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“Gross Indecency: An Otherworld Novel” Chapter Two

August 26, 2015

Gross Indecency: An Otherworld Novel will eventually be edited and put on sale, but for now, I figured as we worked on it, we would also release the chapters for free. :) Call it an experiment. One chapter a month will be put out here, Tumblr, and a couple of other outlets. However, if you support us on Patreon, you get to see the chapter a week or two before it become publicly available. So… support us! :D You get lots of fun bits and bobs in addition to fiction.

Right now, Gross Indecency is 128 pages (42,583 words) long, and that’s not even half of the planned novel. ;) It’s a kinky romp with exiled faeries, so anything goes.

***

Blurb: When Malachite, a battle-weary Sídhe prince of the Lunar Court, fell for Rime, a darkly seductive Solar Court satyr with a haunting gift for music, their love threw the Faerie Houses on both sides into an uproar. Forced to choose between love and obligation, Malachite turned his back on his family, preferring exile with Rime over his duty as a noble of the Aos Sí.

Now, banished from their homelands among the Fae Folk and forced to live among humans, Malachite and Rime must find a way to survive and succeed in the mortal realm with their fellow exiles. Hiding in plain sight, they put their otherworldly talents and charms to use in the most appropriate place possible: they start a small adult film company and begin producing porn. But work is only the beginning of this glimpse into their erotic and often kinky lives in modern day London.

***

London, England, 2015

Malachite unlocked the door to their flat and led Rime inside. Silence had settled between them upon the completion of Rime’s release paperwork, and Malachite had no desire to remedy the discomfort he felt radiating from Rime. If Rime wished to speak, Malachite was certain wild horses couldn’t keep the Satyr’s trap shut.

He’d left Rime to stew for a few days, not that he’d had much of a choice. His choice, actually, had been to refuse to take Rime’s calls from the jail cell. Instead, he’d allowed their voicemail to answer the frequent attempts. Another small punishment in a long line of small punishments he’d doled out over their separation. Malachite had not abandoned him, though. He’d hired the best solicitor money could buy, and the solicitor had managed to wrangle a magistrate to hear Rime’s case quickly and rule for a hefty fine.

A fine Malachite had solemnly paid. Malachite doubted Rime appreciated any of it, as he’d never bothered to thank him in the past, and Malachite didn’t expect a thank you now. He tossed his keys onto the hall table and kicked his boots off before unbuttoning his coat. His movements were stiff, his eyes forward, and his lips compressed in a thin line as he hung up his umbrella and coat before entering the kitchen.

Before he’d left to retrieve his unfaithful lover, Malachite had put on a pot of thick soup he’d found in the fridge—he assumed Cloud had been providing Rime with ready to heat meals. Around his ankles, two cats twined, meowing softly up at him. These were the two cats he’d brought with him from Italy when Rime had called, and so far, they’d not terrorized the three existing household cats.
It was home.

It was good to be home.

At least, it was as close to being home as was possible for any of the exiled Fae.

Despite the comfort of cats, familiar scents, and the carefully chosen furniture he’d picked out when they’d bought the place, anger still burned in his chest. Seething, simmering fury that had been eating away at him over the last two years of his life. He hadn’t even been this furious over his expulsion from Annwn. Finally, Malachite looked over at Rime, who still stood just inside the living area, looking particularly pathetic and small. It was an odd look for Rime, and one Malachite didn’t think he wore well, and he sighed. “Are you hungry?” he asked, voice clipped and eyes hooded.

“Yes,” Rime nodded, brushing a strand of long, frosty blue hair behind his ear. It didn’t escape his attention that Malachite had hot food waiting for him. It warmed his heart while making his guilt all the more acute. He took a few steps toward the kitchen after removing his slushy, mud-crusted boots in the foyer, and his feet were immediately accosted by two slim cats. He eyed them with amused confusion as he looked from them to Malachite. “New cats?”

“New to the flat, but not to me,” Malachite said as he ladled out the soup into bowls. “Alessa and Fausto. I bought them when I bought my flat in Florence.” He set the bowls on the bar, adding bread and butter to a plate, and then slid onto one of the high stools. “Sit and eat, Rime,” he instructed, dipping a piece of bread into broth.

Rime did as he was told with conditioned ease. Malachite’s orders were always followed in such a way: efficiently and without question. An awkward silence fell between them as they ate, and though Rime occasionally looked up at Malachite, Malachite never locked gazes with him. It was uncomfortable, and Rime was never uncomfortable.

Malachite cleared away the dishes when they finished, washing and setting them in the drying rack. He wiped his hands, fed the cats, and then headed toward the bedroom. “I’m going to take a shower.” He felt filthy after walking back to the flat. Damn English winters. Malachite paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at Rime, who still sat at the bar, eyes on the cats. “Are you coming?” The annoyed impatience was clear in his tone, his frown deepening a touch.

Blue eyes blinked a few times. “Would you like me to?” Rime asked with a note of hopeful hesitancy.

“When have I not?” It was their habit to bathe together, unless one had to get up much earlier than the other. “You smell of jail, and if you expect me to touch you at all tonight, then your ass had best be in that shower stall in five minutes.” Malachite didn’t stay to clarify any further. He walked through their bedroom, and then into the bathroom. Before stripping, Malachite turned on the myriad shower heads and let the room fill with steam.

Rime smiled to himself as he approached the bathroom, removing his clothing as he went. By time he stood in the doorway, he had stripped completely. The bathroom was opulent, an extravagant focal room of their flat constructed largely in sandy travertine tile. Their shower dominated the space, enclosed with plates of smooth glass and equipped with a varied array of shower heads. One wall was completely lined with mirrors, making the space seem even larger, though they were quickly fogging over with the steam. The air was thick with moisture, and Rime ached to let the hot water wash over him. Even a week in that damn holding cell had been too long.

Malachite was already in the shower when Rime stepped up to the glass door. Rime paused a moment, and then opened the shower and slipped inside. He moaned as he stepped into the streaming, almost scalding water. He couldn’t help the sigh of pleasure that escaped him, and he placed a hand on Malachite’s hip, leaning close to his lover’s back. “I don’t expect you to touch me tonight,” Rime whispered into Malachite’s ear, the words almost lost to the rush of water. “I don’t deserve you.”

“What is or isn’t deserved won’t be debated tonight,” Malachite said, turning to face Rime. He’d always hated that Rime was even a fraction of an inch taller than himself. “You and I will be having a much different discussion.” His voice carried a hint of cold malice to it, and something flickered in the stormy, gray eyes. “Wet yourself so I can clean you thoroughly.”

The tone of Malachite’s voice unsettled Rime. Though he wasn’t frightened by what he heard, he knew instinctively that his time apart from Malachite, and his time in jail, was to be the least of his punishments. Rime doused himself with the hot water, knowing there was no escape from whatever penance Malachite demanded of him.

As soon as Rime stepped from the water, Malachite roughly handled him, facing Rime away from him. Within moments, thick suds bubbled in Rime’s impossibly long hair, the white almost obscuring the gentle blue. The room was soon scented with spices, warm and soothing, unlike the hands that combed through Rime’s hair. Malachite used a detachable head to rinse the hair, and then slicked it with conditioner. Rime’s hair was a vanity they both indulged in, and even in his anger, Malachite didn’t mistreat the cascade of summer sky he’d lovingly tended to for so many years.

Malachite had worded his order specifically, and he was pleased Rime followed it. He stood there, unmoving, as Malachite wove a wet braid of his hair so that it wouldn’t tangle. When he was through, Malachite soaped up his hands. He used an abundance of soap, scrubbing Rime’s back, arms, and chest, and then dropped to his knees to wash Rime’s legs, front and back. He added more soap to his hands and, in a low, gruff voice, he said, “Bend over and spread your legs, hands on the seat, and don’t move.”

Without a word, Rime obeyed, turning to the side and bending over with his hands braced against one of the shower’s stone seats. His breath had sped the moment Malachite’s hands had touched his skin, and he closed his eyes as he bowed his head between his arms. There was tension, and it sang in the air between them, a melody Rime could easily hear in their breaths, their heartbeats.

Malachite soaped Rime’s groin, his fingers tugging harshly at the hardening cock nestled there. Perhaps he spent longer than needed fondling and cleaning Rime’s dick, and perhaps he didn’t. His hand then moved to the soft, vulnerable sac beneath, pulling and scrubbing with hard fingers.

There was no mistaking Malachite’s mood; it rang clear in his tone, his expression, and his touch.

His fingers drew up Rime’s perineum, his touch slippery with soap, and with excruciating slowness, he circled the hole between Rime’s ass cheeks. “Don’t clench,” he warned, and it was the only warning given before two soapy fingers slid ruthlessly into the confines of Rime’s body.

Rime didn’t clench as he was penetrated, just as ordered. Instead, he forced all his tension into his harsh breathing. In and out. In and out. He could endure. He would endure. Whatever Malachite offered, he’d take. If this was the prelude… His fingers twitched against the stone, and he moaned as he held on as tightly as he could.

Malachite raised an eyebrow as he thrust his fingers in and out. Rime, throughout the years, had been a heavily used lover, and despite exercises meant to keep muscles toned, there was a certain looseness about his body. That looseness was distinctly different now. “Two years have done wonders for your ass,” he muttered as he slid a third finger inside. A small smile twitched at his lips. “Should I use the enema?” he murmured, and the way he spoke said he would use it whether Rime agreed or not.

Glancing over his shoulder, Rime nodded with another moan as he was stretched wider. It was something Malachite did sometimes, both to clean out Rime’s ass and, in cases like these, as a form of subtle humiliation. Rime had never particularly enjoyed the process or the sensation, but it was personal, something Malachite could use to his advantage. A few moments later, Rime felt the metallic nozzle of the enema shower attachment slip into his passage, and he was immediately flooded with barely warm water.

It took a count of ten. It was something they had worked out years and years ago. A count of ten meant Rime would be full enough to be uncomfortable, but not in pain. “Clench.” As soon as Rime’s muscles complied, Malachite withdrew the nozzle. “Go take care of it,” Malachite said as he rinsed the metal head before returning it to its place. He heard Rime exit the shower stall, and while his lover dealt with the unpleasantries of the enema, Malachite set to quickly washing himself.

He heard Rime re-enter the shower, and Malachite eyed him. “Bend over once more.” In silence, Rime bent, presenting his ass to Malachite again. Malachite used more soap, penetrating Rime with unrelenting fingers. When he was done, he rinsed Rime’s backside, washed his own hands, and began to shut off the water. “Dry off, then go sit on the bed and wait for me,” Malachite ordered without looking at Rime. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

There was little emotion, and even less affection, in Malachite’s voice and manner, and it only served to unsettle Rime further. Arousal was unavoidable, but along with the joy Rime felt at having his lover back, he also felt a glimmer of anxiety that no other could inspire in him. This was no simple foul mood Malachite had developed due to work or the complexities of his family. The darkness Rime felt in Malachite’s spirit was his fault. He had been more than unfaithful, and he was about to reap what he’d sown two years ago.

Malachite entered the extravagant bedroom with its lush bed and went to one of three closets in the room. As his eyes roamed the many shelves and hooks, he spoke. “I think there is a discussion we have avoided having since that first Lughnasadh together. Maybe that’s my fault, maybe it isn’t, but the fact remains, the words need to be said. Finally.” He chose his weapon and returned to the bed. “On your hands and knees, forehead pressed to the bed, ass high in the air.”

Rime eyed the very thin, sturdy cane in Malachite’s hand. A shiver ran the length of his spine as he moved into position, understanding the pain and pleasure he was about to receive. His body was eager to feel all that it had lacked over the last two years—he was very nearly crazed for it—but his mind was less sure. There would be pleasure, oh, yes, but this was ultimately a form of punishment. Malachite knew him far too well, knew that for a satyr, punishment had to be particularly garish if it was to penetrate past a spirit that reveled in excess to begin with. Only through such extremes could he hope to gain any wisdom or insight.

The cane moved lightly over Rime’s rounded ass, the touch a gentle caress. “Do you know how much I love you?” he asked nonchalantly as he drew the cane back. “Do you even care?” The first strike of wood to flesh was firm, but not painful. Malachite had honed this skill of his with the rabidity of the fanatically devoted when he’d learned of Rime’s preferences.

Rime’s body shifted slightly with the blow, a quick sting sparking along his nerves. His heart ached at the questions; he knew Malachite wasn’t asking rhetorically. Malachite actually expected an answer. “I know… and I care,” he breathed.

“You have an odd manner of showing it,” Malachite snapped, his wrist flicking swiftly, the cane falling perfectly across the skin where the first blow had been delivered.

Rime clenched his eyes shut as guilt rose in him again, choking all words that sat lodged in his throat. What could he say?

Malachite began a languid pace that built in intensity, his strikes concentrating on the meaty portions of Rime’s ass and thighs. “You should feel guilty, and I won’t grant you pardon from it. Not yet. I withheld my tongue when I loved you, and I withheld my tongue when you sought other lovers without me. I’ve withheld so much that I should have expressed. I withheld it because I was afraid. I’m quite tired of being afraid, and I’ve grown weary of indulging your every whim.” His arm swung with more force as the anger roiled blackly within him. “But mark my words, Rime,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I am not weary of you.”

The first moan escaped Rime’s lips as the harsher blow sent a bright streak of pain through his senses. He could hear Malachite’s mind humming loudly, and he knew through those wordless thoughts that blame was not placed solely upon either of them. It was a fact that soothed a bit of his unease as another blow sent him rocking forward, his forehead pressed into the mattress of their bed.

All sound ceased but wood against flesh and the pitiful, muffled cries from Rime. Malachite struck again and again until welts formed and sweat dripped down his face. He panted as he gazed at the pale bruises already forming on Rime’s body. “I hate you,” he hissed, hitting with renewed strength, the strikes echoing in the quiet room.

The phrase was familiar and carried more meaning than most could convey through those simple words. Malachite’s anger was clear, but in that statement there was a deep, abiding love that accompanied the rage. It was that emotion that forced a loud, sobbing cry from Rime as the well-aimed blows hit the abused, welted flesh just below the swell of his backside. It might not all be his fault, but so much of the mess did lay at his oblivious feet.

A shudder ran down Malachite’s spine at the cry. It was one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever had the privilege to hear, and he’d heard many. Rime’s buttocks were a mass of welts and bruises, the flesh tender and red, ready to split. He tossed the cane to the floor and walked to the side of the bed. “On the floor,” he said, words breathless. “On your knees, hands laced behind your back!”

Rime obeyed shakily; the movement caused pain to ripple through him sharply, steal his breath away. His cock was hot and heavy between his legs as he pushed himself from the bed and dropped instantly to his knees. His fingers twined together behind his back, brushing occasionally against the angry, smarting flesh of his ass and thighs. Rime looked up at Malachite, his pale eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

The pain and regret, love and need Malachite saw in Rime’s eyes was breathtaking. He couldn’t stop himself, and he reached out to cup a flushed, damp cheek. His thumb rubbed along Rime’s jaw, and then over his lips. “Open,” he ordered, voice thick, and his own sex was erect and eager. “Open wide and relax your throat. This will be the first lesson of the night.” Because there were several more to be learned before he offered Rime his release and forgiveness.

There wasn’t a moment of hesitation as Rime opened his mouth, and, with a final swallow, released all tension from his throat. The gentle touch to his face was, in its own way, a reward, a gesture of love he treasured.

Malachite’s thumb dipped into Rime’s mouth, gliding over even teeth. “This is mine,” he whispered, a fire blazing in his eyes as he held Rime’s gaze. “No other will trespass between these lips unless I say they may.” He took himself in hand and guided his sex into the hot mouth ready to accept him. His eyes fluttered as he pushed himself inside until lips surrounded the root of him, and he moaned loudly as Rime’s wet warmth surround him once more. “No other,” he hissed, hands cupping Rime’s throat as he slowly withdrew until the head of his cock pulled at lush lips. He paused, and then plunged back in with another soft, musical cry.

Rime all but melted at Malachite’s words, shuddering at the possession. He reveled in the utter domination that colored each word, each movement that pushed Malachite into the depths of his throat. It was a side of Malachite he’d never before seen in all their years together. There was an unwavering confidence that overcame Malachite as his pace increased, and Rime was helpless in its wake. His breath was short, and his jaw began to ache as he struggled to keep his eyes locked on Malachite’s and ride the ebb and flow.

Malachite pushed Rime just beyond discomfort, until he knew Rime’s jaw would still be smarting by the next night. A wet sound accompanied his withdrawal from Rime’s mouth, and Malachite bent at the waist, capturing those slick lips with his own. He savagely kissed Rime, tongue plundering and claiming, the anger and hurt and absolute love he felt fed into the mating of lips, tongue, and teeth. He parted, eyes glittering, thumbs pressing on the pulse he felt hammering in Rime’s throat. “To whom does this belong?”

“You.” Rime trembled beneath Malachite’s hands, forcing the words through his burning throat. “It’s yours, Malachite.”

“Good.” Malachite gave a final squeeze to the pale throat. “On the bed, hands and knees, legs spread wide,” he ordered as he righted himself. Malachite went to their bedside table and withdrew a bottle of lube. “I should fuck you until you’re raw, and then leave you wanting,” he muttered as he stared down at the bottle, his back to the bed.

Rime took several deep breaths, desperate to regain some semblance of control. Still shaking, and unbelievably aroused, he moved from the floor to the bed, wincing when he tried to swallow. He slowly positioned himself, spreading his legs a bit wider this time. He closed his eyes and prayed to the Old Gods that Malachite would take pity on him, not leaving him wanting. He hadn’t been asked a question, and so he chose to remain silent, his lips numb and throat hot.

Malachite turned to Rime, his gray gaze dark. “You have so very little to say tonight, Rime. Usually, I can’t shut you up even with my cock shoved down your throat.” He mounted the bed behind Rime, dragging his nails across the welted, scarlet skin.

A tear fell from Rime’s eyes as he screamed in a pain that transcended the physical. Still no question, and so he kept his silence.

Malachite poured the cold, viscous fluid down the crevice of Rime’s backside, and then added a generous amount to his fingers. He pushed them into Rime, three fingers spreading Rime wide. “This is mine.” He hooked his fingers and dragged them over the raised flesh within the passage, stroking mercilessly. “No other will trespass into this tightness unless I say they may.” Malachite thrust in and out, rubbing that bump with unerring precision. “None, Rime, do you hear me!”

Each touch of those fingers inside caused Rime to cry out into the coverlet. Sparks of light threatened to overtake his vision, but he gripped the sheets and forced back the pleasure that would normally have sent him over the edge. Every movement acknowledged Malachite’s words, and he pushed back hungrily against the slick digits.

Malachite tortured Rime in the sweetest, most heart-wrenching ways. He replaced fingers with cock, shouting a vulgarity to the ceiling. His fingers bruisingly gripped Rime’s hips as he brutally took him with body and words. “Two years I fucking waited for you, and you couldn’t bother to come after me until you had to! Two years!” Tears hovered on his lashes, and the pain he had endured threatened to suffocate him. “Only when I could do something for you did you even call! Nothing has changed… nothing will ever change.”

Rime sobbed as he was forcefully taken, something he hadn’t experienced in what seemed like centuries. Every nerve was on fire, glowing red with pain, and he finally broke his silence. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered pathetically, weeping into their sheets. “I should have… earlier… I’m so sorry…”

The pounding of flesh and the sound of sobs permeated the room, and Malachite clenched his eyes tightly against the pain he sensed from Rime. There were times when the mating bond complicated everything. When he could feel how distraught Rime was, it made holding onto his rage that much more difficult. “Why?” he demanded. It was the only question that had burned in his mind since the first week of their separation. “Dammit, why?”

“Shame!” Rime choked out. “Shame and arrogant pride!”

Malachite pulled out, shoved Rime onto his back, and then knelt between his legs. His face hovered above Rime’s tear-stained one. His fingers delved back into the slippery passage, relentlessly working that bundle of nerves. He knew how much it had taken Rime to admit that, and while he wanted to acknowledge it, he refused. Rime deserved no relief from him. Not yet. “To whom does this belong?” he said, the words all but spat in Rime’s face as he rammed his fingers into him.

“You!” Rime gasped. He ground his teeth together, his whole body tense as he tried so hard to keep himself from coming.

Leaving Rime’s hole, Malachite traveled down his lover’s body, lips hovering over the dark, engorged shaft resting unspent between tense thighs. “This is mine.” He lapped at the fluid smeared on the tip and Rime’s belly. “No other will trespass here unless I say they may.” Malachite drew Rime into his mouth and slid down until his lips wrapped around the base of him. His touch now was gentler, kinder, though the unspoken command remained between them: Rime wasn’t permitted his release until Malachite gave him permission.

Rime screamed Malachite’s name as he writhed beneath him. The tenderness was a stark contrast to the pain and violence that had colored Malachite’s actions all evening.

Malachite drew on him for several minutes, bringing pleasure where he’d only brought pain. His fingers caressed thighs, hips, and one teased the space between navel and groin. It was a unique aspect of his wild Satyr, an erotically hypersensitive patch of skin. Arousal settled insistently between Malachite’s legs as Rime screamed for him again. He craved completion as much as he knew Rime did. He wanted to spend himself deep inside Rime, though, claim him as his all over again, but that would have to wait.

The lessons were not yet complete.

Malachite lifted his head, hand still stroking that patch of skin while the other fisted wet, hard flesh. “To whom does this belong?” Malachite asked, voice guttural and deep.

“You…” Rime whimpered, his breath catching each time Malachite’s fingers brushed the skin of his abdomen. His whole body quivered with unspent need, and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed to stay his climax.

“Good.” Malachite poured more lube into his palm and smeared it along Rime’s cock. “There are only two more lessons for you to learn tonight,” he murmured as he straddled Rime’s waist. Gritting his teeth, Malachite sat back on the glistening shaft, shoving away the pain as he took himself without any fingering. “This… is yours…” he panted when his ass rested against Rime’s thighs. “Look… look at me, Rime… this is yours…” Malachite clenched his muscles around Rime to emphasize his point, his hands splayed over Rime’s stomach.

Rime’s tear-lined eyes grew wide with shock and pleasure. Malachite didn’t often offer this pleasure to him, and to feel it now, after so long apart and with such pain between them… He didn’t know what to do with it. His shaking hands gripped Malachite’s hips and held tightly as if Malachite were the only port in a raging storm. “Mal… achite… Ah!” Rime’s toes curled as he tried to keep himself in check. The order hadn’t been given… not yet. Not. Yet.

Malachite took one of Rime’s hands from his hips and wrapped it around his cock. “This… is yours.” Malachite leaned forward, lips near Rime’s. “And this… is yours…” he breathed before taking Rime’s mouth in a shattering kiss. His tongue swiped against Rime’s briefly, and then he righted himself. “I am… yours. To whom do… you belong?” Malachite asked as he began to rise and fall on Rime’s cock, encouraging Rime to stroke him in return.

Once he received his answer, that was.

“You! I belong… to you… only you!” Rime cried, his voice trembling with the strain. His grip on Malachite tightened, and he did his best to pump his cock despite the pressure building inside him. The friction of Malachite’s body pushed him to the very edge of his sanity, and he was finally reduced to a sobbing mass of over-stimulated nerves. “Please… Malachite! Please!”

Malachite was so close, skating that vibrant brink of pleasure he’d denied himself all night. The brief reconnection in the jail cell was nothing compared to this. With amazing grace, Malachite dismounted Rime, and then rolled Rime onto his side and lifted his leg. “If we are to find release,” he growled in Rime’s ear while he pressed himself to Rime’s hold, “then we will find it with my cock piercing you!” He thrust in and moaned, his eyes rolling up. “You are mine, and don’t ever forget that fact! Mine!” His hips snapped forward rapidly, his hand fisting Rime’s shaft. With a heartbreaking sob, emotion overtook Malachite, and he bit deeply into the junction Rime’s throat and shoulder. Tasting blood, he cried out to their bond, Come, beloved! His body tightened, and his hand yanked forcefully at Rime’s cock as orgasm washed through him like white fire, blazing and purifying. His seed pulsed into the clutching body, marked what Malachite claimed for his own while he wept softly against the bloodied throat.

It was with a shattering sound somewhere between a scream and a painful sob that Rime finally found his release. His vision was engulfed in brilliant light, his hearing consumed by the rush of his pulse. He arched against Malachite until the blinding moment of climax passed, leaving him limp and trembling in Malachite’s arms.

Pounding hearts and rasping breath, broken by soft sounds of grief and relief, filled the space between them. Malachite clung to Rime, whispering over and over, “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long… Don’t be with others without me, Rime. Work is one thing, but what you did… what you did was unforgivable…”

Rime’s heart broke, and he turned just enough to bring his lips close to Malachite’s. “I’m sorry. I love you… I’m sorry…” he sobbed before pressing an almost chaste kiss to Malachite’s lips. His soul called to Malachite’s, begging to be held, to be cherished again. Satyrs didn’t take bondmates lightly. He’d gone against the advice of everyone in his tribe who had warned him that bonding with one of the Aes Sídhe—especially one of princes of the Lunar Court—was like gelding himself. The Aes Sídhe were possessive, needy, and bonding with one would slowly smother the Satyr’s soul.

But that hadn’t been what Rime had found with Malachite. He’d found his place at Malachite’s side, and now, after two years of neglecting their bond, Rime needed to feel it open up between them. He let the song of his spirit rise, become deafening, offering itself up to Malachite just as it had the night of their bonding.

Malachite’s gold-tinged spirit immediately enveloped Rime’s frosty one, soothing with unseen fingers as physical arms wrapped around him tightly. Their songs merged, became a duet that was as complete and as rich as any symphony. His mind wrapped around Rime’s, whispering, You are everything to me, Rime. For you, I forsook Death when all I had craved was peace. For you, I lived. For you, I live. “You are forgiven,” he whispered against swollen lips. “Lesson taught, lesson learned.” His thumb and forefinger stroked Rime’s right middle finger. “I want rings. I bound my spirit to yours, as is the way of our kind, and yet you never gave me a ring, never asked for one from me. I want one, even if those of this world won’t understand its meaning… you and I will.”

Rime’s chin trembled, and he clenched his teeth as he turned in Malachite’s arms. He hugged Malachite close as he sobbed into the crook of his neck. So many times Malachite had said he’d wanted nothing but the release of death, to follow his brothers through the cleansing fires to be reborn, forgiven, washed of all sins. To be the reason for Malachite’s life was the greatest purpose Rime could ever have. It meant the world to him. Despite all the years spent together, he found himself falling in love with Malachite all over again in that moment. I love you, Malachite. My bondmate, my world. You’re everything to me. He pulled back enough to look into Malachite’s stormcloud eyes, and a small smile broke out on his flushed, wet face. “As soon as I can move, we can go ring shopping like humans do.”

“Ring shopping?” Malachite chuckled. “After the fine I paid to haul your ass out of jail,  you’ll be working overtime for Briar.” Malachite slipped from the bed, disappearing into the bathroom.

The sound of Malachite’s humor was like healing balm to a deep wound in Rime’s soul. He remained on his side, chuckling softly to himself even though the subtle movements caused shocks of pain to shoot all along his body. Fuck, it had been a long time since he’d been so thoroughly punished and used. Even if he hated what had led to it, he reveled in the aftermath.

Malachite returned with washcloths, a jar of salve, a glass of water, and a bottle of aspirin. He gently cleaned come and lube from Rime’s ass, and then wiped Rime’s groin and belly. “If you want to shop for rings together, then shop for them we shall.” He kissed Rime’s shoulder, pressing a cool cloth to the angry bite on Rime’s throat. “But I want platinum.”

Rime hissed, smiling through the pain. “Anything you wish, Mal.”

A sharp, herbal scent filled the room when Malachite opened the salve. A smile blossomed on his lips when Rime called him Mal. “Anything we wish,” he whispered, smearing the numbing ointment onto Rime’s buttocks and thighs, working it in with tender fingers.

Rime whimpered. Malachite’s care was something that still made Rime feel awed and utterly loved. Satyrs had a way of making bloodshed into art, and Rime had sacrificed his flesh to such games countless times. But no other had taken such loving care of him. It was one thing Rime had never taken for granted, even after more than seven hundred years at Malachite’s side. “I love you, Mal.”

“I love you, too,” Malachite said, offering the glass of water and aspirin. “Take these, and then we’ll go to sleep… next to one another.” He’d craved that simple contact, the act of Rime lying in his arms as dreams claimed them. “I’ve missed holding you.”

Rime swallowed the pills, and then he leaned over to place a kiss on Malachite’s lips, caressing his cheek softly with his free hand. “I missed you every moment of every day. I missed singing with you.”

Malachite took the glass from Rime, set it on the nightstand, and then turned out the light. The bed was welcoming, the sheets soft and smooth against his still-flushed body. Malachite tucked them both under the thick comforter and nuzzled Rime’s cheek. “Is the lesson complete?” he asked, stroking Rime’s hair. Before Rime could respond, the mattress sagged under a significant weight at their feet. Tûg purred loudly as he settled in the hollow of Malachite’s legs, and soon, the other four cats joined the first on the bed. “How could you miss me when you had them?” Malachite snorted, pulling Rime close and holding him gently, ever aware of the welts striping Rime’s body.

“None of them could ever replace you,” Rime murmured, though there was a smile on his face as the cats surrounded them. “No one shall ever replace you, Mal. I won’t fuck around without your permission, I promise.” He closed his eyes, settling in Malachite’s arms, feeling at home for the first time in too long. “The lesson is complete.”

TBC…

***

The next chapter will be available on Patreon September 19th, so if you want to read that as soon as it’s available, come support us! :D You can support us for as little as $1 a chapter while also getting free, exclusive access to scene logs, Q&As, art reveals, and so much more.

“Gross Indecency : An Otherworld Novel” Chapter Three : Support Us on Patreon :D

August 21, 2015
Support Us on Patreon!

 

grossindecency_small

Gross Indecency: An Otherworld Novel in-progress novel K. and S.L. are working on starring some sexy Fae exiled to London. It’s a smutty romp, pure erotic fun with no real plot. It will be about 100,000 words when complete, and the first 9 chapters are written, and we’re sharing those as we write the remaining chapters. We will release one new chapter of it each month for our patrons! I’ll give a teaser here from the third chapter (which is now available in full PDF format for our Patreon patrons):

***

Through the haze of comfortable slumber, Malachite sensed Rime’s gaze. His eyes fluttered open slowly and then focused on Rime, though sleep continued to cloud the stormy depths. “There is room for one more,” he murmured thickly, lifting his arm invitingly. Come rest with your family. We’ve missed you. He didn’t ask where Rime had been, and he didn’t worry about his brief absence. Malachite no longer had reason to fear when Rime disappeared, and there was great freedom in that knowledge.

Rime finished his cup of tea in one swallow, and then set it aside before he moved to the sofa. When Rime slid in next to Malachite, Tûg meowed sleepily, stretching before slowly walking around Rime and curling up at the small of his back. A loud, rolling purr floated up from the ginger tabby as he moved his head back and forth over the pastel curtain of his master’s hair. Rime chuckled as he rested his head on Malachite’s outstretched arm. I missed you too, Mal. “I love you,” he whispered, giving Malachite’s lips a brief kiss.

Malachite wrapped his free arm around Rime, his fingers brushing against Tûg’s ears. “Love you, too,” he breathed, dreams claiming him fully once more.

They slept for several hours, unmoving in the haze of late afternoon. It was pleasant and familiar, an indulgence they couldn’t deny themselves. And why should they? It was Tûg who finally broke the stillness, stretching before hopping down from the couch in search of food. The loud thump on the wood floor signaled a shift in Rime’s weight. He slumped closer to Malachite, and the soft nudge disturbed the rest of the cats, who soon followed Tûg’s example.

Malachite’s eyes gradually opened, and he smiled lazily. Rime’s lips were too temptingly close for Malachite to resist. The kiss was gentle, a teasing of lips and tongue. His fingers trailed over Rime’s waist, along his hip, and came to rest on the swell of his ass. He pressed himself even closer, lightly rubbing himself against Rime.

Rime’s eyes remained closed as his tongue unconsciously responded to Malachite’s in a series of small licks. He purred at their closeness, warmth seeping through every pore, even as he remained half asleep.

Malachite chuckled while his hand massaged a buttock, and he nipped playfully at Rime’s lower lip. “You are such a cat,” he whispered. “Should I pour you a bowl of cream and fetch the catnip?” The only response he received from Rime was a louder purr, and Malachite laughed. “I must find you ears and a tail, beloved, and perhaps a collar with a little bell.”

He rolled Rime onto his back and settled above him, brushing away clinging strands of sky blue hair. “You… are so beautiful,” he said, eyes searching Rime’s face. Malachite thrust against Rime’s groin and descended upon his neck, suckling at the pulse just under Rime’s jaw.

A small gasp passed between Rime’s lips, and he suddenly felt much more awake, shifting beneath Malachite as arousal coursed hotly through him. His hands smoothed up Malachite’s arms, traveling up until his fingers caressed through midnight-and-blood hair, and then against delicately pointed ears. “Hungry?” he asked with a moan.

“Very,” Malachite groaned, breath hot against Rime’s throat. His hand slid between them and began to pull at the snaps of Rime’s trousers.

Rime chuckled, his hand meeting Malachite’s and stilling it half-heartedly. “Wait, Mal,” he breathed with a brilliant smile. “I have a surprise for you.”

Malachite’s head drooped against Rime’s shoulder as he sighed. “It had best be a new flavor of lube…”

***

Patrons of ours over at Patreon get some fun perks aside from just getting to read the stories as we write them. Here are just the first four tiers:

Pledge $1.00 or more per Chapter
A chance to vote in a poll for what log scene S.L. and K. will do next for live session in Google Drive. Plus, weekly invitation to watch a Google Drive of S.L. and K. writing a log scene. These could be erotic in nature or completely innocent. We will let you know when we send out the invitation.

Pledge $5.00 or more per Chapter
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There are also several logs of fiction K. and I have written that all patrons can access, so come and support us and our fiction!

“Gross Indecency : An Otherworld Novel” Chapter Two : Support Us on Patreon :D

August 19, 2015
Support Us on Patreon!

 

grossindecency_small

Gross Indecency: An Otherworld Novel in-progress novel K. and S.L. are working on starring some sexy Fae exiled to London. It’s a smutty romp, pure erotic fun with no real plot. It will be about 100,000 words when complete, and the first 9 chapters are written, and we’re sharing those as we write the remaining chapters. We will release one new chapter of it each month for our patrons! I’ll give a teaser here from the second chapter (which is now available in full PDF format for our Patreon patrons):

***

“What is or isn’t deserved won’t be debated tonight,” Malachite said, turning to face Rime. He’d always hated that Rime was even a fraction of an inch taller than himself. “You and I will be having a much different discussion.” His voice carried a hint of cold malice to it, and something flickered in the stormy, gray eyes. “Wet yourself so I can clean you thoroughly.”

The tone of Malachite’s voice unsettled Rime. Though he wasn’t frightened by what he heard, he knew instinctively that his time apart from Malachite, and his time in jail, was to be the least of his punishments. Rime doused himself with the hot water, knowing there was no escape from whatever penance Malachite demanded of him.

As soon as Rime stepped from the water, Malachite roughly handled him, facing Rime away from him. Within moments, thick suds bubbled in Rime’s impossibly long hair, the white almost obscuring the gentle blue. The room was soon scented with spices, warm and soothing, unlike the hands that combed through Rime’s hair. Malachite used a detachable head to rinse the hair, and then slicked it with conditioner. Rime’s hair was a vanity they both indulged in, and even in his anger, Malachite didn’t mistreat the cascade of summer sky he’d lovingly tended to for so many years.

Malachite had worded his order specifically, and he was pleased Rime followed it. He stood there, unmoving, as Malachite wove a wet braid of his hair so that it wouldn’t tangle. When he was through, Malachite soaped up his hands. He used an abundance of soap, scrubbing Rime’s back, arms, and chest, and then dropped to his knees to wash Rime’s legs, front and back. He added more soap to his hands and, in a low, gruff voice, he said, “Bend over and spread your legs, hands on the seat, and don’t move.”

Without a word, Rime obeyed, turning to the side and bending over with his hands braced against one of the shower’s stone seats. His breath had sped the moment Malachite’s hands had touched his skin, and he closed his eyes as he bowed his head between his arms. There was tension, and it sang in the air between them, a melody Rime could easily hear in their breaths, their heartbeats.

Malachite soaped Rime’s groin, his fingers tugging harshly at the hardening cock nestled there. Perhaps he spent longer than needed fondling and cleaning Rime’s dick, and perhaps he didn’t. His hand then moved to the soft, vulnerable sac beneath, pulling and scrubbing with hard fingers.
There was no mistaking Malachite’s mood; it rang clear in his tone, his expression, and his touch.

His fingers drew up Rime’s perineum, his touch slippery with soap, and with excruciating slowness, he circled the hole between Rime’s ass cheeks. “Don’t clench,” he warned, and it was the only warning given before two soapy fingers slid ruthlessly into the confines of Rime’s body.

Rime didn’t clench as he was penetrated, just as ordered. Instead, he forced all his tension into his harsh breathing. In and out. In and out. He could endure. He would endure. Whatever Malachite offered, he’d take. If this was the prelude… His fingers twitched against the stone, and he moaned as he held on as tightly as he could.

***

Patrons of ours over at Patreon get some fun perks aside from just getting to read the stories as we write them. Here are just the first four tiers:

Pledge $1.00 or more per Chapter
A chance to vote in a poll for what log scene S.L. and K. will do next for live session in Google Drive. Plus, weekly invitation to watch a Google Drive of S.L. and K. writing a log scene. These could be erotic in nature or completely innocent. We will let you know when we send out the invitation.

Pledge $5.00 or more per Chapter
Receive eBook bundle (PDF/MOBI/ePub/Lit) of any titles we complete and release while you are our patron, plus any previous reward levels.

Pledge $10.00 or more per Chapter
A custom 100-200 word drabble based on either an original concept or within our realm of fanfiction preferences each month you’re our patron, plus any previous reward levels.

Pledge $20.00 or more per Chapter
Receive a print book (shipped free in the US) of any title we release while you are our patron, plus any previous reward levels.

There are also several logs of fiction K. and I have written that all patrons can access, so come and support us and our fiction!

A Sad Day: Rest In Peace Kone, Our Lovely Silver Tabby

August 11, 2015
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Back in 2001 and 2002, we lived in a podunk trailer with irresponsible roommates that didn’t understand that we were poor and had an intact female cat who already had one litter we’d kept. They would let her out when she’d go in heat because they didn’t want to hear her whining. Right around Roger’s 23rd birthday, S or J let Mama Kitty out, and she proudly returned to us a quieter–and very pregnant–cat. She ballooned up through Thanksgiving and Christmas and, right before our 3rd wedding anniversary, she gave birth to three babies. Murray, a completely black kitten, came first. An hour or so later, our silver tiger boy, Kone, came. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, our dusky white girl, Kirei, arrived.
 
This is about that second born. My Kone-boy. DoubleStuff. Lardbutt. Fatass. :) My silver tiger who brought big purrs and shrill demands for treats to this family. Tonight, we helped him on his way to the Rainbow Bridge. There, he will reunite with his mother, Mama Kitty, and his half-sister, Koku, who we lost years ago. Dorian is there, his frail body whole once more. Little Boy is also there, and I hope he’s happier now that his body is no longer bringing him pain. And Kone’s big dog brother Dusk will be there, too, as will my mother’s dogs Brandy (who Kone never met) and Gandalf (who Kone spent three years gettin’ to know).
 
Knowing this was coming, that we made this choice to end his pain before it became something a lot worse, doesn’t lessen my grief. It doesn’t lessen the hole in my heart where this precious tub of silver fluff made his home for thirteen years. From the moment he was born, he was my sweetheart, my shadow. He’s my shadow still, but he walks beside me in a plane I cannot see yet. He waits for me. Keep Kone in your thoughts tonight. He’s in a new place, a strange place, and I want him to know how much he is loved, how much he is missed, and how much his parents can’t wait to see him once more.
 
I cherish my life with him. I hoard my memories of him, even the final hours with him last night. They are mine, and I hold them close.
 
“They say memories are golden
well maybe that is true.
I never wanted memories,
I only wanted you.

A million times I needed you,
a million times I cried.
If love alone could have saved you
you never would have died.

In life I loved you dearly,
In death I love you still.
In my heart you hold a place
no one could ever fill.

If tears could build a stairway
and heartache make a lane,
I’d walk the path to heaven
and bring you back again.

Our family chain is broken,
and nothing seems the same.
But as God calls us one by one,
the chain will link again.”

~Vicky Holder
 
Run freely and without pain or frailty, my sweet Koneko-chan. Mummy, Daddy, Kris, Grandma, and Grandpa love you.

Kone
January 14, 2002 – August 11, 2015

Let’s Get Personal: Health Update

May 27, 2015

Oi. Last night was… bah.

Husband-thing began have intense abdominal pains with an inability to urinate around 11pm. He tried drinking water and a hot bath to see if he could loosen things up. At 2:30am, he said he had to go to the hospital. I’d taken my evening meds, which includes Ambien and Seroquel and narcotics for pain… no way I could have possibly taken him. So, I texted my boi in her room and asked if she could take him to St. Joe’s South up the street… and instantly, she’s in control. Gets him up there and into a room ASAP. And I trust him with her, just as I trust her with him. I got frequent text updates from my boi, and she was determined he not be in pain (his pain level was a 10). When the nurse said she’d get him an NSAID, Kris put her foot down and said no, he needed something stronger. They wound up giving him Dilaudid, an NSAID, and something for the nausea.

Around 6:30-7am, my boi came home with the husband-thing.

He had a 1.3 millimeter kidney stone on his right and another stone on his left that hadn’t caused trouble yet. My boi filled his prescriptions and brought them home with some apple juice for the husband-thing to take the pills with. Husband-thing’s pain level has gone way down from the 10 it was at 2am. In fact, after rest, juice, and meds, he felt well enough to go into work to work the rest of the day (from 1pm until 6pm). I felt so bad for him this morning, but I’m so glad he’s feeling better. It was a panic moment since husband-thing NEVER says he has to go to the hospital.

As for me… I have my appointment on Friday with my pain management doctor. Because I’ve suddenly begun seeing auras and having these silent migraines full of all other migraine symptoms since beginning the Remicade infusions, my rheumatologist wants me to talk to him about them (since he’s a neurologist and one of the best in the area she said). I also want to see if he’ll skip the Tylenol 3 and Vicodin (the former makes me nauseated and the latter doesn’t help my break-through pain) and put me on Percocet (which I’ve always tolerated a hell of a lot better than the other narcotic pain relievers). I just know Percocet is harder to prescribe in Florida due to its popularity for abuse. I also get the test results back about how fast I metabolize medication on Friday, too, which I think will be a wonderful insight for ALL my doctors.

I called my psychiatrist today because my Concerta just isn’t helping. Everything is a lot worse since upping my Seroquel. I’m worried there won’t be much for me to try. I’ve tried only two so far: NuVigil and Concerta. The Concerta worked so well before I went on the immunosuppressants, but now it doesn’t do anything. Trying to leave him a message about the medication, though, was a pain in the ass. *sighs* Should be able to talk to him about the med change tomorrow.

I also got my most recent blood work for the rheumatologist back and am happy to report that my inflammation rates have continually decreased since February. They’re still high, but lower than before the methotrexate and Remicade. It started out as 2.6mg/L and is now 1.5mg/L. :D Goal is to get under 0.80mg/L. My fasting glucose levels have also improved. In August, it was 142. Now it’s 124. Also still a little higher than wanted (ideal is under 100), but a vast improvement. I still can’t shake my high white blood cell count and high red blood cell count, though. They’ve stayed high for a while now. My SED Rate, though, has improved quite a bit. It was 60 when I began the methotrexate, and now it’s 18, back in the normal range. Very excited about that.

I’m just still exhausted all the time, my brain in a fog when I’m awake, and I sleep excessively (like 15+ hours a day). Every time I call a doctor to begin shifting around medications, I feel like Diana in Next to Normal: “Not a very exact science, is it?

So, yeah. Bit of a health update!

“Gross Indecency: An Otherworld Novel” Chapter One

May 20, 2015

Gross Indecency: An Otherworld Novel will eventually be edited and put on sale, but for now, I figured as we worked on it, we would also release the chapters for free. :) Call it an experiment. One chapter a month will be put out here, Tumblr, and a couple of other outlets. However, if you support us on Patreon, you get to see the chapter a week or two before it become publicly available. So… support us! :D You get lots of fun bits and bobs in addition to fiction.

Right now, Gross Indecency is 128 pages (42,583 words) long, and that’s not even half of the planned novel. ;) It’s a kinky romp with exiled faeries, so anything goes.

***

Blurb: When Malachite, a battle-weary Sídhe prince of the Lunar Court, fell for Rime, a darkly seductive Solar Court satyr with a haunting gift for music, their love threw the Faerie Houses on both sides into an uproar. Forced to choose between love and obligation, Malachite turned his back on his family, preferring exile with Rime over his duty as a noble of the Aos Sí.

Now, banished from their homelands among the Fae Folk and forced to live among humans, Malachite and Rime must find a way to survive and succeed in the mortal realm with their fellow exiles. Hiding in plain sight, they put their otherworldly talents and charms to use in the most appropriate place possible: they start a small adult film company and begin producing porn. But work is only the beginning of this glimpse into their erotic and often kinky lives in modern day London.

***

London, England, 2015

Malachite stalked through the doorway, his face twisted with annoyance. “Tell me, once again, what the charge was… and why the hell I’m bothering to bail you out.”

Rime smirked as he rose from his cot and pressed himself against the cold metal bars of his holding cell. Turning his head slightly, he drew his tongue up one of the polished bars and then blew against the spot. The same ice crystals of his namesake sprang up from the metal to meet his breath, but then quickly dissipated in the heat of the room. “Gross indecency. Apparently, it’s illegal to give one of the Queen’s guards a smashingly erotic blowjob while he’s still on duty.”

Suppressing a shudder–because how many times had he been on the receiving end of Rime’s oral expertise?–Malachite continued to glare at Rime. “And you called me why?” He hadn’t seen his lover for almost two years due to an irreconcilable conflict of interest. Namely, that Rime couldn’t seem to remember whose bed he was supposed to be in. “Whirlwind no longer taking your calls?”

“No,” Rime said, and for a moment, he looked rather pathetic as he stared at Malachite. “I’ve been meaning to call you for weeks now. This was as good an excuse as any to call… to see you again.” He paused, and a smile slowly curved his lips. “Besides, you always said you loved to see me locked up. I could hardly resist.”

Malachite crossed his arms. “You couldn’t call me until you wound up in jail. Mmm. I can see how difficult it must have been for you to pick up the phone before now.”

“I’m sorry, Malachite,” Rime murmured as he leaned his head against the bars. “I was an ass.”

“Yes, you were,” Malachite said, a sharp edge to his voice, though the harshness didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’ve missed you. The flat has been desperately lonely since you left.” Rime’s ice blue eyes drank in the beautiful features he’d longed for every moment since Malachite had disappeared down the crowded street where they’d fought and parted.

Malachite looked away, lips tight. “You’ve missed me so much you were arrested for blowing someone in public? Forgive me my scepticism.”

“I was desperate! I’m a creature of love and lust!” Rime tightened his hands around the bars. “You haven’t been here, and–”

“And I am supposed to believe in two years you haven’t fucked anyone? That this was just a desperate moment of overwhelming loneliness?” Malachite’s bitter laughter echoed in the room. “Give me more credit than that. I believe my brother called you the Whore of the Lunar Court for a reason.”

Rime cringed. Only Malachite could make him ashamed of his past, and the words struck him to his core. Releasing the bars, he dejectedly sat on his cot. “I didn’t. I didn’t fuck anyone outside of work. That’s all, whether you trust my word or not.” It had been as hard as hell, too. Satyrs were meant for sex, and he’d been denying his very nature. More than once he’d thanked the Old Gods that Briar had roped them all into porn. Without that outlet, he’d have tipped over into true madness and gone on some sort of violent rampage.

Malachite watched Rime, silent and considering. Rime had never lied to him, and he had no cause to doubt his word now. He walked up to the bars, wrapped his fingers around the cold metal, and sighed. “A guard, Rime? Out of everyone in London, you had to choose one of Her Majesty’s guards to break your dry spell?”

“You know how I enjoy certain thrills.” Rime shrugged with a half-hearted chuckle. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

“There are a lot of things I’ve thoughts of!” Malachite threw his hands up in the air. “Like… stuffing peanut butter up your nose! I’ve thought about it, but I’ve certainly never done it!”

“Why not?” Rime teased, instinctive challenge lighting up his face.

Malachite’s eyes narrowed. “Need I remind you of the eggnog experiment?”

“Gods, no!” Rime shuddered violently at the unpleasant memory.

Laughter erupted from Malachite’s throat, the sound musical and warm after so many months of unhappiness and silence. He bent at the waist, remembering vividly the mess that romp had been. “The stench!”

“The sensation!” Rime countered, bursting into a fit of laughter, his voice harmonizing perfectly with Malachite’s, as it always had.

Malachite leaned against the bars, gasping. “At least we discovered you do possess a gag reflex.” His laughter slowly died as he watched Rime, an occasional chuckle leaving his lips. “I missed you, too, you know,” he finally admitted.

Sweeping his long, pastel blue hair away from his face, Rime stood and crossed over to Malachite, placing his hands over his lover’s. “I often wondered.”

Heat washed up Malachite’s arms from where Rime’s flesh touched his own. He wondered how he’d lived without Rime’s presence for even a week. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the closeness, even through bars. “You know what you mean to me.” That was all Malachite felt he needed to say. He’d been with no one but himself since walking away from Rime. Rime had been a constant thought plaguing him, driving him to tears some nights. Exile from Annwn had been bad enough, but losing his lover, too, had made the burden almost unbearable.

Rime reached through the bars and tenderly cupped Malachite’s face. “Did you… take any others?”

Malachite’s eyes fluttered open as he leaned into Rime’s palm. “None. I only thought of you. Only wanted you.”

“I lost count of the number of times I had to use my hand to ease the burn I felt for you.”

Malachite moaned at the confession, the fire in his stormy gaze fanned into a raging blaze as arousal pooled in his groin. “Don’t talk like that… not now…”

“It took both hands, actually,” Rime crooned, sliding his hand sensually down Malachite’s neck and chest. Lower. And lower still, until his fingertips brushed against the bulge in Malachite’s jeans.

Malachite’s breath caught as he pressed against that hand. “Rime…” The image was vivid in his head: Rime arched, fingers buried in his own ass while his other hand stroked his cock furiously. The melodic, perfect cry of completion leaving Rime’s lips as his seed spattered across his chest, his body slumping in the aftermath of a satisfying, intense climax. Malachite shook his head. “Not here!”

“Here,” Rime breathed through the bars, hand squeezing expertly. “Now. I have ached for you long enough.” Deft fingers quickly undid the button and zipper of Malachite’s jeans, and as Rime’s hand slid inside, he pulled Malachite into a frantic kiss between the bars.

Malachite whimpered as he opened his mouth wide, deepening their kiss instantly. This wasn’t how he’d pictured their reunion, but with Rime’s hand down his pants, he could barely think straight let alone argue. He reached between bars and tugged at the fastenings of Rime’s leather trousers. As he shoved his hand in, stroking Rime’s cock roughly, he pulled away from the kiss enough to speak. “Like this?” he panted, biting at Rime’s lower lip.

Rime shivered, a harsh groan tumbling over his lips. “I want you in me,” he panted, pumping Malachite’s cock, squeezing a little harder. “Please, Malachite…”

Malachite matched Rime stroke for stroke, nuzzling under his jaw. “We don’t have any–”

“I don’t care!” Rime cried out. “We’ve done rougher things. I need you,” he whispered, eyes shamelessly meeting Malachite’s. “I don’t want to wait.”

An argument brewed on Malachite’s lips, but he swallowed it back. Rime was desperate, and even though Malachite was still pissed as hell, he couldn’t find it in him to say no. Not when he wanted it just as much. “You’re such a slut for me,” he muttered. “Turn around, pull down your pants, and bend over,” he ordered as he yanked his hand from Rime’s trousers.

The order was followed without hesitation. Rime was good at following orders. He’d have made a good warrior in the Lunar Court if he hadn’t been so hellbent on disobedience. Rime followed orders, but only when it suited him. That was a habit not even Malachite had been able to rid him of.

Rime peeled the leather down, and then stepped out of one leg. With a slight shudder and needy moan, he turned and bent at his waist, the cold bars of the cell pressed against his pale, lightly flushed skin. It was quite a sight, and Malachite growled, his hands itching to leave Rime bruised, sore, and covered in his come.

Malachite knelt down and spread Rime wide, stabbing his tongue into Rime’s hole without any warning. He spent as much time as he could bear slicking Rime with his mouth, but he wanted Rime, and Rime wanted him, and that want couldn’t be reasoned with. Someone could walk in at any moment and call and end to this hasty reunion. Malachite stood, spat into his hand, and stroked himself, eyes on the tight opening, remembering how perfect it felt to be buried to the root in Rime’s body. “You… should have called me… sooner,” he snarled as he pushed into Rime, not pausing until he was completely surrounded. A ragged, lyrical cry floated up from Rime, and Malachite’s hands tightened on Rime’s hips. “Bloody hell, Rime,” Malachite whispered, his sight darkening for a brief moment as Rime mercilessly squeezed around his cock.

A dizzying wave of pleasure and pain washed through Rime, and he cursed harshly beneath his breath as lights streaked across his vision. “Fuck!”

“I’m working on it,” Malachite panted. He’d wanted their first time in so long to have been slow. He’d wanted to take his time reaming Rime properly, but circumstances and need forced his hand. He set an intense pace, swift and hard, holding onto the bars in order to increase his leverage. The friction was delightful, and Malachite closed his eyes, focusing on the tightness, the drag, and the simple emotional reconnection that flared between them.

With each powerful thrust, Rime lurched forward with a cry, his hair pooling on the floor. His grip on the bars kept him from falling over, and he pushed back as best he could. The pain was bright and searing, but his heart soared as he was quickly, forcefully pushed to the edge of his passion. He’d yearned for Malachite’s touch; Malachite’s presence brought him back to life, like a withering plant given the water and sunlight it needed to flourish. His voice rang off the stone walls of the cell, beautiful music of pleasure, pain, and desire that went far beyond the physical. It took only moments for his body to tighten with impending release. Rime cried out as he held himself back from the brink, unwilling to give in without Malachite’s word. It was a game they’d often played, and he fell into it with unconscious abandon.

Malachite’s hands gripped the bars until his knuckles were white. His rhythm faltered as he moaned long and low, the heat coiling tightly within him. Each sound he made wound around Rime’s, creating a duet none could match. They were the greatest musicians of their kind, and even in frantic passion, their compositions were breathtaking. Malachite felt the tell-tale tingling in his gut, and he forced his eyes open so he could watch Rime’s body. Long ago, he had decided there was no sight more stunning than Rime as he climaxed. Malachite hated that he couldn’t see Rime’s face or yank his hair or mark the flesh at his throat with teeth and lips. He wanted to possess Rime, remind him to whom he belonged with pleasured pain, but the venue allowed for little more than the wanton, ruthless plundering of the graceful body before him.

“Rime,” he whispered, the motion of his hips erratic. He knew when Rime balanced on the edge of orgasm; how many times had Malachite brought him to that precipice and left him there as a form of delicious torture? Rime’s body told him everything: from the breathless cries that passed his lips to the uncontrollable clutching of the muscles around Malachite’s shaft. “Rime,” Malachite repeated, his voice taking on a desperate edge. “Come with me… now!”

The words set off an intense chain reaction in Rime, a response that had long ago been conditioned through excruciating repetition. His body shuddered violently as he finally reached his peak with a lyrical, sustained scream. His neck arched back sharply as white shocks of pleasure and pain flickered through him. His seed fell to the floor in thick ribbons, and he struggled to keep his hold on the bars as Malachite continued to pound into him.

Malachite had waited years to hear that sound again, and it was that very sound that shoved him into the mind-numbing realm of climax. Malachite wanted to have his arms around Rime, have his fingers dig into the pale, eager flesh of his lover’s hips–he wanted to see Rime marked by his hands! The image of Rime’s skin bearing his bruises made his climax that much more intense, and his shout was harsh, short-lived. He took solace in the fact that his seed now filled Rime, and that Rime would smell of him for days to come. With a weak moan, he rested heavily against the bars, remaining within Rime as he breathed harshly and regained his senses.

The feeling of possession that came with the simple wet heat spreading within him filled a void Rime knew only Malachite could fill. “Malachite…” The name was a panted prayer, a quiet plea for the intimacy they often shared after their more intense fucks. He reached up, his legs trembling as they were made to support his weight, and his fingers slowly met Malachite’s on the bars. The slight shift in position caused a spark of pain to radiate from his ass, and he whimpered, his hand tightening unsteadily around Malachite’s.

Malachite did not deny Rime what closeness they could achieve in a jail cell. He wanted it, too. He laced his fingers with Rime’s and used his other hand to slowly pull his cock from Rime’s body. He immediately missed that contact, being held so intimately, and he crouched down momentarily to press his lips to their entwined fingers. Rime would ache for days, and it left Malachite with a deep sense of satisfaction. “Face me,” he said roughly.

Rime straightened with a whimper and a wince. He reveled in the burn that came with every movement as he stood and turned. A small smile curved his lips as he felt Malachite’s seed immediately begin to trickle from his abused hole, streaking down his thighs.

Leaning in, Malachite gently kissed those smiling lips, the touch tender and slow. He rubbed at Rime’s knuckles with his thumb, murmuring, “Your ass is mine, Rime. If you want me to stay, then, dammit, respect that. I don’t care if you take on all of Manchester United in one night, but when I say to check with me before doing it, I fucking mean it!”

Rime nodded, guilt a dark shadow across his face. “I’m yours. Only yours. I won’t disrespect you like that again. I promise.” Reaching through the bars, he cupped Malachite’s face, his sky blue eyes filled with yearning. “I love you. Please, Malachite, come home.” Rime found apologizing much easier than he expected, and he wondered why it had taken him this long to do it.

Malachite stared at Rime for a long time, his internal debate easily read in his eyes. But, Rime had apologized, and being apart from him made Malachite’s heartache each and every hour of the day. He’d missed Rime. Acutely. It had been like giving up his music all over again. With a slow nod, he said, “I will.” He brushed his lips against Rime’s again. “I love you, too. By the stars, Rime, I’ve missed your voice whispering those words to me.”

Relief washed through Rime. “I love you, Malachite, more than anything,” he whispered, leaning down a bit to tenderly kissed Malachite. A rush of come made its way down his legs as he shifted, and Rime smirked. “How long did you wait?”

Only Rime could bring a flush to Malachite’s cheeks. “Three weeks of pure hell trying to prove to myself that the mere thought of you didn’t turn me on.”

Rime looked down for a moment, and his smirk softened into an almost shy smile. “I only lasted two hours,” he murmured, “but I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I was angry… and then I was inconsolable. And the times I actually touched another, I felt all the more miserable without you.”

Malachite reached out with his mind, finding Rime’s once more after having barred him from his own. No one will ever be what I am to you. No one will ever satisfy you but me, Rime, and it is time you realised that.

The connection was intimate and nearly brought Rime to tears as it was re-established. His mindvoice was like the quiet crackling of crystals forming on stone as it wisped through Malachite’s mind. I realised that a millennium ago, when I held you in my arms, singing in the hopes that your soul would heed my call instead of surrendering to Death’s.

Yours is the only call I hear. Malachite squeezed Rime’s hand as he smiled at him, a shout from a guard telling them visitation was over. Malachite parted from Rime, tucking himself back into his jeans. As he zipped them closed, he gave Rime a wicked smile. “I’ll see you next week during visitation. Try to keep yourself busy until then.”

“You’re leaving me here?” Rime cried out, his eyes wide. “You can’t leave me here! I’ll be eaten alive!” When Malachite’s smile broadened a bit, Rime interrupted the words he knew were on his lover’s lips. “Rape is not one of my kinks, Malachite!”

Malachite opened the door that led out into the main office of the small precinct. “Try basket weaving,” he said with a laugh. “I hear it’s a very soothing activity.”

“Basket weaving?!” Rime’s curses rang clearly through the holding cell as he called after Malachite’s retreating back.

A dark smile curved Malachite’s lips as he looked over his shoulder. “You’re so good with your hands, darling.” He slipped out the door, his laughter echoing beautifully behind him.

TBC…

***

The next chapter will be available on Patreon June 8th, so if you want to read that as soon as it’s available, come support us! :D You can support us for as little as $1 a chapter while also getting free, exclusive access to scene logs, Q&As, art reveals, and so much more.

Ronan/Moon Patreon Log #5: Support Us on Patreon :D

May 18, 2015
Support Us on Patreon!

 

The logs are starting to stack up! This is our fifth scene log, and it takes our readers back to the House of Cards world (the world our Gideon/Aubrey logs came from). This time, though, it’s a sexually tense meeting between Ronan–the werewolf Alpha of the city’s pack–and Moon (who is the personification of the tarot card The Moon). It’s a sweet meeting between them, one that’s sexually charged, but Ronan manages–just barely!–to resist Moon’s charms (innocent though they are).

This is a straight log. Ronan is male and relatively bisexual, and Moon is female and very much an anything goes sort of living personification. XD The log is 13 pages (5,717 words) long and contains three ‘scenes’. Here’s a taste!

***

Moon: *is sitting on the boulder next to Ronan’s cabin in the wolf pack’s private compound. She knows there have been rumblings of discord because Gideon didn’t choose a wolf, and that Ronan wasn’t helping matters, taking it personally himself. So, she waits for the wolf, barefoot in her white dress, her unnatural green eyes practically glowing in the twilight of the day*

Ronan: *he’s livid, and he has been for days. It’s not doing anything for his digestive tract. His stomach has been growling nearly as much as he has been himself. He grumbles as he stalks through the compound toward his cabin, the other wolves leaving him a wide berth. He stops short when he sees Moon there, and his slightly hunched back straightens* You…

Moon: *smiles sweetly at him* Growly. Teeth and claws and harsh words. Always about being the best, being the one on top. *slides off the boulder, her bare feet silent on the ground as she moves toward him, a glow about her much like the light halo around the moon itself* It should be about joy. Should be about the pink laughter. *she stops in front of him, looking up* It should be about wool socks and a sweetheart’s kiss and warm honey.

Ronan: *she speaks such nonsense, but it makes him half-smile despite his dark mood* Those things are nice, but it isn’t that simple. Being on top means comforts like warm honey and wool socks. We don’t get such things without having the favor of the vampires. And we don’t curry favor with them by being weak. *scowls* Unless you happen to be a useless omega-cat, apparently.

Moon: *gives him an Unhappy Look* Aubrey is not useless. His strength is deep, wide. What he can offer Gideon is something none of your wolves could have.

Ronan: *even in the face of said Unhappy Look, he growls* My wolves could offer anything. They’re a diverse bunch. The only thing they don’t have is feline blood in them. *and who would choose a damn cat over a dog anyway? He almost pouts at the thought*

Moon: *now she crosses her arms as she continues the Unhappy Look* None of your wolves love Gideon. Love is important! *pokes his chest* You’d know that if you bothered to feel the squishy, pink feelings.

Ronan: *a tiny oomph of breath escapes him at the poke, and it’s like a hole being poked in the stem of a balloon. He deflates under the weight of that Unhappy Look. He rubs his chest* I don’t need squishy, pink feelings. They just… complicate everything. I’d be much worse off if I felt something deep for someone like Lydia. *gods help him if he ever fell for a vampire! He relaxes a little* Why are you here, exactly? *asks with less force* Just to chastise me for my bad mood?

Moon: You’re my wolf. *smiles then* I have to look after you when you’re thrumming all dark and swirly in my head.

Ronan: *smiles a little more* I thought the only head I swirled in was Lydia’s. She’s not overly fond of it, either. *it’s a bonding of convenience and power for both of them. A mutual agreement to the benefit of both. They have synergy, if nothing else.* Maybe I fare better in your head than in hers?

Moon: Your dark clouds annoy her. They call me.

***

That log is now available on Patreon for any of our patrons to read in full. :D

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