to my grandmother, and then my time's my own. I can offer you a bed for the night and a bite to eat, and tomorrow, some company upon your way. For I'm thinking it's high time I had a sight of the king's castle, living so near as I do."
And so the soldier, whose name was Reuben, sat there against the tree while the woodcutter, named Corin, finished chopping the wood, then helped him carry it to his grandmother's house.
The old woman thanked them kindly after they had stacked the cut logs high beneath the eaves of her cottage, and brought them a dish of tea that they might refresh themselves after their labors. When Corin told her of the journey they were to make upon the morrow, she looked at Reuben with eyes that seemed to see more than his straight back and handsome features. She beckoned him closer and bade him tell her of the feat he intended, and when he had finished, extracted a promise from him that they would call upon her once more on their way to the castle.
Corin gave Reuben a bed for the night and a bite to eat, and as they sat by the fire in his humble dwelling, they spoke of many things. Reuben told Corin of the village in which he had grown up, nestled at the foot of the mountains which loomed majestically over the plains, no less beautiful for all their harshness. Corin, in his turn, spoke of the forest, and of his grandmother who had raised him, and of her many wise ways.
And as the firelight began to flicker, and the daylight faded fully, Corin asked a question that had been burning in his mind all day long. "Will you tell me, Reuben, why you're so against marrying a princess? For the king's daughters are said to be the fairest maidens in all the land."
Reuben smiled. "I think, Corin, you know the answer to that question. No maiden, be she the fairest in all the land, will ever win my heart. I've known all my life, though 'twas only today I met the man who might win it, if he chooses."
Corin, his heart swelling in surprise and joy, leaned over and pressed a kiss against Reuben's lips.
His kiss was warm and honest, and tasted of the ale they'd shared with their supper. The hands upon Reuben's face were work-roughened but gentle, and Reuben returned the kiss with delight and an urgency he had not expected to feel. For this morning he had viewed the prospect of death should he fail in his task, with equanimity; but now he found he had something he wished to live for.
Calloused fingers fumbled with clothing, and stubbled chins rasped upon flesh as the fever gripped them both, to love this night as though it might be their last. As the candles guttered and the fire went out, moonlight shone through the tiny windows of the cottage and illuminated them both: one tall, broad-shouldered and fair, the other slighter and dark, but no less strong.
As Reuben caressed his slender lover, the trembling in his fingers was answered by the quiver of Corin's flesh beneath his touch. Reuben pulled him close so each might steady the other, and kissed him passionately upon his lips, and throat, and breast.
Corin's skin tasted both salty and sweet, and the music of his cries was more beautiful even than the song of the nightingale that flitted around the cottage calling for his mate. The heavy aroma of wood smoke lingered in the air, but far more intoxicating was the scent of Corin's body, its earthy musk mingling with the fragrance of the pine trees among which he lived and worked.
Reuben yearned to know every inch of his lover, to claim him with a fierceness that was its own surrender. And Corin gave eagerly of himself, his skin soft, his limbs pliant, and his body opening like the flowers in springtime to Reuben's wondering touch. As Reuben slid inside his lover, he knew his heart had been stolen from him never to return. But he rejoiced, for Corin had given his own heart in exchange. No words were shared as they moved together, bodies slick with their mingled sweat, for what words could compare to the tale told by hands and limbs and hearts?
And when they reached their peak, although that moment of shared ecstasy was almost too much to bear, nevertheless both of them wished it would never end. But end it did, as all things must, and they lay together, exhausted, sweating, and content, watching as the clouds cleared from the moon and its soft light fell upon them once more.
In the morning they awoke entwined, and after they had once more sated their newfound passion for each other, they set out towards the castle.
As they had promised, they stopped in first at Corin's grandmother's cottage. She invited them in and bade them sit a moment whilst she made her slow and halting way to an old chest in the darkest corner of the cottage. She brought forth a cloak that shimmered like spiders' webs, and an ancient tarnished necklace from which hung a twisted-looking charm fashioned of bone or ivory.
"Mind, my pretty young man, keep this on always." She placed the necklace over Reuben's head, and he bent almost double to allow her to reach. "For those princesses will be up to all manner of tricks and spells, you may be sure of it, and this will warn you of them. When you wish to follow them, put on this cloak, and they'll see no more of you than a shadow."
Reuben took the things she gave him gratefully, and promised to bring them back safely once he had accomplished his task. The old woman cackled with delight. "Mind you come back with your head upon your shoulders, my lovely!" she called after him, as they set off through the forest to the castle.
When Reuben and Corin reached the castle, they were received with sorrow by the servants, but the king rejoiced to see such a fine young man as Reuben come to help him with his wayward daughters. For indeed, the princesses' behavior gravely troubled the king, for a reason known to none but him.
The king, when first he came to the throne, had had a sister. She was much younger than he and more beautiful than a summer's day, or the snows in winter. And although his mother had died bearing her---or perhaps, indeed, because of this, for he sorely needed someone to love---the king had doted upon her and indulged her every whim. What this sister loved best of all was to dance. She danced every night, and the people of the kingdom loved her for it, for she would dance with everyone: rich or poor, noble or peasant.
But one day she came to her brother the king and confessed she had done more than dance, and was with child. The king flew into a terrible rage, and ordered she be taken to the farthest reaches of the kingdom, up into the dark and treeless mountains that glowered over the plains, there to be walled up alive in a cave.
When those whom he had charged with this awful task returned and reported 'twas done, the king had them put to death so none might live to spread word of his family's disgrace. He had it put about the princess had died of a fever, and there was mourning throughout the land, for she had been greatly loved. But although the king grieved too, yet he was easy in his mind, for the honor of his family was safe.
And so he continued until the day he learned of his daughters' nighttime activities---when he began to fear they must share his sister's terrible fate. He longed to be rid of his anxieties and greeted with joy anyone who might help him.
The king put a royal robe upon Reuben's back, and made him and Corin---whom he took to be Reuben's servant---welcome. There was feasting and merriment, but Reuben made sure to drink no wine so he might keep his wits about him, and he kept the old woman's necklace hidden within his shirt, and the cloak secure in a bag that never left his side.
When night fell, servants conducted Reuben to the chamber next the princesses' room, and here Corin was to leave him. But Corin would not go.
"If this is to be the last night you spend upon this Earth, I would not leave you alone," he told the man who had captured his heart.
Reuben smiled, and stroked the face which had quickly become so dear to him. "But you cannot stay. Your grandmother's cloak will cover only one man. Corin, my heart, I would take you with me if I could, but it is not to be."
"Only one man, you say?" Corin questioned with a grin and a quirk of his eyebrow. "Then if I am not a man, I may stay. You were not the only one to whom my grandmother gave a gift."
And as Reuben watched in amazement, Corin took a medal from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. At once, his beloved form began to shrink, and Reuben started forward in alarm. He could only watch as Corin grew smaller and smaller, his dear features changing, until at last there stood at Reuben's feet a little mouse twitching his whiskers in amusement at his lover's astonishment.
Recovering himself, Reuben smiled, and scooped the little mouse up tenderly. He placed him carefully into a pocket, and sat upon the bed to await what might pass.
It was not long before there came a gentle knock upon the door, and the king's eldest daughter entered, her long, fair hair piled up upon her head and dressed with diamonds. She held in her dainty fingers a golden pomander upon a silver thread.
"Good sir." She smiled sweetly. "Let me give you this, to fragrance your room and bring you sweet dreams."
Reuben thanked her kindly, and she withdrew. But the charm around his neck began to burn, and he knew at once the pomander had some evil spell upon it, and so he cast it out of the window to the left of his room, all the while holding his breath to evade its seductive, treacherous fumes.
The pomander was found in the courtyard next morning by the children of the castle servants, who played football with it until overcome by a strange lassitude, and their mothers were greatly astonished to see them fast asleep on the ground.
Once more, Reuben sat down to wait.
After a short while, there came a second knock upon the door, and the king's second daughter entered, her dark hair loose and dressed with rubies. She carried a fur coverlet in her slender arms. "Good sir," she told him, "let me give you this, to warm your bed and bring you sweet dreams."
Again, he thanked her and as she left, and the necklace burned once more, so he cast the coverlet out of the window to the right of his bed.
It was later found by a young vixen, who dragged it back to her den to warm her cubs, and they were all greatly astonished when they next awoke to find they had slept away half the summer.
Reuben sat down to wait once more.
Then came a third knock upon the door, and the king's third daughter entered, her auburn hair in ringlets and dressed with emeralds, bearing a golden cup of richly spiced wine in her soft, white hands. She smiled. "Good sir, let me give you this, to relax your mind and bring you sweet dreams."
Reuben scarcely waited to feel the necklace burn before he poured the wine into the chamber pot under his bed.
It was found next morning by the chambermaid, who ran to the housekeeper crying, "See, the soldier must be of royal blood! For his water is of pure wine!" The housekeeper boxed her ears soundly for her foolishness.
Reuben sat down to wait once more, fearful he might have nine more visits to suffer through this night; but no further knock came upon his door. Thus satisfied he had evaded the princesses' tricks, he lay down upon the bed and pretended to sleep.
A long time seemed to pass. All was silent, and Reuben uttered a gentle snore or two to give the impression he was asleep. When he finally heard the door creak slowly open, he made sure to keep his eyes tight shut.
"He's away with the fairies, dear sisters, just like all the rest!" came the voice of the eldest princess. There was a soft, rippling sound, as of a stream that trickled merrily down the mountain to bring freshness and life to the plains below, and Reuben knew it must be laughter. He wondered at how these princesses, outwardly so gentle, could be so hardhearted as to condemn him and many others to death for the sake of a night's jollity.
But one dissenting voice was heard, and from the wistful, childish sound of it, Reuben guessed that it was the king's youngest daughter who spoke. "But he is such a fine young man! Truly, it seems a shame he should die for our pleasure."
But the other princesses mocked her. "Sifster! You are too soft! Remember, his blood is not on our hands, but on those of the king, our father."
Their voices moved away, and Reuben heard a great rustling of dresses and good-natured squabbling over the looking glass as the princesses decked themselves in their finery and prepared for their frolics.
As soon as he was sure he was no longer observed, Reuben sprang up. Always mindful of the little mouse nestled in his pocket, more dear to him than anything in this world or the next, he flung on the cloak the old woman had given him. After he had done so, he made his way softly to the looking glass that hung upon the wall to see if Corin's grandmother had spoke truth, and indeed, it was as if he were no more than a shadow cast by the light of the candles flickering upon the dresser.
Stealthily, Reuben crept out of his chamber. The last of the princesses laced her dancing shoe, and the others impatiently whispered to her to make haste. At length she was ready, and the eldest princess took a candle from the dresser and walked three times around the room, chanting:
"The sun is set;
The moon doth rise.
Take us where our pleasure lies."
As she spoke the last word, a trap door appeared in the center of the room. The princesses laughed and clapped as their eldest sister opened the door and stepped carefully down the staircase that lay beneath.
Reuben hurried to follow, fearful he might be left behind. In his haste, he brushed against the shoulder of the youngest daughter. She let out a little cry. "Sisters! Something touched me!"
But they paid her no mind. "You silly goose! It was only the spiders' webs catching your dress."
And so they carried on down the stairs and emerged in a most wondrous place where the trees were made of silver and their leaves sparkled in the light of the moon. As Reuben came through the grove, the youngest daughter turned, and caught sight of a flicker of motion as he passed between the trees. "Sisters!" she cried. "I fear we are followed, for I saw something move!"
"You simpleton!" they mocked her. "See, it is nothing but your own shadow!" For although they all looked directly at Reuben, the old woman's cloak hid him well, and he seemed to them no more substantial than a shadow cast by the moonlight.
They walked on, arriving at a grove where the trees were all of gold, leaves shining like stars. Wishing to take something to prove where he had been, Reuben snapped off a branch. The noise of it startled the youngest princess. "Sisters!" she cried again. "I heard a noise and I am sure we are followed!"
And this time, they began to take her fears seriously, and Reuben worried he might be discovered ---but the little mouse that was Corin jumped out of his pocket and ran about the feet of the youngest princess, squeaking loudly. At this her sisters began to mock her once more. "You foolish child! You are frightened of every thing that moves."
Reuben breathed easily again as the little mouse ran back up his leg and into his pocket.
They walked on and soon came to the shores of a great lake. The moon shone brightly upon the water, and on the opposite side of the lake lay a magnificent castle. Twelve little boats were moored at the water's edge, and in each boat sat a handsome prince. Each of the princesses ran joyfully to a boat, where her prince greeted her with a kiss. Fearing to be left behind, Reuben jumped into the boat which held the youngest princess.
They rowed across the lake, the prince complaining all the while he had no strength tonight, for his brother princes easily outpaced him and the boat seemed far heavier than it ought. When they reached the other side, each prince swung his fair passenger out of the boat and they all proceeded to the castle.
Music played: a wild, wanton song that stirred the blood and teased the soul. Reuben was glad once more his love was with him, for this sort of music steals the heart away. The princesses skipped and spun in their lovers' arms, their feet seeming barely to touch the floor. As the night drew on the tempo rose, until Reuben could scarce distinguish one couple from another in their feverish whirl. The scent of candle smoke and perfume filled the air, and his eyes were assaulted by the rainbow of silks and satins worn by the dancers. Drunk upon it all, Reuben at length sought sanctuary outside, where Corin jumped from his pocket and, spitting out the medal, became human once more.
Reuben clung to him, fearing to let go of the one solid thing in this reeling palace of the senses.
Corin smiled fondly, and traced Reuben's lips with a finger. "I think his grace the king is right to fear the consequences of his daughters' actions. Yet, I cannot help but feel this trouble is of his own making."
Reuben returned the smile, but it had a rueful edge. "Aye, my heart. There's no pleasure so dear as one which is forbidden."
"What will he do, do you think, when you tell him of these revels? For tell him you must, or your life shall be forfeit."
Reuben looked away from his love, and his soul ached with the emptiness that lies between the stars that call out to one another, regal yet alone. "I cannot think it will end well," he said at last. "Yet perhaps it is right, so. For these fair maidens---if such they yet be---have caused the death of many a young man."
"And caused other young men to fear for those more dear to them than their own lives," Corin's hand brushed softly across Reuben's face. Suddenly he shook his head. "But come, lover, let us not be melancholy, for there is music and moonlight, and 'twere a sin not to dance!"
So dance they did, alone and free in the gentle light of the moon, while the waters of the lake lapped gently at the shores and the strains of the music wafted out to them on the breeze. And if truth be told, they did more than dance to show their love for one another.
At length the princesses emerged from the castle, their shoes now torn and tattered from their revels. Quickly Corin popped the medal back into his mouth and became a mouse once more, and Reuben donned the cloak and jumped into a boat, and they and the princesses were rowed back across the lake.
In the morning, Reuben was summoned to the king's presence. He walked proudly into the great hall where the king sat in state, his courtiers clustered around the throne. Behind Reuben tiptoed the princesses, and he wondered if their stony hearts felt joy or compassion as they anticipated what would befall him. In his pocket sat Corin, once more in the guise of a mouse, and Reuben's heart sighed with love and tenderness as he felt his little companion tremble. He knew that Corin, though he would not confess it, worried Reuben might yet be tempted by the thought of marrying a princess, living in the castle, and being king hereafter.
The king leaned forward with an eager gaze. "Well, man? What can you tell me?"
The eyes of his advisors seemed hungry as they waited for him to confess his failure.
"Sire," Reuben began, his back as straight as ever and his tone of one equal to another, "I have learned where your daughters go at night."
The king's expression betrayed his eagerness, but the courtiers muttered scornfully and behind him, Reuben heard one of the princesses laugh merrily. Undaunted, he recounted the story of the staircase, and the groves---bringing out the golden branch he had taken---and the lake, and the princes, and the castle. As he spoke, the king's smile grew broader and more terrible, and the princesses wept and trembled to hear their secret had been discovered.
At length Reuben finished his tale, and the king rose from his throne. "You have done well, young man, and you shall have your reward. You shall marry one of my daughters, and live in the castle, and be king when I am gone."
But Reuben stood boldly before the king. "I thank you, Sire, but I'll tell you straight: had I any desire for a wife, which I have not, I'd still have no use for a woman who values her own pleasure above the lives of a dozen young men. I'll tell you this also: a man reaps what he sows, and for all your fine talk of your family's honor, the truth is there is none. You're a man without honor, Sire, and you've raised your daughters to be the same."
Here the king half rose from his throne, and his face was as white as the may-bells that bloomed upon the plains, and his whole frame quivered like monkshood in the wind. But when he opened his mouth, it seemed that he had lost the power of speech, so great was his agitation, and so Reuben continued.
"I am the son of your own sister, whom you had walled up alive in the name of that honor. A goatherd heard her piteous cries and rescued her. He took her home, and when I was born he raised me as his own." Here Reuben had to raise his voice, for all around him were shocked murmurings and cries of "The princess!" and "Murder!"
"A full and happy life they lived together, she more comfortable there in his humble cottage than ever she had been in this gilded cage of yours. But they are both dead now, buried side by side in the shadow of the mountain they both loved so well, and so I had a mind to come here and see this place where she lived her early life.
"I came dressed as a soldier, ready to do battle and take back all that was stolen from her. But I find I've no stomach for the fight, now that I've seen what it is like to live in a castle, and to be king. For truly she missed it not, and indeed, I fear 'twould leech all the honor and the joy out of me to bide with a man who'd kill his only sister and her blameless child."
There was a great clamor as Reuben finished his speech. As one, the people, who had listened in amazement and horror, rose up against their king. He was executed that very day in the shadow of the tallest tower, on the same spot where so many fine young men had met their death.
"But what of his daughters?" the highest-ranked of all the courtiers asked Reuben. "Will you marry one, and be our king, now?"
"Let their princes marry them, if they will," Reuben answered. "And let one of them come here and be king. For I find I've no desire, after all, to live in a castle and be king, and I'd rather go back to my simple life now my task is done."
So he left the castle, taking his beloved with him, and they returned to the forest. They took back the gifts to Corin's grandmother, who cackled with glee once more when she saw Reuben's head indeed still rested upon his shoulders.
And as for the princesses, eleven of them found, to their sorrow, their princes, so attentive at their revels, had no desire to marry them. For it is a sad fact many a woman, when taking a lover, seeks out a man in the image of her father, whether she knows it or not.
But the youngest daughter, the only tenderhearted one of all of them, found her prince loved her truly---or, at least, well enough to marry her and gain a kingdom by it. And so the kingdom once more had a king, and, mindful of his own wife's past, he paid no heed to foolish notions of honor, and proved a wise and lenient ruler.
And Reuben and Corin lived together in the forest in the simple manner they both had been raised to love, caring for one another and for the old woman whose wise ways had helped them. And they never ceased to love one another throughout their long and happy lives.
Swan Made
by Mina Kelly
The air around the lake was purple-blue with shadows and damp air, and dry orange sunshine interrupting where places had been laid for fishermen to sit at weekends. Joseph picked his way past the pockmarks of camping stools and organic detritus, and back into the cool shade under the willows. Midges swarmed around him; occasionally he'd lift a hand to bat away the larger clouds, but he was one of those blessed with bad-tasting blood and didn't put too much effort in.
He followed with unfocused eyes the lazy path of a dragonfly to a storm cloud of insects. They were a few paces back from the lake, circling something hidden by a rotten branch. Joseph walked over for a closer look, mud sucking at his boots.
Something had been deliberately hidden under the log; the realization was unpleasant and set his stomach churning. Pushing the wood aside, his fingers dug into something a different kind of soft. Bright white feathers, now fingerprinted with green slime, shimmered in the dappled light.
Joseph rocked back on his heels. It must have died very recently, since to his nose the body didn't even smell, though something must have attracted the buzzing carrion eaters. Why someone had hidden it? To stop kids seeing it? To stop dogs getting at it? Or---no, was it illegal to kill swans, or just to eat them?
He swallowed, throat dry despite the humid air. He reached down to run the back of a finger across the snowy wing. There weren't any swans out on the lake today. He hadn't realized until now, though the mob of ducks had followed his every footstep from the water, pursuing him around the lake's circumference. The geese were there, mobbing a young woman with a pushchair on the opposite side of the lake. Moorhens and coots circled each other in the marshy reeds. Even a heron whooped somewhere in the distance. But there were no swans.
Joseph tugged on the wing, extending it and letting it fall back. There was no stiffness in the body yet, but it was no longer warm to the touch. Though he knew birds were by nature light, muscle memory from last Sunday's chicken insisted it ought to be heavier as he rolled it over. There was a large, flat stone beneath the body, keeping it clean and dry. He felt around, burying his fingers deep among the feathers, looking for head or feet or air-rifle wound. Nothing.
His first thought brought bile to the back of his throat, and he dropped the bird again before his fingers could encounter the wounds he thought he'd find. The feathers spread across the mud, flattening themselves into a shape with no resemblance to a living bird. There was little to suggest it ever had been, Joseph realized, apart from those magnificent wings woven into it. It appeared to be some kind of coat.
He picked it up again, standing to relieve the cramp in his thighs. Holding it up now it was obvious that it was a cloak; he felt foolish for thinking it had been the body of a swan. The wings rested on the shoulders, the whole thing long enough to reach his calves. It had a high, downy collar, but that was all the neck this bird had.
His first thought was that someone had abandoned it in order to swim, but he could see from where he stood that there was no one in the lake. He couldn't imagine any sane person would want to be in the lake this time of year. If a person had taken it off because they were too hot, they'd left it in a strange place. Such careful positioning meant it hadn't been merely dropped. Had someone stolen it and hidden it to retrieve later?
Whatever had happened, Joseph felt certain the owner wasn't nearby. Best to take it home and give the police a call. It had to be worth something, a jacket like this. If it was even legal to have a jacket like this; after all, if only the queen could eat swans, it was a fair bet only she could wear them.
He meant to call the police as soon as he got home, but good intentions got lost among the paving stones. His cats hissed and spat as he approached the front door, and stalked backwards on stiff legs, backs arched and fur on end. On the other side of the garden wall waterfowl responded by hissing back. Joseph wondered if it was another swan, pained by the skinning of its sibling. He put the coat in the closet under the stairs---out of the cats' reach---and decided feeding them was the best way back into their hearts. After their dinner came his, while he watched a DVD with his feet on the coffee table and no memory at all of the strange coat.
Joseph woke to the blinking blue light of the unset DVD player clock. He stared at it, trying to work out how he had come so abruptly out of sleep. He pondered, stretching, his vertebrae popping back into place one at a time. It wasn't the slight pains from falling asleep on the sofa that had woken him. He wasn't thirsty, or too hot, or too cold. The distant roar of traffic offered no clues, and most of the in-house noises could be attributed to the still-disgruntled cats.
The bolt on the kitchen door squealed. He knew that noise: someone had drawn back the bolt.
Joseph half sat up, trying to keep below the back of the couch and stay out of sight of whoever had just entered. He pulled his legs to his chest and eased them to the floor, socked feet whispering on the polished floorboards. Behind him, the hinges of his back door creaked. Stopped. Creaked again. The intruder must have been hoping he or she wouldn't be heard. There was the crunch of feet on broken glass and a sharp breath. Joseph realized the intruder breaking the window that woke him. There would be blood on the kitchen floor tomorrow.
The cats' hissing made him jump. The intruder hissed back---harsher, higher and almost inhuman. The cats yowled, sending shivers down Joseph's spine, and their claws clattered as they fled across the stone floor. At least they hadn't run towards Joseph, revealing his hiding place.
They were pursued by the faint smack of bare feet. It was enough to bring Joseph curling around the edge of the couch, squinting through the unlit room. There was no door between the living room and the kitchen and he had a clear view all the way to the back door if he craned his neck a little.
The silhouette in his kitchen was outlined by the full moon: completely smooth, not a line or crease to even hint at clothing. The man looked around him and flexed long fingers, clenching them into fists and pulling them up to his chest where they were hidden by his torso. The action made the muscles on his arms stand out, but his body was lean in comparison. His hair feathered around his head, silver in the moonlight. It moved to a breeze Joseph couldn't feel, and he realized with a jolt the man was turning. He jerked back behind the couch, his hip hitting the coffee table. It shuddered.
"I know you took it."
Joseph rolled onto his back, trapped between the couch and coffee table.
"I want it back."
He watched the stranger calmly crouch on the sofa, with arms resting on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. The moonlight didn't reach the cozy living room, and in the blue light of the DVD player his skin was ghostly pale and his eyes nicotine yellow.
"Want what?" Joseph asked. His voice was steady but his hands shook. He couldn't imagine what the naked stranger could want from him, unless it was clothes.
The man's lips rode up in a parody of a smile. "I know you've hidden it, and you know I'll do what it takes to get my skin back."
Joseph bit back the urge to echo the stranger's words, as though doing so would make more sense of them. The stranger met his eyes and Joseph wondered if his confusion was evident or whether he should say something.
He saw the stranger's calves twitch. His legs extended and the man dove over the couch like a fishing bird. He plunged head first to meet Joseph's unsuspecting lips. His hands followed, grabbing Joseph's shoulders and pushed him down. Joseph hit the floor with a bone-jarring thud, head falling back. The stranger dropped his hips to meet Joseph's, and Joseph thrust against him. The stranger folded long legs under him, straddling Joseph, pinning him.
The whole movement was swift and brutal, but it ran before Joseph's eyes like slow-motion photography. The stranger tilted his head to one side, and Joseph's cock hardened. The man was stunning, sharp cheekbones and wild eyes, almost animal. Dominantly feral. He lowered his face to Joseph's, butting his head against Joseph's cheek, and catching Joseph's mouth with his own. Joseph lost track of the world, taken solely with the insistent softness of his lips, the hardness of the teeth behind them. Lust curdled inside him, holding his muscles taut and shooting static through his thoughts. His confusion dissolved, though it was not replaced by any kind of certainty.
A groan escaped from Joseph's throat, thrumming through his mouth and into the other man's. The stranger's wordless answer was high and fluting. He pushed Joseph's sleep-crumpled shirt up and over his head, and ran his hands back down Joseph's body to rid him of his trousers. The heat of his bare skin against Joseph's sent a spike of fire to his groin. Joseph's breath came in short gasps, air held high in his chest, and his hips snapped against the other man's with no pretense at control. He felt like a teenager again, so close so soon, and he was glad the stranger had stripped him. Relinquishing control---he'd never had had the nerve back then---it made him so...just... He couldn't hold on to the thought. His mind began to tighten, to focus on one white-hot point until conscious thought burnt up and his whole body burned with the intensity of his release.
He returned to himself slowly to find the other man slumped against him, apparently sated as well. Joseph wasn't sure how much he'd contributed to the stranger's pleasure, but at least he didn't have to worry about sexual etiquette. Half-formed thoughts of burglars and cleaning and other people's clothes lapped at the edge of Joseph's mind; they became the soothing waves that helped him drift to sleep.
He almost ruined everything when he scrambled eggs for breakfast.
Luckily, equilibrium was regained in the form of fresh watercress. The stranger offered no help in fixing the window he'd broken, but seemed in no hurry to leave. He watched Joseph nailed a piece of plywood to the broken pane and tape around the edges. Joseph sanded absently at a splintered edge and glanced over his shoulder.
"Do you have a name?" Joseph asked.
"No."
In the daylight the stranger looked almost albino, with skin and hair silver white. His eyes were yellow, ruining the illusion, but Joseph thought there might be a name for that condition, too. He was heavily scarred, especially on the legs and neck, but he'd refused clothes when Joseph offered.
Joseph put his tools away. His only warning that the stranger was behind him was the distorted reflection in the steel range. The stranger pinned him to the kitchen counter with his hips, forcing them forward as Joseph's head fell back against him. The stranger's teeth in the crook of his neck held him still and submissive, though he would not have taken much persuasion and Joseph hadn't even considered resisting..
They left stains under the overhang of the counter top.
Through the slowly rotating days they left stains on the kitchen table, on the couch, in the bed, and the bathtub. The stranger enjoyed the water, though he preferred it much cooler than Joseph's taste.
Joseph learned little things about the stranger, like his refusal to eat anything but bitter greens and peppery salad. He didn't mind much what Joseph ate for the most part, but he would not speak to him for days when had chicken curry for dinner.
Joseph coaxed him into bed eventually, apologizing more profusely with his body than his mouth, but after they made love the stranger drew away. Joseph ran a finger down the knobbles of his spine; his lover had abandoned his grudge, but even though this was normal it still left Joseph a little bereft. His lover rolled back towards him, consenting to Joseph's arm across his waist. But Joseph woke later when his arm was carefully placed on his chest. He prized gritty eyes open to see his lover settle into a kneeling position, face buried in the pillow. Joseph grinned, and fell asleep again.
He knew he ought to find it odd the stranger couldn't read or write, but he wasn't. What did surprise him was finding his lover putting up the shelves Joseph had forgotten he'd even bought. He wasn't sure DIY was best performed in the nude, but it was entertaining to watch. He could see the muscles of the stranger's shoulders sliding up and down his spine, rippling beneath his silk-smooth skin. When Joseph checked the shelves out of curiosity later, he found them perfectly level. The stranger's fitful bursts of household chores never lasted long, but he was always thorough.
Joseph wasn't sure why he accepted the stranger's presence so easily. It had been a long time since a lover had consented to live with him, and experience taught Joseph he was hard to live with. He'd resigned himself to his cottage and his cats, deemed too old and too solid-looking by those skinny boys he used to know. The stranger did not care that Joseph had wiry graying hair or the scars of long-forgotten laughter and better-remembered frowns on his face. The stranger did not care that they seemed to have little in common. He didn't talk about himself---he rarely spoke at all---but his moods were dramatic and easy to read. Experimentation found a path of least resistance, and they settled around each other like a brooding bird on its eggs.
When Joseph had to leave the house, normalcy intervened in their eccentric routine--- food had to be bought or bills to be paid---and he would come home to hissing cats and an awkwardly arranged house. Things would be out of place or out of order, books on the wrong shelves and pans in the wrong cupboards. The couch would be two feet forward of where it usually lived. The wardrobe doors would be wide open. The stranger would stand near the door, waiting for him, unaware of the dust smeared across his chest or the scratches on his back.
Joseph forgave him, bemused, with kisses and the sweat-slick slide of bodies against each other.
The news was good and bad. Good because actually having a job again was both a salve to Joseph's ego and a relief to the financial pressures he'd faced as he tried to support two on state benefits for one. Bad because he would only rarely be at home. He worried whatever his lover searched for while he was away for brief periods might not survive a more prolonged investigation. Was their domestic security worth sacrificing for a job he wasn't particularly enthusiastic about?
It was with trepidation Joseph returned to the house, the ink on his new employment contract still wet. He thought he might break it to his lover after the usual pantomime of innocence and forgiveness, after sex in the late afternoon sun. The interview process had kept him away from home far longer than usual. But he would be gone longer hours each day once he began the job. He would beg forgiveness tonight, he promised himself, and would fall before his lover and let the thrusting of their hips override the tension in his gut. Afterward, nerves calm, it would sound like good news.
But today his lover was not waiting for him at the door. He was not in the living room, or the kitchen, or the bedroom.
Joseph descended from the dusty upper floor, footsteps hollow on the bare stairs. Three steps sounded different today; they were above the under-stair cupboard. Leaning over the railing, Joseph noticed its door was open.
The feeling was intense and immediate---horror without knowing what was horrifying. He swallowed down the urge to hope the handrail. Instead he took the steps two at a time and pivoted around the final banister, socked feet on slippery wood. He skidded to a halt in front of the cupboard.
The gloom was unenlightening. The coats hung in their usual order; the shoes were scattered on the floor beneath them. The toolbox was open, but he could see the orange handles and disorganized nails from where he stood. Umbrellas, winter clothes, cat box, long-empty fish tank---
Of course.
He hadn't believed it, not really. He hadn't lived four decades to think things like that happened to people like him.
But, past tense, it had.
The first time, it was just a walk.
The second time it was a longer walk, but still just a walk.
The third time he took bread and stopped walking to feed the ducks, but only they were interested. Not a goose approached him, let alone a swan. Joseph scowled at the emerald heads and speckled wings.
When the weekend came---after he'd fought every day to keep at the job he'd only just started, when each hour at the desk felt like a painful waste of time---he took another loaf of bread, a pair of stout boots, and a bag of the most expensive pondweed the garden center would sell him.
He started out as the sun came up.
A thin white haze covered the dawn lake, dissipating before it could touch visceral earth. Dark ghosts moved through it, waterfowl taking their exercise before the fishermen and dog walkers arrived. It was noisier, now, a mess of birdcalls from the reeds and banks. Trills and whoops didn't help Joseph, though---what he sought was famous for only singing once.
He hadn't sung, Joseph remembered, but his silences had usually been stubborn, and he certainly wasn't going to betray himself to Joseph now.
The mud around the edge of the lake was grey-green with scum. It ran rings around the bottom of his trousers, a layered stain with tiger stripes from knee-high grass, and the footprints he left oozed themselves flat again. Joseph had hoped to find prints---human or bird---but they left no more trace than he did.
There was a suggestion of rain in the purple sky and a metallic tang to the air. The mist over the lake dispersed slowly as the day warmed, but resolved itself as low clouds instead. Joseph circled the lake in ever-increasing rings, forcing his way through thorny bushes, tangling himself in long briars, and dropping to a crouch to make sure he missed nothing in the summer-brown bracken. It was slimy with dew and creeping black mould. The briars were black too, heavy with overripe fruit that left furry white smears on his bare skin. He missed the walks of spring, as much as he loved this season. Mists and moldy fruitfulness.
Maybe it was the wrong time of year. The wrong time of month, or day. Should he have come at full moon?
He didn't know how far out to go, but his path began to overlap with fields and houses so he spiraled his way back in again. There was no trace of his earlier path, nor anyone else's.
He ate a little of the bread he had brought. It was stale at the ends and damp in the middle, but it made substitute enough for missed meals. A faint pain started at the back of his head---a reaction to the sugar-low light-headedness---and wound its way between his eyes. He dragged his hair across his eyes to cut out the glare of the sun on the lake. It hadn't rained but it still threatened to, the sun three times its size behind the bruised coat of clouds, and the lake was a blinding mirror.
He reached his starting point at noon without seeing so much as a single white feather. The hooper swans had flown. Migrated. Some swans did, Joseph knew that. They'd watched it together on the television, the only time his lover had paid any attention to the flickering colors on the screen. They were not graceful in the air, but they could hold themselves aloft and reach places Joseph never could.
He held his hand to his eyes and peered across the lake. Its glowing surface was interrupted by dark flecks, but it was too bright to know what they were.
The lake darkened, the glare subsiding. Joseph felt the urgency of knowing it could not last. He squinted as if tightening the muscles around his eyes could make him see sooner, or tightening those of his legs made him run faster. The shadows resolved themselves into ducks and floating branches. The geese had gone, he realized, and would not be back 'til spring. It ought to have made his life easier, but it left him bereft of even false hope.
The air changed color. Grey, then the rain, itself grey. Thunder rolled around the lake like a traveling orchestra's lost timpani.
One shadow was larger than the others. Indistinct in the rain, but long and low. A long shape rose and fell.
The rain thickened. The swimmer, or the swan, was lost.
It was still raining at midnight. Joseph stood in his kitchen, abandoning the morning's supplies on his table before leaving for another search. It would be cold out now, and he'd rather keep his hands buried in his pockets than carry anything. Though it was too dark to see well, he did not bring his flashlight. It was in the cupboard under the stairs.
There was no color in the world now, just wet smells and static sounds. Joseph stumbled through the reeds, staggering ankle deep into the lake and out again. His feet were dry inside his stout boots, but the chill of the water still worked its way inside instead. Numbness stretched its tendrils up his legs, strangely easy to ignore. He did not know what he was looking for, what vantage point he sought. The rain worked through his coat and though he did not feel wet, it left him open to the biting wind and gave him a pin-sharp pain across his forehead.
He stopped when he reached a patch of dried grass, shored up so it could jut into the lake. There was half a track behind it, less than a path but more than self-delusion. It was visible only because it had been recently used, the wet grass bent back around a furrow in the mud. It gleamed even in the dim light.
Joseph walked away from the lake, though he knew the short track had been made by someone heading towards it. He had only gone a few paces before his heavy shoes scuffed and dragged like a teenager's, everything in him a mix of unwilling and desperate.
The log where he'd found it that day had rotted further, mushrooms silver in the rain, and the stone behind it was covered with moss.
The track led no further, and Joseph hadn't expected it to. He hadn't expected to see the cloak, not really, but a lump came to his throat when there was nothing, not even a feather.
He felt he was owed a feather.
He stood until the rain slackened. It didn't stop altogether, but as it stopped pounding, so did his head. He took a deep breath, trying to ease the damp air past the lump in his throat.
His shoes squeaked in the mud as he turned. He cast his eyes down, watching the fallen leaves turn to mulch as he scuffed through them. There was something up ahead, something white.
His gaze moved up from toes, past ankles and knees and hips, stopping on the cloak, casually slung over a broad white shoulder.
"You're meant to ask people," the swan man said. "They give you advice. You're not meant to just...look."
"I would have told you where the cloak was," Joseph said. "I'd have given it back if you asked. I...thought it was a dead swan."
The swan snorted. "You're an unusually good man, you know that?" he said. "I've not met a man like you in centuries."
He placed a hand on Joseph's shoulder and pulled him close, stepping forward so they met hips first. His body was hot despite the night air---Joseph could feel it through his damp clothes. He barely felt the wetness on the swan's skin, but he could see it like a silver aura. He'd been tense with cold, but the swan's touch relaxed him so his shoulders dropped. He held his head high for the first time since his lover left. The swan cocked his head to one side, pressing his lips to Joseph's at a sharp angle. It was uncomfortable, a crush of teeth, but it made Joseph swallow and his lips parted eagerly. The swan smiled against them before he pulled away again.
"Everyone else has flown."
"Mute swans don't migrate," Joseph objected.
The swan rolled his eyes. "Do I sound mute to you?"
Joseph raised a hand and ran a finger along the swan's sharp cheekbone. The swan rubbed into the touch and Joseph thought of swans with their necks twined together.
"It's going to get cold. Colder. And the weather's already bad."
The swan chuckled. "I liked your straightforwardness. This isn't it."
"Fine. Come back with me. Stay."
"For the winter?"
"For as long as you like."
The swan considered this. He shrugged the cloak from his shoulder and draped it over Joseph. Even in the dark, Joseph could see the line of his erect cock, its tip glistening slightly.
Joseph reached, his stiff fingers curling around it. The swan let his hips fall forward and his head back, leaning into Joseph's other arm. He tugged Joseph gently towards him and buried his face in Joseph's neck, thrusting lazily into the circle of his hand. It was so familiar, Joseph felt the ache of homesickness and his eyes grew hot.
The swan tipped Joseph's head back and kissed him gently. Joseph closed his eyes, the night growing distant, and let the swan's tongue press against his bottom lip. It brushed his teeth until Joseph opened his mouth, his own tongue coming to meet it. He grew hard against the line of the swan's thigh, the rhythm of his own hips to the pumping of his fist.
His wet jeans chafed horribly; the swan pushed him away just enough to undo his trousers. The speckle of cold rain tickled like the shower when he climbed in too early, or when the stranger had control of the dial. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but he was relieved when the swan pressed close enough to shelter Joseph from the air. He thrust into the wet curve of the swan's hip, hand still trapped between them as the swan's pace increased, rocking against Joseph's palm.
The swan's eyes closed, his head dropping to Joseph's shoulder and his teeth scraping his collarbone. He groaned as he came, and the sound released something in Joseph and he came as well, a glistening line tracing the crook of the swan's thigh.
Joseph raised his hand to his mouth and licked the semen from the crook of his hand before the rain could wash it away.
"I can stay as long as I like?" the swan asked huskily.
"For years."
"All right."
Merman's Tail
by Jay Di Meo
As the waxing moon sank low in the sky, Karan glanced at his baskets filled with fish. Pleased with his catch, he rowed towards the shore. Strong strokes brought the boat alongside thick groves of glowing willows and ash. Strident laughter ran among patches of silvery reeds. A shiver climbed up Karan's spine, but he kept the rhythm of his rowing steady.
No wonder few fishermen ever came to this large lake to fish, although it teemed with life. Dangerous mermen frolicked and danced in the waters, cursed mortals, fools who'd stood against wizards or witches and now sought to drown hapless mortals. Nixies played among them, malevolent water horses, sprites of death.
Yet the reluctance of most fishermen to come here meant bigger catches for those who dared.
Hunger makes you brave. Need makes you bold.
Karan had been fishing here for weeks, but had not seen any of the cursed creatures yet. According to the tales, the spells that bound them grew stronger as the moon waxed.
He glanced uneasily at the silver disk in the sky. Soon it would be full. A distant splash rang and he shivered. I'll make it. A few more catches, then I'll leave this place of death forever.
He forced his thoughts elsewhere, lest fear drive him away like most of the other fishermen.
He'd sell his catch to the merchant tomorrow and send the coins to his sick mother. He let the oars rest and bowed his head. Would she make it through winter?
Stop worrying. He pushed long bangs from his eyes. She'll get the money and she'll be just fine.
Suddenly laughter and music erupted from the water near his boat. What's this? His hands clenched on the oars, his breath coming in short gasps. He hunched, making himself small.
Pure song burst out to his left, a melody made of notes without words, and a voice like a flute---high and perfect. A head broke the surface of the calm water and dark eyes gazed right at him.
Karan's sweaty hands squeaked on the oars. His mouth went dry. Oh God, they're here.
The male head rose---first, streaming pale hair; then a profile, white against the night. A huge dark tail splashed as the merman rose out of the water as far as his waist, singing to the moon. Other forms rose around him, their hair floating on the water in a carpet of colors.
Karan swallowed hard. The mermen's beauty, a shiny net, caught his uneasy mind.
The song broke off, and with a splash, the mermen gripped and rocked his boat like a cradle, laughing in high trills. Nixies joined them. The ghostly water horses neighed and shook their manes. Moonlight shone on the mermen's sinewy backs, long dark hair and upraised pale arms, and on the horses' glittering manes.
Karan clutched at the boat, trying to keep his balance, faint with fear. The mermen stared back at him with dark eyes. Silent now, they rocked the boat, again and again, their faces somber and implacable. They tipped the boat to the side and pulled the oars out of his hands.
Karan's chest heaved. Water began to fill the boat.
Another splash sounded. He glanced about, his pulse pounding in his ears.
Suddenly the rocking ceased and the mermen released the boat. Karan fell down, and water in the boat drenched him. He saw great fishtails waving in the air. Deafening screeches sent Karan's heart into a frenzy. He scrambled upright to have a look.
The waters frothed and bubbled. Arms grabbed tails; long hair sent water flying across the surface. A fight?
Then he saw him. One merman fought the others, hitting them with his arms and tail. He turned, dove, and surfaced again, shoving the others away in a sinuous dance, striking them with his body.
Why would a merman defend him?
A large, white-haired merman raised his long fishtail and hit Karan's protector, sending him splashing under the water. He vanished into the froth.
"No!" Karan leaned over and searched the water for sight of him.
The silvery forms fixed their gaze on him, still as statues. Then they swam away. Silence lay thick on the water.
Karan swallowed against a throat gone dry.
When a hand grabbed the prow, he cried out in alarm. The merman rose through the surface of the lake and dropped Karan's lost oars back inside the boat. A crest of light blue hair rose on his head, and longer strands floated around him and molded on his shoulders. Almond-shaped eyes of the darkest green stared at Karan, unblinking. Soft-looking lips pursed.
Karan stared back, entranced. He had never seen such a beautiful creature. The water glimmered on the merman's muscular chest and long neck. The hand that gripped Karan's boat was strong and long-fingered, the skin pale like snow. The desire to kiss those lips, to caress that body, rolled through Karan like a wave. As if under a spell, he reached out.
The merman's long tail hit the water, bringing Karan back to reality. "Your name?" said the merman in a deep voice.
Karan drew back, fear twisting his belly. "I'm Karan." He swallowed, gathered his frayed thoughts. "Thank you for helping me."
"Karan." The name sounded so different coming from the merman's lips. "Leave and never return. They will kill you if you stay."
Karan froze. "I can't leave. Not now. I need the catch, or my mother won't make it through winter. She'll die!"
The merman shook his head. "And if you die, you perish both." The green eyes flashed. "Your decision." He released his hold on the boat and disappeared into the water.
Karan stared at the ripples where the creature had sunk. I can't leave now. My mother needs the money.
He saw the lithe form break the surface about thirty feet away. The merman placed his hands on a rock and pulled himself up, impressive muscles bunching and gliding along his arms and back. His long blue hair streamed down his back to his waist. Then his green and golden fishtail came into view as he hoisted himself all the way out and curled on the rock surface, turning to look at Karan.
What does he want from me?
The merman let out a sorrowful keen that rent Karan's heart. So sad.
Karan grabbed the oars in shaky hands and rowed to shore, drowning in questions.
In the morning, the merchant bought all of Karan's catch and counted more silver coins than he'd ever held before into his palm. Karan jingled them in his pouch. He'd have to find a way to send them to his mother. The silver should be enough for her food and medicine, at least for this month. With his next catch, he could pay for a woolen blanket to keep her warm in winter.
He smiled.
Now the sun was setting, bloodying the sky and the lake. Karan had mended his nets and spread them out to dry on the shore. The earth warmed the soles of his bare feet. A light breeze rustled the foliage of the willows and sent the sweet smell of blossoms into the air.
Another day done. Still alive.
He stared at his nicked, callused hands. The new cuts from the nets stung; he should clean them. He splayed his fingers. His life could go on like this forever, or until he perished in the lake. An endless string of days, fishing, gutting fish, haggling with the merchant, mending nets. Watching the water. Staring at his hands.
Alone.
A girl somewhere might have him, if she didn't care about his poverty.
If only he liked girls. His life might have been easier. Not as lonely.
But that wasn't meant to be. Male bodies diving in the clear waters fascinated him much more than girls' plump curves. The sight of the other two fishermen who fished here stirred his blood, too, when he watched them bathing naked in the lake.
He bit his lip. The memory of the merman's face, his nude chest as he had held onto the boat the previous night made Karan's cock stir. What would it feel like to run his hands over that gorgeous body, to kiss those lips?
He almost groaned aloud at the thought of the merman kissing him back, lips opening willingly to let him in, of his head falling back to expose that pale neck.
He has a fishtail! a tiny voice in his head objected.
He squished the thought.
A gorgeous man. Karan could just see him with human legs, and a generous package between them. With that torso and that hair... Oh God.
Karan looked down the shore, making sure the other two fishermen were not in sight. Then he knelt and reached down, undid the laces of his leggings, and pulled out his hard cock. He spat on his hand and, biting hard on his lip to stifle his moans, he gripped the shaft and began to stroke.
Oh Lord. Each stroke was a lick of fire from his balls to the head, drawing out milky pre-come.
He braced himself on the ground with one hand as he knelt, hips bucking into his other, stroke after stroke, breath quickening.
How would the merman's strong hands pull at his shaft? How would the soft lips feel around it?
Karan came with a soft cry, spilling his seed on the ground.
He sat up, panting, lights flashing before his eyes. His hands trembled.
Night fell and the bright moon rose on the clear sky. A scraping sound near the edge of the lake caught his attention. He froze.
The merman sat on the soft mud of the bank, his long green and golden tail lashing at the water. His eyes were wide.
Karan gulped and rushed to tuck himself in and lace up his leggings, heat suffusing his face. He had never seen a merman come so close to shore before. They usually stayed in the reeds, on the rocks, in the roots of the trees that crawled down into the water.
The merman leaned on one hand and reached out the other towards Karan. "Come closer."
Karan's heart thumped. He glanced around again. Neither of the other two fishermen was in sight. "No, I don't think I will." The creature had helped him the night before, but nothing guaranteed it would not harm him now.
The merman's hand shook, then dropped back to his side. "I told you to leave, Karan. Why are you still here?"
The merman spoke like some high-born lord, his voice measured and assured, as though it was used to issuing commands.
God, he's breathtaking. Fine brows of charcoal black knitted over those forest green eyes, and shadows played on his narrow nose and sharp cheekbones. Lush lips softened the severe jaw line and the cleft on the strong chin.
Karan rose. "I can't leave yet. I catch lots of fish here."
"Your life is not worth it."
"What do you know of my life? My life isn't worth much."
The merman frowned. "You do not know what you are saying." He smashed his palm down on the ground. "I would exchange places with you if I could." His voice dropped. "If I could walk the earth again."
Karan's chest constricted. He walked cautiously towards the creature. "What do you want, merman?"
The merman's muscles rippled in his arms, and his body trembled. His strong chest was definitely male, yet no other evidence of his sex showed where the fishtail met his torso. The moonlight cast his form in tones of grey, and his hair flowed around him like a wave. Karan caught his breath at the beauty, and the strangeness of him.
The merman's hands fisted in the mud. "I am Tir. I have watched you." He dragged himself closer. "I want you to take me to your hut, let me stay with you."
"No." Karan took a step back and stumbled. Fear knotted his stomach. A bedeviled man, a half-fish, staying with me. What if I'm cursed, too? "I can't."
Tir pressed his lips together and reached out his hand. Sadness pooled in his eyes. "Karan? Please."
Sweat trickled down Karan's face. The need to erase the desolation from the merman's face tore him apart inside. "Why do you ask this of me?"
Muffled footsteps registered behind him. He turned around.
Basile, one of the other fishermen, strode toward him, waving a knife. "Are you all right, Karan? Step aside. I'll give this merman the end he deserves for trying to hurt you."
Karan grappled the other man when he made a move toward Tir. The merman had just reached the water, his fishtail whipping the mud.
"Stop, Basile!"
Tir dove into the lake, his tail waving for a moment in the air before submerging completely.
Karan tightened his grip on Basile's shoulders. "Don't go after him."
Basile threw Karan's hands off. "What the hell, Karan? Do you trade with cursed ghosts now? Have you sold your soul?"
Karan couldn't take his eyes off the spot where Tir had disappeared. He knew he'd hurt the merman, but couldn't for the life of him think straight. What was he supposed to do? Basile was right. Tir was not mortal anymore.
"I haven't." He turned towards his hut. "Leave me alone."
Two days and nights passed. The moon waxed full.
Tir didn't appear again. Karan thought he saw him curled on a rock, or trailing behind the boat. He had a feeling the merman kept the others away from his boat. But Karan couldn't be sure, because the creature never came close enough to see.
As Karan bent to the oars, clouds covered the full moon. A chill wind blew from the north, stinging his flesh. Rowing quickly to keep warm, he reached open water and cast his nets. The moon flickered behind the shroud of clouds, appearing and again vanishing; it showed Karan the outline of the nets, then left him blind and fumbling.
The wind picked up. Karan stilled, net in hand, as the moon rolled behind the clouds. Rain splattered his face, driven by an oncoming gale.
He pulled the empty nets in the boat, grabbed the oars and rowed in the direction he knew the shore to be. In pitch darkness, he couldn't tell whether he was making any progress. Freezing rain sent ice knives through his skin, stabbing his gut, driving his breath out.
No use. He was rowing against the wind and rain.
Peals of laughter rang out around the boat, and something banged against the hull. Karan held on as the boat rocked wildly, threatening to throw him overboard.
"Leave me be!" Despair crept into his thoughts. This will be the end of me.
Shafts of moonlight fell on the lake from a rent in the clouds. Dark heads rose through the waves. The mermen wailed, then laughed once more. A nixie neighed and kicked the prow with its hooves. There was a loud crash as the hull splintered.
"No!" Karan grabbed the side, bile rising in his throat. The boat went down fast, breaking apart, and Karan was thrown into the water.
He tried to grab the remnants of the boat while the mermen screeched with laughter and the gale roared. He sobbed for air as cold waves washed over him. Finally he caught a broken plank, but the glacial water and the icy wind made breathing difficult.
The mermen's laughter died, and they vanished underwater, leaving Karan alone.
He peered through the gloom. Which way is the shore?
A waved crashed over him, and he swallowed water. Coughing, he scrambled to keep his hold on the plank. Another wave sent him under.
Cold numbed his body and slowed his thoughts. He sank deeper in the churning water.
I'm going to die.
He felt strong hands pull him toward the surface. He sputtered and gasped as his head broke through. Familiar green eyes looked back into his.
Tir.
Hope surged. "Help me. Take me to shore. Please."
Tir gave a nod. "I will. If you pay my price."
"Anything." Karan coughed and gripped Tir's shoulder, relieved and grateful. Maybe I won't die after all. "Just help me."
He gasped when Tir wrapped his arms around Karan's chilled body and dove deep, where the water was calm and dark.
Tir pressed soft lips to him and breathed air into his lungs as they swam beneath the surface. His arms kept Karan pressed tightly to him as that powerful tail propelled them through the silent depths.
Karan opened his mouth and gasped in air. He lay on the shore, and waves crashed against his legs. Arms encircled his torso, keeping him out of the surf.
"Tir?" He pulled away.
The arms around him tightened, then released him.
Karan sat up and turned to face the merman. "Thank you. You saved my life."
The beautiful eyes showed no emotion. "You promised me something."
Karan nodded, stomach clenching painfully. "Name your price."
Tir gripped Karan's arm. "I want to stay with you. To eat with you and drink with you and kiss you and sleep with you in your bed."
"Sleep with me?"
Karan drew back, flinching, and Tir's fingers clawed his flesh. Fantasies were one thing, imagining the merman without that tail, without that cold, slimy skin. Quite another to have him in his hut---in his bed! "For how long?"
Tir frowned and hung his head. "Three days." He worked his jaw. "You promised."
"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" Karan stared at the creature and sighed. He owed the merman his life. "Come on."
He stood up, shivering, and lifted the merman by the shoulders. "Come here, hold on to me."
Tir's eyes widened. He wrapped his arms around Karan's neck.
Karan winced at the touch of ice-cold skin. He passed one arm behind the merman's back, the other underneath the tail.
Karan rose on one knee, then the other, gritting his teeth against the weight. Then he was up, and the cold, slippery tail touched his legs, making him gasp. Battling the wind and rain, he walked up the shore, each step shooting pain up his back.
He trudged to his hut, and threw the door open. He stumbled inside, Tir's arms threatening to cut his breath. Karan needed to start a fire or else he'd die of cold.
Tir grunted when Karan stumbled to the bench that ran alongside one wall and released him. The merman's tail slipped from Karan's hold, and the grasp of those cold arms around his neck slackened. The merman's eyes looked enormous in his pale face, and utterly black in the hut's half-light.
"S' all right." Karan's teeth chattered. "I'll warm us up."
He turned and pulled out dry wood and tinder from a corner and retrieved his flint stone from the trunk where he kept his belongings. His hands shook. Setting his jaw, he struck a spark on the tinder, but it didn't catch. The second try did. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the tinder, and Karan blew on it, coughing when some of the water he had swallowed came up. Wheezing, he blew on it some more and added more tinder. Once a flame sprang up and began to lick the kindling, he arranged logs on top of it.
Karan knelt before the small fire, warming his hands. Feeling slowly returned to them, first pins and needles, then sharper pain as the blood circulated again.
"There." He turned to the merman. "Feeling warmer, Tir?"
The merman shrugged, his long hair dripping on the floor. He folded his arms across his chest. "You cannot warm me up, Karan. I am not like you anymore."
Karan nodded and returned his gaze to the flames. What have I gotten myself into?
Tir huddled on the bench as the storm washed over the little hut. Karan cooked soup with some fish heads he had saved from the day before. Questions churned in his mind.
"You're not like the other mermen, are you?"
Tir glanced up. "What do you mean?"
Karan shrugged. "They kill mortals. You saved my life, and you asked to come here with me."
"They have forgotten everything." Tir shook his head. "They have been in the water for so long, they are turning into fish themselves."
"But not you."
The merman rubbed his hand on his scales. "I force myself to remember."
"How long have you been under this spell?"
"Too long."
Karan nodded and stirred the soup. The merman's lovely face and smooth chest made Karan's body stir. Yet the long, shiny tail that hung from the bench to the compact soil floor made him shudder.
This was no man. This was an odd, eldritch creature. Spell or no spell, Tir was half fish. Cold as one and with the tail of one.
Karan pressed his lips together, his erection dying. He served the soup and gave a bowl to Tir. The merman took it and stared at it as if he had no idea what to do with it.
A mindless creature. Doesn't even eat warm food.
Tir sniffed at the soup. Expressions played on his face. Sadness. Anger. Joy. He sipped at it and his eyes glittered with unshed tears.
Karan stopped eating. "It's not much. A pity for you that you didn't save the life of a wealthy man instead."
"No wealthy men come to this lake. And no wealthy man would take me to his house." Tir lifted the bowl, as if toasting Karan. "Good soup, I think."
"What do you remember of your life before the spell, Tir?"
Tir's hands clenched on the bowl, threatening to break it. "Very little. Must be part of the spell. Or else I've been in this form too long." He shook his head. "I have to talk to myself not to forget speech. I sometimes think I am going mad." He cradled the bowl close to his chest. "I remember a house, full of light and warmth. I remember walking on two legs. Not being alone." He placed the empty bowl to the floor. His eyes seemed to lose all color. "Take me to your bed."
Karan took a deep breath, dreading the moment, yet knowing he could postpone it no longer. He put away his bowl and carried the merman to his cot. He sat with his back to him, stiff. Glancing to his right, he saw a man so gorgeous his mouth went dry. To his left he saw the tail of a frigid fish.
"Lie down with me, Karan."
He lay with his back to Tir, shivering when the scales of the tail brushed the bare skin of his shins. A crisp scent of moss and wet pebbles wafted from Tir's skin. Karan took a deep breath. Tir's lwet hair drenched the bedclothes and trailed, silky, on Karan's arm. When a clammy hand touched Karan's cheek, he started and fought not to draw away.
"A kiss," whispered the merman, and Karan gulped, torn between the desire to taste him and to back away. "You promised."
Karan rolled onto his back. The merman's fantastically beautiful face approached his, and the cold lips caressed his, then pressed against his mouth, moving softly.
Karan shuddered. So cold.
Tir pulled away, his eyes lost in shadow, his mouth a thin line. "Two more nights, Karan. Then I shall free you of your promise."
The storm raged outside, and the roof creaked and leaked. Karan's sleep was uneasy. Something cold and heavy curled around his legs, turning them numb. He dreamed it was a snake, wrapped around him, its huge head rising to swallow him.
Karan awoke, heart pounding. The bed shook. A keen filled the air. Something crashed.
Beside him, the merman thrashed on the bed, his tail thumping the floor.
He was dreaming. And, from the looks of it, nothing good.
Karan reached out and shook the merman's shoulder. "Wake up, Tir!"
The merman's hand shot out and grabbed Karan's arm. His eyes opened and blinked like dark fires in the blackness. "Where am I?"
"You're in my hut." Karan winced as the merman's cold grip turned painful. "Remember? You saved my life. You came home with me."
"Did I walk? Did I..."
Karan swallowed against a knot in his throat at the hope that colored Tir's voice. "No," he whispered, "you didn't walk."
The merman said nothing for a while. He glanced around the hut, and his tail thumped on the cot. The wind danced on the roof. "So nothing has changed." He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "I had these dreams---more like memories---of running and strolling and even dancing..."
His fingers loosened their grip and Karan sat there, trying to make out the merman's face.
"I thought you were having a nightmare."
"Now I am." Tir's tail thrashed. He lay back down. "I am doomed."
Karan's eyes smarted. By God, Tir sounded so defeated. He had never seen a merman without a grin or smirk on its face before, without a song in its mouth. This one threatened to break his heart.
"Sleep, Tir." Karan lay down and brushed a strand of blue hair from the merman's face. As that cold tail curled over his legs again, he wrapped his arms around Tir and drifted into sleep.
Karan woke up to find Tir observing him with a frown.
"Morning," Karan mumbled.
Bright sunlight streamed through cracks in the walls and the small window, brushing the merman's form with gold. Sitting like that, his tail hidden in shadow, he looked mortal, so desirable and handsome.
Dangerously handsome.
Karan had to get out for a moment, gather his wits. "I'll be back. Just need to stretch my legs for a while."
Tir said nothing, so Karan rose and left the hut in a haste. He strode out into the morning and made for the shore, littered with broken branches after the storm. No boats were out on the lake. No sign of the mermen either. He sat on the beach and threw pebbles into the waves. The sun warmed his shoulders.
No boat. I'm destroyed. My mother needs the medicine. What shall I do?
The sun rose higher.
If Tir hadn't been there, I'd be dead now. I owe him.
He buried his fingers in the mud.
I need to leave the lake, seek work somewhere. When Tir's three days are up...
He heard a crash and shouts behind him. "Tir!"
Karan ran back to his hut and saw Basile dragging Tir out of the hut by the armpits. The merman struggled in the fisherman's grasp. His tail was lodged in the door of the hut, threatening to break it.
"What the hell are you doing?" He ran toward them.
Basile looked up, face red. A bruise marred his cheek. "I'm taking this monster away. He cast a spell on you. You're damned!"
"You'll be damned, if you don't let go of him right now!" Karan slammed into Basile and threw him back.
The merman fell to the ground and curled up, breathing heavily.
"I'll tell the merchant you're under his spell." Basile pointed at the merman. "He won't buy from you anymore!"
Karan stood up and watched Basile regain his feet. "Do what you want. I'm ruined anyway. My boat's gone." Karan took a deep breath. "Leave."
Basile raised his hands, shook his head, and walked away.
Tir swore. Karan couldn't make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable.
The long blue hair trailed in the mud and the iridescent tail swirled in it like a snake as Tir pushed himself up with his arms. He snarled.
Karan backed away, fear gripping him. "Hey, don't---"
Tir turned in a shower of liquid mud, his powerful arms followed by his tail. Karan gulped. He backed away until hit the wall of the hut. He molded his body against its surface, his heart banging in his chest.
A fist slammed into the ground. "Damn it!" Tir's voice shook. "Even you are afraid of me."
The merman's head was bowed and his arms trembled.
A wave of grief washed through Karan and tears stung his eyes. What must it feel like, to be so hated by everyone?
"Come here, Tir." Karan bent his knees and opened his arms. After a slight hesitation the corded arms went around his neck. He lifted the merman with a grunt.
"Take me back to the lake," Tir said.
Karan blinked in surprise. "Why?"
"I will fish for us."
Karan stared, surprise melting into relief. "All right."
He carried the merman to the lake and released him on the shore. "You are coming back, aren't you?"
The merman stared at him for a moment, then winked and dove into the water, his tail splashing on the surface. Karan waited on the shore, trying to follow the movements of the silvery form.
Tir dropped fish after fish on the shore, and Karan caught them as they writhed. He pulled his knife from his belt and gutted them. When he looked up he saw Tir staring back. The merman was half outside the water that moved like liquid glass around his torso. His long hair floated around him. His smile was wide and happy.
I wish he smiled more.
That night, Karan cooked the fish on the fire and they ate with their fingers, curled in front of the flames. The flickering light cast the merman's torso in lines of red and black, his profile in sorrow.
"What are you thinking?"
Tir smiled. "You stopped that fisherman, Basile. You fought for me to stay."
"I made you a promise."
The faint smile faded. "True. A promise." Those shapely lips thinned. "You are a man of honor, Karan. I am lucky."
Karan bowed his head. He flicked a fishbone into the fire. He felt guilty for having left the merman in the hut alone. "Basile didn't hurt you, did he?" In the fire's mellow light, he saw something dark on the merman's chest. "What's that?"
He drew closer to Tir, who stiffened. Karan trailed his hand on that strong chest. A dark bruise with the clear imprint of fingers spanned the merman's shoulder and collarbone. "Does it hurt?"
Tir's hand caught his wrist. "Yes."
Karan looked up into deep, moss-green eyes. He stared, breathless. Something told him the merman wasn't talking about the bruise anymore, but that if he opened his mouth to ask, the moment would shatter.
Then Tir released his hand and his gaze, and leaned back. "It is nothing. I am tired."
Karan snatched his hand away.
What's wrong with me? Is Basile right? Is this some kind of spell? Why do I want to touch him, stroke his skin?
He carried Tir to bed and lay next to him. The cold tail weighed on his legs, and Tir's chilled hand touched Karan's cheek. "One kiss."
Karan leaned in, letting those soft, cool lips caress his. He felt Tir's rough tongue, cold as ice, slip into his mouth and play inside.
His stomach roiled.
Tir pulled back, his eyes soft and wet. "Good night, Karan."
Karan tried to answer, but his throat felt too tight. He nodded, not sure the merman saw him. He forced his eyes closed and tried to sleep.
He dreamed of Tir as a mortal. He sat next to Karan, dressed in soft leggings, the fire gilding long dark tresses as he leaned close. His lips, when they touched Karan's skin, were warm. His hand gripped Karan's shoulder, hot as fire.
Karan kissed Tir, and those lips tasted of ripe strawberries. Karan moaned, deepening the kiss, his arms pressing Tir's hard body to his. Tir's long legs wrapped around him, pressing their erections together. Pleasure bloomed in Karan's belly and he moved against the other man.
Tir's fingers twisted in Karan's short hair, his long bangs, and his mouth trailed down Karan's throat, sending fire down his body. Tir lowered him to the rug as the flames danced behind him. He bent over Karan, undid the laces of his pants and took Karan's cock in his mouth.
Karan's body arched into that wet heat. Tir's firm lips dragged up and down Karan's length. Desire filled Karan until he thought he might die of need. Tir's long, silky hair caressed his hips and lapped against his skin like waves.
Karan wanted Tir. He wanted to keep Tir there with him.
Tir sucked harder, his tongue pressing against the underside of Karan's shaft, his hand wrapped around the base, sending Karan over the edge. He gasped and bucked, need clenching his belly and tightening his balls. He cried out as his body rocked with the ripples of pleasure and his legs shook. He fought for breath.
He knew then he wanted more than Tir's body. He wanted his heart.
"Tir."
The beautiful man pulled back. Karan frowned. Something was wrong.
A tail curled around Karan's legs, cold and slippery.
Karan flinched. He pulled away. "You're a half-fish, not a man!"
Then he was drowning in cold water. Mermen swam around him, in blurred streaks of color, and Tir was not among them.
Karan woke gasping. He turned to Tir, but the bed next to him was empty.
He swung his legs off the cot and raked a hand through his hair, mussing it more. Pale dawn light slanted through the small window.
"Tir!"
The hut was empty.
Worry laced his thoughts like poison. He pushed the door open and stumbled out into the grey light. "Tir! Where are you?"
Why aren't I relieved he's gone?
He ran to the shore and found the merman dragging himself towards the silvery wavelets, his long hair and tail muddy.
Karan rushed to his side. "What are you doing?"
The merman didn't look up. "Goodbye, Karan." He dragged himself around Karan's legs.
"Stop. Please don't go."
Tir paused. His muscled back shimmered with sweat. His arms trembled slightly. "What did you say?"
Karan passed a hand over his face, trying to collect his thoughts. "One more night. That was our agreement."
"I release you of your promise," said Tir and his stony voice cracked.
"Don't." Karan walked around to face him. "Don't release me. Stay another night."
Tir's eyes widened. "You wish me to?"
The thought of him leaving hurt Karan. He wanted to hold Tir close, to make sure he was all right. Wanted to see a smile on his face again. "Yes."
"Half-fish and all?"
Karan tensed. He must have talked in his sleep. He grabbed Tir's shoulder. "Come home with me. Please."
Tir said nothing more. When Karan opened his arms, he clasped Karan's neck and allowed himself to be carried.
Once inside the hut, Karan deposited the merman on the rug and set about making a fire. He felt Tir's intense gaze burning a hole in his back. Turning, he noticed the merman's scratched hands.
Karan put water in the pot to boil, and threw herbs in it from a shelf on the wall.
"Are you making an infusion?" Tir tilted his head to the side and his green eyes sparkled. By God, he was beautiful. His soft lips were half-open, his cheeks smooth and glistening like polished stone.
If he were a mortal...
"Yes. I thought..." Karan hesitated, suddenly feeling like a fool. "To clean your hands. They're scratched. Here, look at your palms." He took one of Tir's hands and turned it over, tracing a cut oozing blood. "But maybe mermen don't get sick." He gave Tir a questioning look.
"We half-fish also get sick." Tir's voice was colder than his skin.
Karan bit his lip and nodded. He took the corner of a clean cloth and dipped it in the water simmering with sage and thyme, and carefully tended Tir's injured hands.
The merman closed his eyes.
Karan cleaned every cut he found on those strong hands and arms, watching Tir's body react to his touch. The merman's small nipples hardened, a vein in his throat pulsed and his breath became quicker.
If Karan ignored the tail and lack of anything human beneath the waist...
Pressing his lips together, he stood.
Tir's eyes snapped open. He frowned, then looked away. "Thank you."
Karan took his secret bottle from underneath the cot and poured two cups of the clear alcohol it held. "Here."
The merman took it, sniffed at it, and coughed. "What is this?"
"Liquor. Let's drink." Karan raised his cup, trying to think of an appropriate toast. "To tonight."
Tir's hand shook, spilling some of the drink. "To tonight." He gulped it down, and began to cough again.
A smile pulled at Karan's lips. Grinning, he tossed the drink back, and felt it heat a path down his throat to his stomach, chasing away the chill.
"I think," he said, "that another one is in order."
"Why?" Tir eyed his empty cup with a frown. "It tastes awful."
"Helps you relax." Karan shrugged and poured more. He raised the cup to his lips. "Besides, I'm ruined. I'll need to leave this lake and seek work somewhere else. Might as well finish all I have here."
Tir drew in a sharp breath. Karan looked up.
Tremors ran through Tir's body. His tail hit the floor madly, sending dirt flying. "You are leaving." He gulped down the drink, mouth twisting. "You are right. Let us finish this."
Karan frowned. He hated to see Tir so sad. How to make him smile? He poured him another drink. "To your eyes!"
Tir froze with the cup halfway to his mouth. "What?"
I will see that smile on your face again. "To your beautiful green eyes." Karan toasted him.
Tir chuckled.
Well, that's promising. Karan poured them another round, mind racing. "And here's to your magnificent body---tail and all---that I've had the pleasure of observing." His voice slurred. He gulped down the liquor and it burned a path down to his belly.
"My body?" Tir laughed out loud. His laughter rang like a great bell and made Karan feel warm and happy.
"Your body, your face..." Karan swallowed hard. "And here's to your smile, Tir. You should smile more often."
Tir's eyes were wide. His grip on the cup turned white. Then he did smile, that open smile that made Karan's heart flip over.
Karan rubbed his face. His head felt heavy. He tipped the last drop into his mouth, dropped the cup to the table and pulled the merman towards the cot.
"C'mon," he slurred. "Sleep."
"S' not evening yet." Tir licked the rim of his cup. He could barely keep his eyes open.
"No matter. C'mon."
Karan managed to half drag, half push the merman onto the cot and crashed next to him, legs tangling with the long tail, his arms going around the merman's strong torso. He felt cool arms embrace him, and he smiled as sleep came over him.
Karan woke to cool breath on his back, a steady heartbeat and hard muscles shifting against his shoulder blades.
He blinked. An arm draped over his ribs, heavy. Light from the window fell, golden, on the low table with the two empty cups.
Just how long had he slept?
Karan groaned and sat up. His head pounded and his stomach churned. He'd never drunk so much before.
He turned to Tir. The merman threw an arm over his eyes and rolled over. Blue hair fell on pale, broad shoulders.
Karan licked his lips, struggling to ignore his body's reaction to the sight, and got out of bed.
He set about to making a broth with what was left of the fish.
Daylight faded. Night came. The fire leaped in the hearth.
Sounds from the cot made Karan turn. Tir stared at him, face flickering in the dance of the flames. He looked tired and sad and plain gorgeous.
Karan closed his gaping mouth and gestured to the bubbling pot. "Dinner."
He made as if to turn back to the fire, but Tir stretched his body and Karan found he couldn't take his eyes off the merman. In that soft light, Tir worked his way down from the cot, muscles of his chest and arms bunching and rolling, his tail balancing for his acrobatic descent to the floor. He dragged himself closer to the hearth and his expression shifted from sadness to curiosity.
He sniffed. "Soup?"
"Fish soup. What else?"
"Merman soup." Tir winked.
Karan's shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry for what you heard me say. You're...different."
"Cursed." Tir curled up by the fire. "That is what I am."
Karan couldn't understand how such a strange creature could stir such strong emotions in him. What am I feeling? It was hard to spell it out; he had never felt like that before.
He reached out to twine his fingers in Tir's long hair, tugging gently.
The merman raised his face, eyebrows lifted, and caught Karan's hand. "Karan?"
Karan pulled his hand away. "Let's eat."
Tir stirred the soup in his bowl and stared into the flames. He pushed the bowl away, his soup untouched.
"Not good?" Karan didn't feel hungry, but forced himself to eat more.
"It is excellent." Tir gave a tight smile. "I am sorry."
"For what?"
"For forcing my presence on you." His tail moved sinuously on the floor. "It is the mermen's way, you see, to ask for a favor in return for help. I wanted to live like a mortal again. I did not think of your feelings."
Karan let his spoon drop in what was left of the soup. The merman's skin glowed in the firelight. The iridescent scales of his tail flashed, and his green eyes sparkled like jewels.
Karan leaned towards him, entranced. "I'm not sorry."
"You are not?" Tir blinked twice.
Karan wrapped his arms around the merman and kissed those parted lips.
Cool and soft, they tasted of rainwater and spice. Karan thrust his tongue into the merman's mouth, wanting to taste more. His arms tightened around the powerful back, feeling muscles glide beneath the skin. Tir's arms rose to Karan's shoulders, grasping them lightly, then more tightly as the kiss deepened.
The merman's body slid against Karan like water, caressing him. The tail slipped between Karan's legs and rose behind him to touch his back, making him shiver. He felt his nipples stiffen, his cock harden. He moaned into Tir's mouth. The merman's tail continued to rub between his legs through the cloth, against his crotch, sending pleasure to pool in his belly. Karan pulled back, panting.
The merman's face was full of wonder and his eyes glittered. Did he feel desire like Karan did? He had no genitals; the front of his torso where it merged into the shiny tail was flat and smooth. He was unexplored territory. What would give him pleasure?
Karan stroked along the small of Tir's back, until his fingers met cold scales. Tir's tail moved against Karan's groin, and sparks ignited his vision. He was so hard he felt about to explode.
The merman smiled.
"You're beautiful," Karan whispered, and Tir's eyes widened a fraction. Then that naughty tail moved faster between Karan's legs, pushing against his aching cock, stroking his balls, pressing into the crack of his ass, and Karan cried out, coming in long shudders that sent him against the merman's chest. Tir's strong arms held him as he rocked against the tail. The pleasure intensified, made him sob for breath, then ebbed.
"Oh God." Karan inhaled the fresh scent of the merman's skin and kissed his shoulder. "Your turn."
"My turn?" Tir stared at him unblinking. "What do you mean?"
Karan set his jaw. "I want to give you pleasure too. Tell me how. There must be a way."
Tir opened and closed his mouth several times, making Karan grin.
"Where, Tir?"
The merman shook his head. "Only the human part of my body feels pleasure."
Karan smiled and pushed the merman down to the floor. "Let me try."
He lowered himself and suckled on Tir's neck, biting and nuzzling. As Tir writhed beneath him, gasping breathlessly, Karan pressed his lips behind the merman's ear, inhaling the fresh scent of water there, and lightly bit and sucked on the small earlobe.
When his hands moved over Tir's chest, he found the small nipples erect. He pinched them and Tir groaned. Karan bent his head to lick and suck at each nipple in turn, his hands caressing Tir's flanks, moving down his flat stomach. He stroked and molded the cool flesh, and Tir arched his neck, moaning. His tail thrashed on the floor. Karan kissed a trail up to the merman's jaw, and followed its line up to the merman's temple, blowing into his ear. He licked the shell of the ear and tugged with his teeth at the earlobe. He tangled his hands in the blue mane and pulled Tir against him, feeling the strong body writhe.
Karan grew aroused again and his cock pressed against the laces of his leggings, begging to be freed. Tir's hands found the bulge and squeezed it. Karan grunted, turning Tir's head to kiss him again, long and deep.
Tir's hands loosened Karan's laces and Karan's control. He gasped when his cock sprang free to rub against the merman's belly.
"Karan..." Tir's whisper was full of his own need.
"Stay with me, Tir, don't ever go back to the water." Karan pressed his lips to the merman's throat as a feeling of tenderness mingled with desire. "I think I love you."
A gust of wind twisted the flames in the hearth and a flash of lightning cast the hut in white light.
Karan's heart jumped in fear, and he fell back.
Tir threw his head back and let out a high-pitched, deafening wail that went on and on, finally ending with a deep moan.
"Tir, are you all right?"
Karan reached out to him, then recoiled. The merman's tail twisted and contorted and the pale green scales faded from the skin, turning into muted white.
Dear God, what's happening?
The tail split in two, separating like liquid mud. Tir's fingers dug into the floor and he keened. Long legs began to form and the very tip of his tail transformed into feet.
Joy made Karan's head swim. He's turning into a mortal man!
Between Tir's legs appeared evidence of his maleness. Karan gazed at the revealed cock and balls and licked his lips. He forced himself to look away, to focus on Tir's face. The tips of his blue hair turned jet black. Color wove its way up until it touched his face.
Like in my dream. Karan drew closer again. Only even more handsome.
Tir groaned again as his legs became more defined. His muscled calves twitched, his knees bent, his toes curled. He blinked, dazed. His arms wobbled. Then he looked down at himself and frowned. His jaw sagged. His eyes glittered. "Karan..."
Breathless, Karan scooted forward and placed his hands on Tir's thigh.
I can't believe it!
The words stuck in his throat. The flesh beneath his fingers was warm. Looking up, he saw Tir's cheeks color.
Karan smiled. "Tir, the curse's been lifted."
Tir's chest heaved. His lips trembled. "Come here."
Karan scooted closer, searching Tir's face for any sign of pain. But Tir caught the sides of Karan's face and kissed him. Now Tir tasted sweet like honey, and Karan felt himself hardening again.
Only now Tir hardened too. His cock reared and poked Karan in the hip.
"I much prefer this new tail." Karan winked. "God, you're beautiful!"
He straddled Tir and kissed him again. He tasted so good.
Tir moaned when his erection rubbed against Karan's. Breathless, Tir rocked against him. "Undress. Now."
Surprised, Karan rose off him to comply. He pushed down his leggings and stepped out of them. Wrapping his fingers around his shaft, he stroked himself, biting his lip at the waves of pleasure.
Would Tir stay with him now? Who had he been before the curse?
Tir stood on unsteady legs, and stepped up to Karan, sending his thoughts to a stuttering stop. He pushed Karan back until he fell on the cot. Tir straddled his hips, erection jutting out, long dark hair framing his face.
Breathtaking. A whirlwind of emotions engulfed Karan: desire, awe, affection.
Tir leaned over him. "You are gorgeous, Karan. I have watched you for days and nights on your boat, pulling the nets, rowing. I could not stop looking."
Neither could I. "Tell me what you need."
Tir licked his lips. "You. To touch me."
Karan pulled Tir onto the bed and rolled him onto his back. "I would have begged for that."
He ran his hands over Tir's chest, then down to his groin. Tir observed his every move, panting, his hardness trembling against his belly. Karan caressed his balls, making Tir moan, stroked the cleft of his ass, then bent and took the big cock into his mouth.
Tir's moans filled Karan's ears as he sucked and pulled. He swirled his tongue around the hard rod of flesh, tasting him. Tir's hands fisted in his hair, holding tight, as if he was afraid to fall.
Fall, Tir. Fall into pleasure.
The hard body beneath Karan tensed and the hands in his hair tightened almost painfully, and Tir yelled, hips bucking, coming in hot, bitter spurts inside Karan's mouth. Karan grabbed Tir's rocking hips and pushed them down. The thick shaft in his mouth still spasmed.
He released it and drew back. Tir's face glowed. His cheeks were tinted with pink.
"I think you liked that," said Karan.
"Yes."
Tir's throaty voice made Karan even harder, and his erection throbbed between his legs. "Last night I dreamed," Karan gasped when Tir reached out and touched it, "that you did this to me, that you took me in your mouth."
"I did."
Karan looked up, startled. "You did?"
Tir grinned and stroked him harder. Karan bit back a groan. He knelt, leaning back on his hands. Tir bent over him, his cool hair tickling his legs, and took him into his hot mouth.
Karan nearly sobbed at the unbelievable pleasure. Tir pressed his lips around him, licked and sucked until Karan's balls tightened and pulled closer to his body. Karan's arms shook, his hips rolled, his pulse roared. He felt it begin, the deep contracting in his gut, the desire burning its way to his cock, and he cried out as orgasm hit him, rolling waves of exquisite pleasure. He rode them, pushing into Tir's mouth, his back arching, his buttocks clenching. He blinked the stars from his eyes.
Gasping for breath, he pulled Tir down to lie with him and wrapped his arms around him. Tir smiled and Karan smoothed back a strand of dark hair from his face.
God, what a smile!
He traced Tir's lips with his forefinger. "You're not a fisherman like me. You're from the upper class. I can hear it in the way you speak, I see it in the way you move. Who are you, really?"
Tir's eyes were bright. "I am the Duke of Kerrigan castle and the lands around it."
Karan's stomach dropped. A nobleman. He forced back the question that he needed to ask and asked another instead. "What happened to you? Why were you cursed?"
"I tried to force someone to love me." Tir looked away from Karan. "I thought I could buy love, or take it by force if I wanted it. I thought the world was mine." He rubbed his chest. "I might have never been punished for it, but the young man's mother was a witch, and she cursed me so."
Karan pulled the dark head to him, to rest against his heart. "You paid for it. Now it's done."
"She said I would be cursed forever because nobody would ever want me."
Karan wove his fingers in Tir's hair. "I want you." And now you've made me love you, and you'll leave me to go back to your kind. "So you're going back, right? To your castle. How long has it been? Will you be all right?"
Tir pulled away from him. "Karan, will you stay with me?"
"Stay?" Karan's pulse roared. "Stay where?"
"With me, in my castle." Tir caught Karan's hand. "As my companion and mate." He squeezed it. "If you want."
Karan's mind froze. "And my mother?"
Tir laughed.
The sound calmed Karan, quieted his pounding heart. "Can she join us, too?"
Tir pushed Karan onto his back and bent over him, wearing that smile that had won Karan's heart. "Yes. Anything you want. Make this a happy ending." He winked. "Both for me and for my tale."
Karan chuckled. "I'll do my best to keep your tail happy." He closed his eyes, content. "And the rest of you."
About the Authors
"I want to work with words!" That's been Lenore Black's ambition since she learned how to read. After trying out publishing and public relations, she took up a career as an advertising copy writer. Now, she's happy to add "fiction writer" to the resume. Lenore lives in Brooklyn and spends the time commuting on the subway daydreaming about men who love each other...and sometimes about the Yankees winning the World Series. Visit Lenore's Web site at http://lenorejblack.livejournal.com
S.J. Frost resides with her family on a mini-ranch with several spoiled pets, including some very special horses. Her short stories have been featured in the erotic and romance anthologies, Surfer Boys, Girls on Top, and Best Gay Romance 2007 Edition, all published by Cleis Press, Ultimate Gay Erotica 2008 and Best Gay Love Stories: Summer Flings, both published by Alyson Books, and Honey Flava, published by Atria Books. Her debut novel, Conquest, is to be published through MLR Press. Please feel welcome to visit her at www.sjfrost.com.
Mina Kelly lives in the historic city of York, where she gets paid to play with swords and cook from medieval recipes. She writes whenever circumstances gang up on her and has a special fondness for things that go bump in the night. She's had several short stories published under this name and others, and hopes to branch out into something longer soon. More info can be found at http://significantkinks.solelyfictional.org
Kilt Kilpatrick is the pen name of an Irish author sometimes called "the Ferris Bueller of San Francisco." When he's not writing sexy stories for Ravenous Romance, he is a nonfiction writer, public speaker, Bay Area event organizer, and, somewhat oxymoronically, a biblical historian and atheist activist. He is linguistically promiscuous; he is conversant in Irish Gaelic and bits and pieces of about two dozen other languages, including Welsh, Breton, Hungarian, Japanese, Arabic, American Sign Language, Cherokee, Klingon, and Elvish. He loves reading, movies, dancing, and sex, and has been a saber fencer for over 25 years. He lives in San Francisco with his steady girlfriend and number-one fencing partner, Inara LaVey; also a writer. And yes, he does wear kilts. If you know anybody like that, it's probably him.
Mercy Loomis graduated from college one class short of an accidental certificate in folklore. She has a bachelor's degree in psychology, but don't hold that against her. Her favorite pastimes include practicing Urban Krav Maga, playing Rock Band, and studying ancient history. See what she's up to at mercyloomis.blogspot.com.
EM Lynley works in the wine industry, though she'd rather be writing hot, sexy man-on-man action. She spent ten years as an economist and financial analyst, including a year as a White House staff economist---but only because all the intern positions were filled. Tired of boring herself and others with dry business reports and articles, her creative muse is back and naughtier than ever. She has lived and worked in London, Tokyo, and Washington, D.C., but the San Francisco Bay Area is home for now. Visit her online at http://www.emlynley.com
Jay Di Meo is a world traveler and culture lover. She speaks five languages and has lived in several countries in Europe and Central America. Stories are her best friends, and her characters often confess their woes and secrets to her in dreams. Her interests include archaeology and mythology, folklore, and fantastic literature. Since she loves men, her writing includes as many hot boys as possible every time.
JL Merrow is a very English mother of two who finds writing the onlyway to stay sane---except, of course, when a plot is driving her crazy. Having grown up on an island, she can't remember a time before she could swim and prefers to remain close to water at all times. Luckily, in her native land, this is not difficult. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of lab ever again. Her one regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.She enjoys reading and martial arts, and surprising people who judge a book by its cover. JL Merrow's blog: http://jl-merrow.livejournal.com
Clancy Nacht is a writer out of Austin, Texas. While she's written for various media outlets, she has just published her first book, a pulp fiction potboiler about two gay men who find each other in the middle of a serial killer's rage. The Night Caller was released in April and is available at www.thenightcaller.com. Aside from writing about gay men in love, she likes cats, taking pictures, and abusing Ambien.
Jason Rubis lives in the Washington, D.C., area. His fiction has appeared in many anthologies, most recently Like Clockwork from Circlet Press, and Needles and Bones from Drollerie Press. He blogs at http://jason-rubis.livejournal.com.

