Stone Cold Read online

  But rooms were not supposed to move. Of that he was certain.

  The floor shook. Gravity changed. Maelduin had learned that this meant the subway-room was slowing. He closed his eyes. Perhaps if he did not see the doors open this time, it would not be so bad.

  “Jesus, Maelduin. I’m sorry.”

  Maelduin could not help opening his eyes. Terry was looking up at him with what seemed to be genuine chagrin, dark eyes framed by a tumble of light brown curls. And Maelduin’s eyes were focusing properly again.

  He feels sympathy. For me. Even without my channeling.

  For a moment, Maelduin simply looked at the beautiful human.

  The room stopped, and the doors slid open.

  “Our stop.” Terry seemed to have trouble speaking.

  Together.

  Maelduin wiped the sweat from his hand and offered it to Terry. His own clumsiness was lessened when he touched the human. And hopefully, contact—and soft-hearted sympathy—would make possible what he had to do.

  * * *

  By the time Terry let go Maelduin’s hand to turn the keys in the locks on the door of his dwelling, Maelduin felt almost himself again. He would be happier if cold sweat didn’t break out all over him every time he remembered the changing gravity, and the sight of the subway-room’s doors showing him new sights each time they opened, but he was well enough. And he would now have a refuge, a place to wait until his curse was lifted. Confronting the Realm’s second-best swordsman in his present condition would be suicide.

  “Sorry about the mess.” It was dark within, or at least Maelduin supposed it would seem so to human eyes; then Terry touched a spot on the wall, and light sprang up, revealing…

  A ‘mess,’ apparently. Clothing was strewn over the main room’s furnishings and floor, sacks made of paper and small white boxes were piled on a small low table, and dishes were piled in a basin in a separate tiled area to one side that he thought might be a kitchen even though it lacked anything resembling a fireplace.

  But Maelduin scarcely noticed the ‘mess,’ because the walls were breathtaking. Terry’s walls were covered with images of human males, and Maelduin felt an actual physical ache in his chest at their beauty. Males in clothing as tight as a second skin, captured at the height of prodigious leaps, or in balances so exquisite as to be impossible without magickal aid, or so he would have thought. Poetry, given human form.

  And several of the images were Terry. A younger version of Terry in chalk-white makeup and some sort of military-looking uniform with a red blazon on its breast, caught at the top of the arc of an amazing leap. Another, draped in white and his thicket of curls cut short, on one knee and playing some sort of musical instrument. And today’s Terry, in an elegant doublet that would have allowed him to blend in anywhere in the Realm, wearing tights leaving almost nothing to the imagination, cradling a rose in one hand and looking up at what appeared to be a balcony.

  Maelduin rested a hand on the frame encasing the image. I want to be on that balcony, looking down.

  Where had that thought come from?

  “You like Romeo?” Terry turned from where he was hanging his jacket in a garderobe. His smile was sweet, even shy. “I loved that role, so much—that picture’s from when I was dancing with the Brooklyn Ballet. Before I started Trock Bottom.”

  The human had spoken of ‘Trock Bottom’ before, trying to put Maelduin at ease. Maelduin suspected the name was supposed to be a play on words, Unfortunately, his new language gift was no help at all with puns, so he would ignore them and get on with the work he was here to do. The work of self-preservation. Although it was something of a shame that he had no real use for the human’s sweet shyness.

  “I like Romeo. Very much.” Maelduin smiled as Terry came up beside him. But Maelduin had never been shy—never known a Fae who was—and his smile had a purpose. His hand brushed Terry’s arm, and magick arced from Fae to human, a subtle pattern of light, flaring where it touched. “He is you.”

  “I’m… just a dancer.” Terry stared at the place where Maelduin had touched him, almost as if he could see the magick. His breathing was uneven, and he caught his lower lip between his teeth in a way Maelduin found quite fetching. “Not Romeo.”

  Maelduin’s gift showed him a little of what the name meant. He had heard no human word, during his hell-ride, expressing the sense of the Faen word tragód’mhan, a dramatic form dealing with the unfortunate complications arising from the improper expression of desire. But he would make do with the words he had.

  “If you were Romeo, I would let you love me.”

  “Oh, God…”

  Terry’s whisper was like a flame to tinder; there was no seducing another without opening up oneself to the same magick. Slowly, holding the human’s gaze, Maelduin worked his fingers into Terry’s curls, brushed his thumb along one sharp cheekbone, bent his head until he breathed in Terry’s every panting breath. “Please…” It was a word that mattered to humans, he had learned that much from his unwitting tutors. Perhaps a magick word, if humans still believed in magick.

  And whether humans believed or not, there was magick here, seething below the skin of human and Fae. Maelduin would wonder about it. Later. After he had done what was necessary.

  Again Terry bit his lip, and this time Maelduin decided to resist temptation no longer. He bent his head and kissed the human, slipping his tongue into his mouth and teasing out the soft full lip to take it between his own teeth.

  He felt a shiver run through Terry’s body, where it was suddenly pressed against his own, felt hardness nudging insistently against the inside of his thigh. He could almost taste Terry’s faint moan, and answered it with one of his own.

  Time to decide. The living magick he had channeled and released would capture him in a net of pleasure, just as it captured his chosen human. He had a choice, to be bound or not.

  He laughed, softly, into the kiss, light musical Fae laughter, so unlike the laughter he had heard on the subway. No binding of body or heart could hold one of the Cursed House. Terry would be bound—would give him shelter, refuge, whatever he might ask. But he himself would slip the bonds of magick and go free when his purpose was accomplished. Blood would tell, and the blood of House Guaire was impervious to anything that might be mistaken for love or desire.

  However, he might wish it to be otherwise, even if just for a moment.

  Maelduin inhaled deeply, taking Terry’s scent into himself. Fae senses were keener than human, so the stories said, and Maelduin scented sweat and nervousness and fear and arousal.

  Soon he would scent and taste surrender.

  “What the fuck?” Terry whispered. “I don’t do this.”

  “Maybe not. But we do.” Maelduin reached down, working a hand between their bodies, gently cupping Terry’s hardness. And then not so gently, as Terry thrust into his hand—a short, jerky movement, as if the human tried to control himself and failed.

  Yes. You will fail. And it will be glorious, I promise you.

  * * *

  Maelduin stroked Terry’s hardening cock firmly, and Terry’s knees threatened to buckle; Maelduin caught him with a hand against his lower back, but overbalanced himself and nearly toppled, sending them both staggering into the arm of the sofa. “Here,” he murmured. “I want you here.”

  I don’t do this. Not true, not exactly. He hadn’t objected to the occasional one-or-two-night stand, not after being so ignominiously dumped by Bryce. A guy needed some warmth, some pleasure. Some fun, damn it. But it was always his choice, when it happened. And even though the two of them were presently in his apartment, at his invitation, Terry wasn’t sure this tryst had been his idea.

  “Yeah.” Terry clenched his teeth against a groan as Maelduin’s hand slid down the back of his jeans, as strong fingers sank slowly and deliberately into his ass cheek. Damn, that hand felt good. And he had to admit, he loved the shivery feeling he got when the blond touched him like he meant it. “Here is good.”

 
Maelduin’s smile brought Terry’s Steadfast Tin Soldier the rest of the way to attention in a heartbeat—he’d seen the other man eyeing that photo, along with his Romeo. And then the blond’s hot plundering kiss came closer than anything had in a decade to making Terry forget all about ballet.

  Terry tried to sit down on the arm of the sofa, but Maelduin leaned into him and sent them both tumbling back onto yesterday’s laundry and what sounded like a couple of empty take-out bags. Oh, well. His legs tangled with Maelduin’s—and with something long and slender and hard. Maelduin’s sword.

  What the hell was Maelduin doing with a sword?

  Maelduin caught Terry’s lower lip between his teeth and worried it with a soft growl, sending that breathless sensation shimmering down his spine and all the way to his toes. And the sword didn’t matter anymore, except as he tried to figure out what to do with it once he’d managed to get the other man’s peculiar belt unfastened.

  Maelduin laughed softly and tongued Terry’s earlobe into his mouth. “You sol’fiáin me.” Hot breath in his ear, a hot hardness thrust at his groin in a way that was both playful and deadly serious at the same time.

  “What does that mean? ‘Solfyayn?’” Terry was pretty sure he’d botched the beautiful sounds. One more thing not to care about, not when his hands were busy discovering that his gorgeous blond was commando.

  “I don’t have the words. Yet.” The tip of Maelduin’s tongue traced around the curves of Terry’s ear. He’d always been self-conscious about his ears, the way they stuck out. But when Maelduin did that, they were just right.

  Careful, Terry. Don’t get carried away. Remember, this doesn’t mean a damned thing.

  Just for a second, the sweet spell Maelduin was weaving around the two of them dissolved, and Terry was tangled up, somehow mostly naked, with a near-total stranger on top of the laundry he’d forgotten to put away last night. Not that this wasn’t a good place to be, or that he didn’t want to be here. He just wished he had a better idea how it had happened.

  A hard smooth heat that had to be the head of Maelduin’s cock nudged playfully at Terry’s sac before gliding up alongside Terry’s own eager erection, making Terry gasp. Which in turn made Maelduin grin, and it was the wickedest and hottest grin Terry had ever seen.

  “You want this. Yes?” A thrust of Maelduin’s hips left no doubt as to what ‘this’ referred to.

  He didn’t mean for that to be a question. Terry clenched his teeth against a groan, but the sound escaped despite him. Because he already knows the answer. “Hell yes.”

  To his astonishment, the kiss that followed was slow, thorough, almost sweet. And he was so caught up in it, the head of Maelduin’s cock had breached his entrance before he had time to react.

  “Wait!” He pulled back, breathless. “Condom!” Smooth, Miller, really smooth… well, he’d been startled.

  “Condom?”

  “Yeah, you don’t know me, I don’t know you, we need to use…” It took a second for it to dawn on Terry that Maelduin was regarding him with utter incomprehension. “Please don’t tell me you don’t know what a condom is.”

  For another second, maybe two, Terry was sure he’d been right, that Maelduin was really that clueless. Then the blond smiled again, running a thumb along Terry’s cheekbone. “I know. And there is no need.”

  “Like hell.” Terry shook his head. “Sorry, no bareback on a first date. I don’t care if you have a certificate of celibacy signed by the Pope.”

  The pure mirth of Maelduin’s laughter aroused Terry all over again. “Not likely. Sorry.” Another slow, scorching kiss. “So, we will not…”

  Terry’s throat felt tight as Maelduin’s voice trailed off. “We will. But you’re going to have to get off me. Just for a minute.” Condoms and lube were in the drawer of his bedside table, and as soon as he was free to move he rolled off the sofa and made a beeline for the bedroom.

  As he slid the drawer open, there was a crash from the living room. “Fola’magairl!”

  Whatever that word meant, it was definitely a curse. Terry snatched up a condom and a half-full pump bottle of Slipnslide and stuck his head back out into the living room.

  Maelduin was bent over next to the coffee table, stark naked and nursing his shin, still cursing under his breath. Terry bit his lip hard to keep from laughing. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life, but I swear to God he could break his leg tripping over a stain on the carpet.

  “Are you okay?” he ventured at last, unsure whether it was safe to re-enter the living room.

  Maelduin straightened, wincing only a little. “I am.”

  “Maybe… you should join me. In here.” Terry didn’t want to deal with the possibility that his new lover might fall off the sofa while in the throes of passion.

  Maelduin edged around the low table. “I will try.”

  Terry laughed. Maelduin didn’t.

  Terry switched on the light, then took Maelduin by the hand and led him into the bedroom. Which was at least as much of a mess as the living room, even after he kicked shut the gaping drawers under his platform bed, but Terry didn’t care.

  Neither did Maelduin, apparently, going by the firm possessiveness of his grip on Terry’s ass cheek, and the way he used that grip to draw Terry tight against him. “Are we ready now?” Maelduin nuzzled his way through the fall of loose curls around Terry’s ear and nipped at the curve.

  “Condom?” Terry shook the little foil packet, not quite stifling a giggle. “You’re easily distracted.”

  A finger and thumb took gentle hold of Terry’s chin, tipping his face up. All thought of giggling faded away, as he looked up into impossibly, almost hypnotically blue eyes, framed by pale blond hair. Yet, somehow, his delight was all still there, making him almost giddy.

  Easy, boy. Don’t get carried away.

  Maelduin kissed him, just a brush of the lips. And those incredible eyes never closed.

  Something about his eyes…

  “Show me.” He could feel Maelduin’s lips moving against his own. “This condom. Show me.”

  He’s kidding, right? But the last thing he was going to do was say that out loud, because as strange as Maelduin’s request was, it was also arousing as hell. “You want me to do it? All right… kneel on the bed and I’ll put it on you.”

  Obediently—but with a backward come-hither glance over his shoulder and a subtle flexing of his ass muscles that nearly set Terry off on the spot—the blond climbed up onto the bed, fortunately without tangling himself in anything. Terry clambered up after him, motioning him to kneel and sit back on his heels. “Okay, first we need to get you—um, I guess that isn’t an issue…”

  Maelduin stroked his glorious cock, pausing only to play with the taut foreskin; Terry watched, fascinated, as bead after clear bead welled up from the slit at the tip. Almost like liquid glass.

  “Get me hard?” Maelduin leaned forward and stole another kiss, leaving Terry feeling dizzy and breathless. “I have no problem with that. Not with you.”

  “I… um, I can see that.” Terry couldn’t help himself; he bent and took the huge brick-red head of Maelduin’s cock into his mouth and swirled his tongue over it. And groaned as the other man’s hips jerked and the hint of a sweet and musky taste filled his mouth.

  “You should hurry.” Maelduin’s voice trembled; he buried his fingers in Terry’s curls, and Terry could feel the unsteadiness of his grip. Along with more of that strange, shivering energy. “If this condom is supposed to go on before I…”

  Terry’s own hands shook as he opened the foil packet. “Right.” Checking the direction of the roll, he pinched the tip and fitted the circle over the head of Maelduin’s cock, holding his breath until he was sure it was going to fit. Starting quickly, but lingering over the soft skin and hard heat under his hands, pulsing in time with the rapid beat of Maelduin’s heart, he rolled it down.

  Maelduin sucked in his breath between his teeth, and let it out in a faint keening. “Yes
… touch me…” He leaned back, taking his weight on his arms, thrusting gently up into Terry’s hand, his abs hard and defined as marble, his eyes unfocused.

  When was the last time someone loved my touch like that?

  When Terry had unrolled the condom as far down Maelduin’s cock as it would go, he slid a hand around and cupped the other man’s sac, rolling one ball and then the other between his fingers, biting his lip as sweat started to gleam on those perfect abs and pecs. “You ready?” Christ, his voice was cracking.

  Instead of answering, Maelduin closed his eyes, his hips undulating in an almost imperceptible—and totally fucking sensual—rhythm. The oldest dance known to man. Or men.

  The samba was a mating dance. Terry had always known this. But he had never seen the truth of it on such subtle but blatant display.

  What will he do, if I… Holding his breath, Terry stroked with a fingertip between the base of Maelduin’s cock and his entrance, teased at the tight puckered hole.

  Maelduin surged up from the bed, caught Terry by the arm, and pulled him into a kiss hot enough to scorch. At the same time, he leaned forward and bore Terry down to the mattress, planting his hands to either side of Terry’s head and nudging his legs apart with what turned out to be an amazingly hard-muscled thigh. And heat like a coal burned at Terry’s entrance, while his own cock dripped sticky fluid to glisten on his happy trail.

  “Lube!” Terry squeaked, not caring that he squeaked, needing to get Maelduin’s attention any way he could. He was good at stretching to fit, but he had limits.

  There was another one of those pauses, the ones that made Terry wonder every so often if Maelduin had any idea what he, Terry, was talking about. But as long as Maelduin kept kissing him, Terry could wait. Not patiently, but he could wait.