The Brotherhood 4: Good Luck Piece Page 7

  Simon didn’t think Finn would have it in him to be violent without his unfortunate geas. Mischievous, maybe, and possibly a dab hand with a practical joke, but not callous, careless of hearts, or deliberately cruel. A true Master.

  If it wasn’t Finn’s fault, Simon could hardly hold it against him, could he? And if he couldn’t hold Finn’s actions against him, he had no reason to sit and sulk when the man, clearly repentant and hangdog gloomy, sat casting him longing looks and stifling sighs that told a story of wishing for what might have been.

  Slowly, Simon sat upright, putting a bit of the lawyer back into his spine. He might not have his suit, and he might be falling for someone cursed with the kind of bad luck he’d spent his adult life, and especially recent years, trying to avoid, but ... Be damned if he didn’t want Finn to look up and meet his gaze and understand what he was trying to say without any literally cursed words to get in their way.

  As if he felt the weight of Simon’s stare, Finn gradually raised his head. Hesitant at first, he took a few darting glances before finally matching Simon look for look. Between them, they telegraphed a conversation in the language of men who, frankly, didn’t often use words to make themselves clear anyway.

  I didn’t mean to.

  I understand.

  I’m sorry.

  It’s all right.

  Please?

  I know it was the curse.

  Forgive me?

  I do. I forgive you, Finn.

  And Simon did. Without having to justify it to himself any further -- after all, the facts had been presented, the evidence weighed, and he was sufficiently versed in the law to render a judgment of “not guilty” -- he did forgive Finn. Accepted his repentance and offered him a second chance.

  And Finn ... Finn smiled. It was clear he understood. Standing up, he pushed his chair aside and began to walk toward Simon. Simon dipped his head in agreement and abrupt decision. He’d meet Finn halfway. And if they could never talk to each other, well, words weren’t everything, were they? They’d find a way to make it work.

  An unexpected burst of noise startled both of them, and the rest of the so-silent bar, into a flinch. Everyone looked automatically toward the view screen that covered half of one wall ... with its feed of the main dance floor, Simon realized. He felt his cheeks heat up. Had they all seen his earlier humiliation? He didn’t know if he could bear --

  But wait, wait, wait. The tempo of the music had slowed, dropping into something soft, with Spanish guitar and a Latin voice crooning lyrics made of molten honey, liquid gold, and lazy afternoons in the sunlight. The frenetic strobe lights had changed to a dallying snowflake flurry of soft spots, glittering over the crowd of men. Thrashing knots of dancers slowly separated into pairs, swaying and rocking together to the sound of the ballad playing just for them.

  Simon turned back to Finn and found the Irishman watching him with a shameless grin on his face. The impishness of it infected Simon until he wanted to laugh as well -- a good, healthy, hearty laugh, one from the bottom of his soul. A sound that swelled from taking pleasure in life and the moment.

  Finn held out his hand, his eyebrow cocked and his invitation clear. May I have this dance?

  And Simon, smiling broad and white, ear to ear, met his soon-to-be lover halfway, taking him by the fingers, matching palm to palm as the music wove its spell around them, swallowing them blissfully alive.

  Chapter Eight

  The Last Chance swathed itself in warm silence save for the sound of the song playing over the view screen. Rich and sensual as if the vocalist himself were sitting at the bar with guitar in lap, the lyrics wound soothing tendrils around the room that lulled every man into total calm.

  Every man, that was, except for Simon and Finn, both of whom, Simon was sure, felt peace and a burgeoning arousal ripple through them when their hands touched, easy and powerful as the tide. They drew in deep, startled breaths, then let them out softly, smiling at each other. Simon thought they were both probably feeling oddly shy.

  Simon stepped in a couple of feet, closing the distance between himself and Finn. The Irishman flushed with a blaze of excitement, cheeks going pink, but for all that his bright green eyes sparkled with merriment -- and oh, yes, mastery. Simon lowered his head and butted it gently against Finn’s chin, as would a cat seeking the approval of its two-legged pet. The low chuckle he heard was a definite reward, and told him Finn got the message far better than any words would have been able to convey.

  Slowly, they began to sway to the low rolling of the ballad, rocking against each other just a bit, testing their limits and limitations. Simon closed his eyes as Finn slipped arms around his waist, pulling him a little tighter still, listening to the music and savoring the warm sensation of being embraced.

  He’d bet his last buck on understanding far more Spanish than Finn did, years of wandering the world notwithstanding. A good many of his clients were Hispanic, and he’d polished his knowledge of the language until it gleamed. They trusted him because he not only knew the basics of their speech, he understood subtleties and innuendo, often so important in getting one’s point across.

  Simon laughed as Finn canted their hips together. Points, yes, good ones. But while he suspected the romantic sounds of the ballad were putting Finn in the mood, he probably didn’t understand what the vocalist sang about. Listening, Simon suspected he had been right about himself being one of the few “mundanes” in Amour Magique.

  The song had the sound of being recorded in a small, low-budget studio, though clear and beautiful all the same, and the musician spoke in smoky, honeyed notes of the joy of shedding one’s man-shaped skin and falling into the form of a jaguar. Of running into the night, wild and free to hunt what its heart desired, and tracking down the prey it wanted most. It was a story of animal freedom, of the beast caged within a man’s heart allowed to let loose to run and play.

  Finn turned them slightly, his warm hands skating up Simon’s back. Simon let out a soft sigh and pressed closer still to Finn, savoring his heat and the unique smell of him -- fresh green grass, musky peat and rich whiskey. He nuzzled his mouth into the crook of Finn’s neck, nipping a small welt without breaking the skin, then soothing the abused spot with his tongue. From the way Finn growled and arched against him, Simon suspected he had liked it.

  Good.

  He moved with Finn, savoring the music as it washed over them. At any other time he might have been confused by the story of the song, but not now. This night was about removing one’s everyday disguises and letting the true nature inside run loose. The part of a man that hungered, that yearned, that wanted without having any rules or inhibitions to hold it back. That in him which ached to laugh, to drink, to dance, and to make love. It had no fears, no doubts, and no regrets -- and neither did he. He was free now, and he planned to make the most of it.

  Sucking again on the soft tissue of Finn’s neck, knowing he had “permission” to play, Simon tasted the light saltiness of his flesh and moaned against the other man’s throat. He felt Finn’s fingers working against the muscles of his back and then, with a tug, pulling them closer still, groin to groin and cock to cock, the two of them as hard and needy as the song was soft and sensual.

  Simon laughed as he and Finn swung in a circle, aroused as two men could possibly be, and free to let each other know. Who cared if anyone was watching? This moment was theirs, and they would make it last.

  Finn would have laid even money on two things. No, three. One, Simon knew a lot more about old-fashioned dancing than he did -- seemed his only problems were with the modern spastic jigginess. Or had that all been ill-wishing? Finn would have loved to take Simon on the dance floor dressed properly. Show him off, deliciously submissive. Maybe even put a collar around his neck and tug on it as they gyrated together. Fucked their way through a dance with the sound and light going supernova around them.

  He wanted the chance to find out someday. Just then, though, Simon kept moving as if he wanted to
lead, as if this were a proper ballroom dance, but then drawing back, remembering his “place” as a sub.

  Finn dragged himself back to his point. Damned hard to do, with a sweet sub-treat wound around him like stripes on a candy cane. Two! From the way Simon kept smiling against the sensitive skin of Finn’s neck, he knew what on earth the song was about.

  And, three, most important of all, he had set himself loose of any bonds save for those he chose to impose upon himself as a submissive. He’d had a tang of pure freedom to him when Finn dipped down to steal a quick kiss that turned into a long one, a taste that turned into an almost endless drink of one another’s flavors.

  One more thing he knew for sure: Simon wanted him as much as he wanted Simon, and no mistake. The hardness of his cock bumping into Finn’s own groin told him as much, and oh, but that was a welcome feeling. He hadn’t lied to. It had been centuries, though not quite a millennium, since someone not paid for it had gotten close enough for Finn to feel the evidence of desire. Better than his few previous encounters, this wasn’t motivated by the promise of payment.

  Simon wanted him, Finn, purely for the sake of Finn himself. No coins, no favors, just pure arousal and yearning for completion. It made his blood run hot and his heart pump fast, faster, fastest ever as he lifted Simon by the waist and spun him in a circle. Their laughter matched the twinkling notes of the guitar strings lovingly plucked, blending in with what sounded oddly like the soft patter of golden coins showering to the carpet.

  Finn barely noticed the sound. Still laughing, he stole yet another kiss. No, not stole. He sought it out with his lips and was eagerly given the gift he sought as Simon kissed him back. Flickering his tongue along Simon’s slightly parted mouth, he slipped his tongue inside and caressed. He felt Simon stiffen, not with fear but with appreciation, before twining his own tongue around Finn’s in an exercise of delight.

  Finn groaned into the kiss, no longer caring if anyone heard. Let them watch and be jealous as all hell. Simon was his, his last chance come to fruition, and he wasn’t about to give up the man now. Simon’s hands tangled in Finn’s unruly locks as they swayed together, laying his own shy, submissive claim.

  Finn was more than happy to acknowledge it and Simon. He nudged his head deeper into the other man’s strong, long-fingered hands, all but wishing he could purr. Something in the music made him feel almost feline.

  Simon draped himself more heavily against Finn, but wasn’t so great a weight that he could knock Finn over. Finn was strong enough in plenty to hold them both up, himself and his new pet. His Simon. Such a good man. And good boys deserved rewards, didn’t they?

  Daringly, Finn withdrew one of his hands from Simon’s heated back beneath the softness of old flannel and trailed it around, fingertips first, to the fastening on his worn, secondhand jeans. He ran the pad of his thumb around the button that closed them at the waist, laughing quietly when Simon drew in a startled gasp of pleasure.

  Ah, if you like that, just wait and see what you think of this. Finn flicked the button open, drew the zip down just a bit, click by click and, tickling with the lightest of touches on sensitive lower belly and groin top, slid his hand inside Simon’s jeans with the lightness of pure gossamer. Simon’s cock, fairy-silver covered by hot, raw silk, all but jumped into his palm, begging for attention.

  Finn trailed kisses across Simon’s collarbone, mouthing the flannel when it got in his way. His free hand played the notes of the song across Simon’s shoulder blade; the other was far better occupied dipping deep into Simon’s jeans and wrapping itself around a heated handful of hard, hard cock.

  Finn all but moaned and collapsed, even as Simon let out a low, hoarse cry and sagged against him. Gods and goddesses of Eire, had anything ever felt as good as Simon’s dick within his grasp? It pulsed with the hot blood thrumming through the swollen length, the slightest bit damp at the tip -- not enough to lubricate, but sufficient to slide the pad of his thumb around in circles.

  As Simon writhed against him, Finn slowly let his hand ride up and down the length of the man’s cock, teasing him without mercy, but with definite affection.

  “Want you,” Simon raised his head to whisper, ragged, in Finn’s ear. “I haven’t -- not in years -- wouldn’t, with a stranger -- but you, it’s natural. Please. Want you. Can I? Will you?”

  Finn felt as well as heard the rough edge in Simon’s voice. Heaven only knew what the man, this captivating and compelling mundane, had come to Amour Magique in search of. Probably just one golden moment in the spotlight, one last chance -- he laughed -- to dance and shine.

  Yet they’d found so much more, and how odd that they might not have come into each other’s arms if it were not for the cruelty of others. Zachary’s treatment of Simon had given Finn the energy he needed to escape Last Chance and find the man he was meant to be with, and Simon’s understanding of how the magic worked had led him into Finn’s very arms.

  Magic, yes. It was a mystical moment in this enchanted evening, and Finn wasn’t about to let Simon go, or say “no” to his request. If Simon wanted him as much as Finn wanted Simon, and he thought the man did, he’d give him the ride of a lifetime -- if he could wait that long.

  One thing, though. He didn’t mind putting on a free tease for the crowd of losers in Last Chance, but damned if he’d give them the whole show. It wouldn’t be right. Simon deserved more, and he wanted their first time, of hopefully many still to come, to be a memory to cherish.

  Giving Simon’s cock one last, wistful squeeze, unable to help himself from craving still more of the satiny-hard touch or resist having Simon cry out low and rock into his grip, Finn decided on his course of action. Drawing his hand away, he reached for Simon’s and twined their fingers together.

  He still didn’t dare trust his voice, but let his eyes do the talking. Will you follow me? he asked with a tilt of his head.

  Simon’s eyes sparkled. He nodded, as eager as Finn himself. Finn felt the blessed warmth of a true grin spread across his own lips. He tugged at Simon’s hand. Come on, then. Come.

  Simon followed.

  There wasn’t much permitted to the Last Chancers by way of privacy, but even the petty management of a place within Amour Magique allowed its patrons privacy to take a piss. Finn ached to be able to take Simon somewhere better, a place with a soft bed, possibly with a few nice trimmings like candlelight and champagne in a bucket of ice to go on the side, but this was all they had, and they’d make the best of it.

  Finn didn’t know what would happen when the night was over, though he prayed to gods he no longer believed listened to him that he and Simon could stay together. Still, he wasn’t taking the chance. If the magic only lasted until closing time, then by Ireland he was going to have his fill of Simon at least once.

  A memory to carry him through lonely years if he were left by himself again.

  He thought Simon might feel much the same way. From the eagerness of his step, following behind Finn as a good sub should, their hands squeezing together to the rhythm of their pulses and the throb in Finn’s cock, he suspected Simon was tasting the same urgency as he. There was a time to make war, to make peace and to make love, and that last was on them now.

  Laughing because he simply couldn’t help himself, Finn led Simon into the men’s room and closed the door behind them, locking it with a snick. Still chuckling, too delighted to stop, he turned around to press Simon up against the wall, putting hands on either side of his shoulders and gazing deep into the man’s face.

  Ah, but he loved the sight of this fellow, his partner in this measure of the ancient dance. Small crinkles at the corners of his eyes, a few gray hairs among the darker ones, and lips open wide over a broad, white smile. An older fellow, as he liked them, but still enough of a youth that he could let go and let himself fall in love, even if he were shy about it. Old enough to know better, and young enough to let himself decide, just for once, not to care.

  Delicious.

  Finn leaned
in for a kiss and drank deep from the well of love and lust a-brewing.

  Simon let himself be pressed into the cold wall of the restroom, chortling to himself in glee and excitement. He’d never have imagined himself in such a place, about to allow his most intimate side to be plundered by a man who was all but a total stranger.

  And yet, Finn wasn’t quite a stranger. He hadn’t known him very long, true, but he didn’t feel as if he needed to know him any better. No ... that wasn’t it. He didn’t need to know any more, because he already understood everything there was to say and comprehend. He saw Finn’s soul clearly as a lantern in a window on a dark and foggy night, a lighthouse for a ship long lost at sea. He shone bright as a beacon, warm and welcoming, guiding the way home for a lonely sailor. He was gentle and kind, full of good humor, and his tender hands spoke of love and reverence. With that sort of dialogue between them, who needed spoken words to fill in any blanks?

  Simon let his mouth be ravaged by Finn’s kiss, savoring every nuance of his taste and texture. Heated hands raced over him, undoing the buttons of his flannel shirt and then racing down to his jeans, pulling his zipper the rest of the way open and shoving the tissue-thin denim down over Simon’s hips. Tentatively, asking permission, Simon raised his own hands to reciprocate and got a delighted moan into his mouth in response.

  Oh, but he set to with a will and a passion then. He tugged, pulling Finn’s own shirt over his head, bitterly regretting the brief moment that their lips and arms had to part to make that happen, but deeply appreciative of the expanse of warm skin it revealed to touch and kiss and lick and nibble.

  He discovered Finn’s nipples were more sensitive than any he’d ever encountered before, as he covered one breast with his hand, teasing with his tongue, and cupped the other in one palm and gave it a rolling massage. He loved the way Finn groaned and leaned against him, pressing heated kisses everywhere he could reach -- the top of Simon’s head, his eyelids, his cheeks, and his nose. Finally, as if he couldn’t wait any longer or bear any more of the inflaming touches, Finn pulled Simon up and brought their mouths together again one more time.