Chapter Nine
“Come on, a little bit more, please. You need the fluids.” Demi pressed the paper cup against Dafydd’s lips to make him drink the rest of the water.
The boy—no, man, really—did, even though his demeanor was one of someone who had given up. He allowed Demi to bully him into anything. The fight, if he’d ever had any, had gone out of him entirely. When he was done, Demi crushed the cup and tossed it over the side of the bed. Mother Earth be damned. They weren’t allowed glasses or even mugs, nothing that could be broken into a weapon. And there was no wastebasket, either, so rubbish was piling up in one corner. Every now and again, one of the silent human slaves would come in to clean up.
Whatever. Demi had more important concerns. Helping his father keep Dafydd alive and comfortable was the main one. The baby inside him was the only thing giving everyone relative safety. If it died before being born or during, Papa would be killed outright and Demi’s life would become something not worth living. He was old enough to understand that and Papa hadn’t tried to sugarcoat it for him, either.
He carefully lay Dafydd’s head down from where he’d been supporting it with the crook of his arm. Demi needed to climb onto the bed to do so, given that Dafydd’s outside arm was manacled to the bedpost. God, is that really necessary? Of course not. It was merely one of Dracul’s many cruelties. The other was having Kronid stay in the very room with them, as if the narrow windows weren’t sufficient to ensure they remained. Not even Demi could squeeze through them, and if he did, the fall was so high that he didn’t think he could survive. Dafydd certainly wouldn’t, not that they would leave him behind.
“I don’t know why you bother to be so kind to me,” Dafydd said in a quiet voice.
Demi slid down beside him in order to talk more privately, not that Kronid couldn’t hear everything they said, regardless. The smallness of the room coupled with his alien hearing meant nothing was secret. Although the guy was mostly engrossed with his phone, when he wasn’t stalking Demi with his eyes, that was.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he replied. “I think I might want to be a doctor like my father, and I’ve got nothing against you anyway.”
Dafydd turned his gaze toward him. “Don’t you, then? I’m the reason you’re here.”
“No, Dracul is the reason I’m here.”
“Same difference.”
“Not to me.” A ripple under the blanket where it draped over Dafydd’s abdomen caught his attention. “Does it hurt?”
Dafydd placed his hand on top of the mound. “No. Not now. Not yet. Everything else does, though.”
“I can ask my father to give you something.” He started to rise.
“Don’t even try. Dracul won’t allow him to have medicine stronger than what he’s already dosed me with. It hardly matters, anyway. Soon my pain will be gone forever.”
“You shouldn’t think that. We won’t let anything happen to you. My father knows what he’s doing.”
A smile ghosted across Dafydd’s lips. “You are so young. I was once like you. Centuries ago, I still clung to hope. Hard to believe,” he added with a shake of his head.
Demi reined in his irritation. “Staying positive does not make me naïve.”
“You’re right. I’m that sorry, but I’m done fighting my fate. My life is forfeit, no matter how successful your father is in bringing Dracul’s next evil spawn into the world.”
Demi resisted the urge to dispute that assertion. With Kronid’s avid ears in the room, he didn’t want to tell Dafydd that a rescue was, without question, being mounted. Any time now, Alex and the others would invade this castle and save them. Dracul’s hubris would bring an end to him. He couldn’t conceive that his location was known by his enemies or that they could override his security systems. His overconfidence would be his downfall.
Instead, Demi tried to focus on something both positive and safe for discussion. “I know it must be hard, but don’t you feel any affection for your son? He’s living inside you, after all. There must be some connection between the two of you.”
Dafydd’s face turned stony. “Other than his sucking the life out of me? No, we don’t share a connection. Like the twins, he will be wholly Dracul’s.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Demi tried a different tack, a personal one. He didn’t dwell on his own nature very often because he still grappled with it. He had mixed feelings about what it meant to be a ‘hybrid’—two species in one body that didn’t fit in either of his fathers’ worlds. The one thing he was sure about was that he didn’t regret being the child of two loving and honorable parents.
“Then it must upset you terribly to have me by your side, touching you, helping you.”
Dafydd shot a surprised look at him. “I didn’t mean that. I’m not disturbed by you. I appreciate your caring.”
“Even though I’m a hybrid like your own sons?”
“Please. I’m not in the mood for a philosophical lecture.”
“Sorry. I’m only trying to make the point that there’s a nurture component here. My nature notwithstanding, I was raised to be decent, to follow the rules and not take advantage of those that are not as smart or strong or capable as I am.”
He flicked his gaze over to Kronid, who naturally picked up on the split-second attention and took advantage by licking his lips at Demi. “Just as some of the crew that crashed here took a dark path while the rest adhered to the morally right one, this son doesn’t have to end up like the others.” He let his hatred show through to Kronid before ignoring him again.
Dafydd sighed. “I understand what you’re saying and appreciate your effort, but I can’t love this thing. Dracul has beaten any kind feelings I ever had out of me. I just want it out of me and the peace that my death will bring.”
Demi dared to put his hand on Dafydd’s arm. “It’s okay. I understand. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? Night’s falling, for whatever that’s worth. My internal clock is all screwed up and I think I’ll try to rest, as well.”
Even as he closed his eyes, though, he pictured Trey kicking open the door and scooping him up from this waking nightmare. That happy thought allowed him to relax and forget the predator in the room.
* * * *
“Are you trying to avoid me, laddie?”
Brenin stowed his meager pack in the luggage compartment and tried to act indifferent to Malcolm’s presence. He also tried to shrug off the effect the man’s breath had as it played across his skin, raising the fine hairs and goosebumps.
“I would have thought it was the other way around.” He shrugged and moved on.
Malcolm blocked his path. “I’m sorry if I haven’t paid enough attention to you today.”
Brenin crossed his arms. “Oh, no. You’re not going to turn this into my being clingy or something. I understand that you’ve been busy with your war planning and all. It just seems to me that you’ve been careful to keep your distance. At least, you did this morning. I’m simply returning the favor—steering clear so that I won’t bother you.”
Heat flared in Malcolm’s eyes. “Your very existence disturbs me, if I’m to be honest here.”
That confession melted any resolve Brenin had cultivated, caused it to evaporate even while they stood in the aisle of Alex’s massive private plane and others moved around them getting ready to take off.
“If by that you mean you’ve been giving me space so that I don’t freak out over what we did last night, you needn’t. I’m fine. I’m working on being fine,” he amended when doubt crept into Malcolm’s face.
The guy nodded. “That’s honest, at least, and I want that from you. The last thing I could live with is hurting you.” With that confession made, he leaned in and took Brenin’s lips in a soft, yet lingering kiss that only brushed the surface, even as it felt like a claiming.
“There’s a stateroom in the back, guys,” Val said as he hurried past them.
“Come here.” Taking Brenin’s hand, Malcolm pulled him aside and sat him down in one of the two wide, stuffed chairs nearby. Then he sat in the other, still holding on to him.
“There’s not going to be too much time for us to talk or be alone from here on out. We fly straight back to Scotland and to my home. From there, we’ll gear up. I already have Darling acquiring what we need that I don’t already possess.”
“Didn’t we bring the arsenal from Alex’s place?”
“No. We could fly in literally under the radar, but we prefer to stick to the humans’ rules whenever we can. We go through customs the same as we did in Boston. Everything will be aboveboard until we head for Wales. Darling’s already secured an old fishing trawler that will give us more room and less notice. We’ll be armed for every eventuality, make no mistake.”
“Okay, then. I get that we have to focus on the mission, as it were. I’d still like to spend whatever time I can with you.”
Malcolm stroked one finger down Brenin’s cheek. “As would I, laddie. We’ve got a few hours’ flying time to be sure. We can take advantage of the stateroom anytime you’d like.”
Brenin’s cheeks heated up at the thought. “Aren’t you needed in the cockpit?”
“Och, no, not all the time. This behemoth of Alex’s requires his and Willem’s deft touch. I’ve already laid in the flight plan. My job is mostly done.”
“Oh.” Shyness stole over him, however. If they went to the back of the plane, everybody would realize what they were doing. Or, at least, they would be imagining all kinds of things. Brenin himself didn’t know what he wanted from Malcolm right now.
“I wouldn’t want to take Alex and Quinn’s bed from them.”
“I doubt they’d mind. There’s plenty of places hereabouts for couples to grab some time together.”
Brenin glanced around with wide eyes. The plane was spacious and luxurious, to be sure, but there were not a lot of doors. “No real privacy, though, is there?”
Malcolm winced. “We’re not like humans. We don’t have the same need for that. And I expect the boys have got used to being out in the open.”
Brenin didn’t need to be told that. His time with the monster had informed him of many things. Being fucked in front of others had been the norm. No one in the castle of horrors had thought anything of talking to their master while he tortured Brenin with his cock.
“They’re all going to want to wring as much intimacy out of the hours they have left with each other,” Malcolm added.
Because they might die. Malcolm didn’t say that. He didn’t have to. Nor did he have to highlight one other thing the aliens needed from their boys. “They’re going to drink, too, aren’t they?”
Malcolm nodded, although he couldn’t hold his gaze on Brenin. “Aye. It’s best. The blood helps with strength and endurance.”
“Then you’ll need some, too,” he said with sudden clarity.
“Aye, but that’s not your concern.”
“How isn’t it?” Brenin felt affronted, which was ridiculous. The bloodsucking had become the worst of his experiences.
“Emil has stocked a supply in the galley. I’ll heat it up before we arrive.”
“But is that sufficient? I mean, isn’t it better for you to drink right from the source, like?” Even as the words came tripping out of his mouth, he wondered if he’d lost his mind. The mere thought of giving his vein to someone—anyone—made him sick.
Malcolm squeezed his hand. “You aren’t to worry about this. Do you hear me, laddie? Emil’s supply will do me right enough.”
“Okay, yes.” He nodded.
“Now, buckle up. We’re about ready to taxi and I need to go see if Alex and Willem require my assistance for the takeoff. I’ll be back as soon as we’re airborne, regardless.”
Brenin nodded again and did as he’d been told. This was only the second time he’d been on a plane and, while Willem’s had been smaller, he wasn’t sure he’d enjoy lifting into the air any more this time than the last.
“Mind if I sit here?” The human doctor, Paz, came up and pointed to the seat across from him.
“Not at all, sir.”
The man chuckled. “Please, call me Ric.” He buckled in and stretched out his legs. “I must confess I’m not a fan of this mode of transportation. I understand the aerodynamics of it, but it still feels unnatural.”
Brenin clenched the armrests when the plane lurched forward. “I know what you mean.”
“I can give you something for the anxiety if you’d like. I stocked up my own prescription and, while I know it’s not strictly legal to give you some of mine, I am a doctor.”
“I’m okay. Thanks all the same.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind.” Ric stared out of the window at the darkened runway. “I supposed I’d be more anxious if I could actually believe this is all real.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean by that, as well.” Brenin stared at the man. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” The handsome doctor gave him his full attention.
“Why are you doing this? It’s not your fight and you could end up killed.” The man, after all, was going to enter the castle with the warriors and the cop, not hang out in the relative safety of the boat.
Ric shrugged. “Scientific curiosity and the opportunity, if and when the presence of these aliens in our world becomes known, of having the inside scoop. I’m sorry if you thought I had nobler reasons.”
“No, that’s fine. It doesn’t matter why you’re doing it so long as you’re on our side.”
“Please, don’t worry on that score. I’ve seen up close what that fucker Dracul has done to humans. I want him dealt with, once and for all.” He turned his gaze back to the window as the plane revved up. “I just hope my abuela back in Columbia will forgive me the sin of lying to get time off. I told the hospital she was dying. It was the quickest way to catch this bus.”
The plane rose, the sensation causing Brenin’s heart rate to kick up, but not as much as the sight of Malcolm coming down the aisle toward him did. His calm demeanor soothed Brenin and the ready smile he sent his way made Brenin’s breath catch in his throat.
“Your pardon, doctor,” Malcolm said, stepping over the man’s leg. “All right, then, laddie?” he asked as he retook his seat.
“Yes.” He nodded and relaxed into his comfy chair. “I don’t expect commercial flights are this grand, are they?”
“Doubtful.” Malcolm stretched his legs beside Ric’s and took hold of Brenin’s hand. He gave the doctor a shark smile, all teeth and no warmth.
It was a minor show of jealousy, but it pleased Brenin all the same. “Do you want your kilt?” He’d been wearing it the whole day. Now that he and Malcolm were together, it occurred to him he should give it back.
Malcolm gave him one of those heated looks again. “I prefer it on you.”
Brenin gasped in delight. Before he could think of a pithy reply, though, music filled the cabin. He looked around. The other boys were getting up. Jase and Emil headed for the galley, undoubtedly to put out a buffet, even though they’d all eaten a few hours before. One thing Brenin had noted about the aliens was that they had huge appetites.
Mackie popped over. He tugged on Brenin’s arm. “Come on and dance.”
Quinn was already shimmying up and down Alex, who had come into the cabin. The big, stern leader of the group was laughing in obvious delight and affection at his lover’s antics. Jase kept bumping his ass into Emil as they laid the food out.
Mackie was doing a slow version of a twerk in Val’s direction. “Brenin! No one can sit while Sit Next to Me is playing.”
The beat was irresistible. Knowing that these last few hours might be all that any of them would have with one another, he let go of his inhibitions. After unbuckling, he stood up and let the music take over his body.
He shook his hips while standing next to his chair at first. Then, lifting his hands over his head, he moved away, improvising steps the way he used to do long ago when things had been simpler if not happier. Mackie sidled up to him and, grabbing him by the waist, bumped hips. He did some steps back and forth with one foot and the other. Brenin watched for a while before joining in. They moved in tandem, turning at Mackie’s indication. Quinn and Jase were doing the same.
They were putting on a show for their men. And although the presence of the woman, Lucien and the two human men meant they weren’t truly dancing to an audience of lovers and husbands, the familial atmosphere was impossible to ignore or resist. He let himself get lost in the music and the movement. He felt…liberated.
Mackie released him and moved to form a line. The others fell into step, Brenin included, although he had no clue as to what they were doing. It didn’t matter. When the chorography had him turning in Malcolm’s direction, he saw not mere heat in the man’s eyes, but a molten look that would have incinerated Brenin if he’d held it for more than a second.
Flushed, aroused, confused and a bit frightened at his own feelings and reaction, he twirled away and concentrated on keeping in sync with the other boys. Later. There would be time for him to explore perhaps for one last time what his attraction to this alien really meant.
* * * *
Malcolm carried the sleeping Brenin through the cabin to the stateroom. By unspoken agreement, it was theirs for the rest of the journey. No one else wanted or even needed it the way they did, because Brenin deserved the privacy that the closed-off space afforded him.
Willem was happily watching his flashing lights in the cockpit. Paz and Duncan were dozing on each of the long couches in the main cabin—or, at least, they had their eyes closed. They might have simply been avoiding the goings-on around them. Logan had stuck to one corner on her own since the beginning, ignoring them all, as had Lucien. The man wore his grief like a shroud and yet he said nothing, made no complaint.
Alex, Val and Emil each had their boy in a delicate position in various parts of the open space. With the lights on low, it wasn’t as if anyone could see much of what was happening, at least by a human’s ocular standard. As he went about gathering Brenin and carrying him down the aisle, Malcolm had no trouble seeing the couplings.
He tried not to be envious, because that was a human emotion—one that he’d learned he wasn’t immune to, despite it being uncharacteristic of a hive mentality. It was good for the group that each of the warriors had his fangs and his cock sunk deep into their mates. It would relax them and power them up in equal measure. That was just what their mission required. He would find his own strength in the blood Emil had stored for him. Once he’d settled Brenin in, naturally. The boy didn’t need to see that and with him putting on a marvelous show then curling up in Malcolm’s lap, there’d been no chance earlier to feed.
Alex gazed at him over Quinn’s neck. The boy straddled his lover, his naked arse riding Alex’s dick while Alex took his jugular. There was a flash of concern in that stare, a question of whether everything was all right. Malcolm gave his captain a nod of reassurance as he passed.
He didn’t bother turning a light on in the stateroom. His eyesight didn’t need it and it would have woken Brenin. Instead, he sealed them in by shutting the door and lowered the boy onto the narrow bed. Brenin sighed and smacked his lips. Poor lad, his internal clock must be all screwed up from the back and forth.
Quickly and as gently as he could, he stripped the boy in the hopes of making him more comfortable. He hadn’t seen much of him since the bath, but even in the dark, he could make out the scars and bruises that remained. It reminded him that only a few days had passed since the boy had been in Dracul’s brutal embrace. Being human, his ability to heal was much slower. And yet, Brenin hadn’t complained once of being sore or needing care. He was that brave.
Malcolm had left the kilt until last, having maneuvered the jeans off already. It seemed too heavy, however, so he reached down to unbuckle it. Brenin murmured dissent and batted his hands away.
Malcolm smiled. “All right, laddie. Have it your way.”
“Hmm. Join me.”
He hadn’t meant to wake him, wasn’t sure he had, given that Brenin’s breathing continued to be deep and steady. There was no resisting the invitation, either. He tore off his own clothing, except for his smallclothes, and lay down on the bed. Brenin didn’t hesitate to roll into him and he threw an arm across Malcolm’s stomach.
Malcolm gave in to the desire he’d been harboring all day and touched every spot he could reach, albeit lightly. So soft and silky his boy was. And yes, he knew he shouldn’t be thinking of Brenin in such possessive terms. He couldn’t help himself. Brenin had gone from obligation to heart’s desire in the span of a few days. The capper had been the time they’d spent the previous night in bed. When Brenin had fearlessly explored Malcolm’s body before commanding it, Malcolm had lost any resolve he’d had to keep his emotional distance from the boy. Being here with him, caressing him, was a purely selfish act and he couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Brenin slid his leg over Malcolm’s. His knee came up to brush against Malcolm’s stiff cock. He bit back a groan until it happened again…and again.
He’s doing it on purpose.
“You’re awake, are you, and keen to play games?”
“Uh-huh.” Brenin curled closer. “I’ve been thinking of this all day.”
Malcolm’s dick twitched at the confession. “Have you now?” His voice strangled with the effort to be coherent.
“Is that bad of me?”
“I’m hardly in a position to complain.” He moaned long and low when Brenin replaced his knee with his hand. He snaked it under the waistband of Malcolm’s boxer-briefs and clasped the dick waiting there with his slender, warm fingers.
At the same time, Brenin pressed his pelvis against Malcolm’s hip. “You make me hard.”
Malcolm panted as the boy ran his fingers up and down the shaft, putting enough pressure on it to coax Malcolm’s climax. He gritted his teeth to keep himself in check and gripped the covers with one fist.
“Is that a bad thing?” he had to ask, ever mindful of how recently Brenin had been raped.
“No, it’s kind of a miraculous one. I’m that glad of it.” He rolled his hips in a clear effort to stimulate himself. “I’m afraid, though, that I’m about to come in your kilt. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Christ!” Malcolm uttered the curse in a low voice, but the force of his orgasm had him rearing up nevertheless.
Brenin kept with him. Instead of letting him go in disgust, he held on, milking the dick with clumsy, yet sure strokes. Malcolm’s cum coated both Brenin’s hand and Malcolm’s abdomen and had him shuddering into Brenin’s still humping body. With a muted cry, the boy clenched the shaft hard enough to make Malcolm wince. He ignored the pain and, rolling over, captured Brenin’s lips in a deep kiss.
Always before, he’d been careful to keep it light. This time, he pressed his tongue inside the boy’s mouth and explored it with the fervor of a man dying of thirst and desperate to suck every crevice dry. Brenin lay quiescent at first, other than his hips still bucking. Then his tongue shyly chased Malcolm’s. For a few heady seconds, they kissed each other with an electrifying passion that Malcolm had never known before.
Then, it all changed in a split-second. Brenin whimpered and pushed at him. Malcolm rolled away, parting their lips, releasing any hold on him. “I’m sorry. Did I scare you?” He lay flat on his back, unmoving and trying to convey a complete lack of menace.
“No,” Brenin replied with a shaky voice that tore at Malcolm’s heart. “It was my memories that did.”
That should have been the end of it. Malcolm would have risen and let the boy be, except, in the next instant, Brenin was sitting up and slinging one leg over Malcolm’s lap, straddling him.
Malcolm fisted his hands so as not to touch him. “What are you doing?”
“Taking control. It works best when I do that.” His breath remained unsteady and he shook a bit.
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“Yes, I do—to myself.”
“Don’t push it. There’s no timetable for you to recover from your ordeal. I’m not one to speak of this, but I bet Doc McPhee could help you with that.”
“I know. She told me there are places I can go for counseling and whatnot, but I can never tell the truth, the whole of it, to anyone. I’m not sure that’s for me, anyway. We Welsh are a stubborn and stoic lot—or maybe that’s only my family. This,” he added with a pat on Malcolm’s bare chest, “seems to do the trick. I know you can overpower me, but the illusion of dominance appears to be enough. Can I kiss you?”
The question caught Malcolm by surprise for about a second. “Of course.”
Brenin didn’t at first, at least not in the traditional sense. He started by leaning over and licking a stripe across one of Malcolm’s nipples. Then he swirled his tongue around the hard nub in tight circles. The teasing attention made Malcolm harden again.
Brenin lifted his head. “You like that?”
“Aye, you know well I do.” He didn’t dare buck his hips in emphasis for fear of alarming Brenin.
He needn’t have worried. The boy wiggled his arse in a delightfully erotic way, notwithstanding that with the kilt and the Hanes, there was a fair amount of clothing between them.
Brenin solved that problem, too. As he returned to laving and nipping at Malcolm’s nipples, Brenin managed to tug the kilt away and slide the underwear down to expose Malcolm’s cock. Now, they touched flesh to flesh. It was electrifying. Another climax built without effort or direct touch. By the time Brenin pressed his tongue against Malcolm’s lips, Malcolm was nearly done.
But he held on to his control this time. Brenin deserved slow and, more, he needed help with his own burgeoning arousal. The boy’s small, slender dick rubbed against Malcolm’s in a steadily growing erection. Malcolm wanted so badly to take it in hand. It took more strength of will than he’d ever summoned before to resist that temptation.
Once again, Brenin showed amazing courage by wrapping his hand around both shafts—or, rather, he tried to. It was too much for him to handle and, when he used both hands, he started to lose his balance. Malcolm took the chance to steady him by grabbing his shoulder. When Brenin didn’t flinch or pull away, Malcolm took it as a sign that it was all right.
With his sweet boy claiming his breath and those shy, but clever fingers jerking him, he fell into a second orgasm that was no less intense than the first. His balls tightened and his dick jerked as cum pulsed out. Malcolm groaned deep inside Brenin’s mouth and curled his toes to keep from tightening his grip. He would rather his insides explode than hurt the boy or make him afraid again.
He did anyway—not with his hand, but with his teeth. The surge of pleasure that shook his core caused his fangs to punch down without warning. He realized what he’d done only because Brenin yelped and pulled back. Forcing his eyes open, Malcolm saw the boy lick his nicked lip. A spot of blood welled up right away. The sight of it nearly caused Malcolm to lose his shite.
The thirst came over him with agonizing intensity. He had to drop his hand before he crushed Brenin’s shoulder. He took it out on the bedding instead, clawing at it, twisting it. Throwing his head back, he vocalized his need with guttural growls. His body shook as if in the throes of a seizure, with his heels bouncing against the bed. All the while, he silently pleaded with Brenin to get off. Go away. He didn’t want to scare the boy or show him this side of his nature. It was too much like Dracul’s.
Brenin didn’t leave. Instead, he rode the storm. “Malcolm? Malcolm? Take my vein.” The shocking words caused him to lower his chin. Brenin held up his wrist. “Take it!”
Malcolm could only shake his head in denial. He would not do it. It was too much to force upon the boy. This fit would pass. It was only thirst, nothing fatal, no matter how painful it was at the moment.
Brenin, thank God, finally got the message and rolled off him. There was a light from the attached head, maybe. Some rummaging around. Then Brenin was back, climbing up, straddling Malcolm once more. The scent of blood caught hold. Not a bead of it, but a trickle.
It was sufficient to take hold of Malcolm’s attention and his control. When Brenin pressed his bloody wrist against Malcolm’s lips, his fangs descended and he latched on to the vein.
Och God, the sweetness of it. Exquisite. Warm and salty. It slid down his dry throat and eased the ache. His head felt instantly heavy and he knew it had been too long since he’d fed, really fed. Microwaved blood in a fancy goblet was a poor substitute for the real thing.
He collapsed into the pillow, letting the languid pleasure cause his muscles to go lax, even while his cock punched up again. Brenin stayed with him, somehow positioning himself to grab both their cocks once more while his wrist remained caught by Malcolm’s teeth.
“Everything okay in here, guys?” Val’s voice.
Malcolm couldn’t bring himself to let go of the vein long enough to answer. Apparently, he didn’t need to.
“Oops, sorry.”
“There now, see? Even your friends trust you to be careful with me. Take what you need and I’ll do the rest.”
Brenin’s meaning became apparent in the next instance when he started moving the hand holding the dicks. There was no gentle caress this time, however. The boy jerked their shafts with vigor. That effort, coupled with the blood filling his mouth and coating his throat, sent Malcolm spasming. More importantly, Brenin came, too, at the same time. Over the scent of the blood, Malcolm caught the smell of the boy’s cum. His cock pulsed against Malcolm’s own.
It was all too much. His senses went on overload. For a few seconds, he believed he’d actually swooned, like some Victorian miss with a too-tight corset. When he came to his senses, though, he retracted his fangs and licked the punctures closed. He knew he should do more. Brenin needed tending to. Surely the boy was freaked out—in need of water, at the very least.
“Are you all right, laddie?” he panted out, the best he could do at the moment.
By way of answer, Brenin kissed his cheek. “Hush now. I’m fine. You worry too much, Malcolm MacLerie.”
The boy rustled about, the upshot of it being that he lay on his side curled into Malcolm’s. The kilt covered Malcolm’s middle and he hoped Brenin’s as well. He would check himself if he could only get his eyelids to open.
“I’m afraid your kilt is soiled now from the both of us.”
Malcolm smiled. “I shall never wash it again.”
“What will you wear, then?”
“I have others.”
“Good. I like the idea of your being dressed like a wild highlander when you invade the monster’s lair. My highlander,” he added with a loud yawn before he rested his head on Malcolm’s chest.
He found the strength to wrap one arm around the boy. My boy…and his highlander. Och, he liked the sound of all that a might too much.
Fuck me. I’ve fallen in love.