The Brotherhood 4: Good Luck Piece Page 8

  This was it, Simon knew. This was it. Prelude to an orgasm. His aching balls and pulsing cock anticipated the pleasure to be and began to pound, rushing him onward hard and fast. The cock ring, that blessed everlasting bit of leather and silver, wouldn’t prevent him from having his golden moment. All he needed was a little more help from Finn ... a ... ah ...!

  It would seem that Finn, too, had grown tired of the foreplay. He now threw himself into the final stage of the game. Gripping Simon by the shoulders, he pressed their groins together, cock slip-sliding against cock, the brushing of their pricks as inflaming and heady as a drug.

  More. He had to have more. “Finn, please,” he managed to say. “Inside me. Need you there.”

  A finger reached around his ass and ran down the seam. “In here?” Finn asked softly. “Good. Right where I want to go. Open up for me, man. I can’t wait to feel the heat of you.”

  Simon let loose with a cry of sheer bliss, flinging himself into a return of the movement. Just frottage but, ah, God, it felt so incredibly good he wished he could lose himself in the moment and never have it come to an end -- yet, as the orgasm rushed toward him, uncurling in a spiral of sparks deep in his belly and pushing forward, he thought he would explode if he didn’t -- didn’t --

  “Hold, hold, hold,” Finn said. “Have to finish this off properly.” Clearly trying not to be too rough, despite how eager he seemed, he pushed at Simon, turned him around to face the wall. Simon’s heart beat faster. Yes, yes, yes, God, yes ...

  Finn wrapped his hand around Simon’s cock, his fingers shaking. Simon thrust into the other man’s tight grip, fucking it eagerly. Both groaned. Simon thought about what would happen next. What he hoped for. He thought, from the way Finn cursed in Gaelic, that Finn wanted it just as much as he did.

  “Stand still for me for just one moment,” Finn said, voice shaking. “I’ve got a condom and some slick in my back pocket. I’m taking them out now, right? Going to get you good and wet for me.”

  “Don’t --” Simon shook his head. “Don’t take too long.”

  He heard the click of a tube snapping open and then, just a second later, felt lube-slippery fingers rubbing against his hole. He groaned as he relaxed his muscles. It felt too good to be true, and he knew he wouldn’t last long. “Hurry.”

  “Pushy bottom.” Finn bit Simon’s shoulder just hard enough to hurt, but in the best way possible. “I'm almost there.” Eager fingers stretched him wide. They paused and withdrew, leaving Simon feeling unbearably empty. “Are you ready for me?” Finn asked between deep breaths. “Want this?” He pressed his cock against Simon’s entrance. “Need me? Say you do.”

  “I do.” Simon pushed back, feeling the wonderful burn of Finn’s cock beginning to make an entrance. “Please, Finn, do it.”

  Finn stilled. “Please, what?”

  Simon’s eyes closed in heady pleasure. “Please ... Master.”

  “Good boy,” Finn said. Gripping Simon’s hip with one hand, he slid inside with short strokes, each one better than the last, until he was fully seated in Simon’s ass. “God! Ah, God, so good.”

  Simon moved against him. The pleasure, the pain, all of it was overwhelming. “Fuck me, Master,” he demanded, struggling to get the words out. “Please!”

  Finn grasped Simon’s arms, then began to thrust. They found their rhythm right away, driving and receiving, hard and accepting. Simon’s nerve endings were screaming at him, whooping with a thrill he’d been denied for far too long.

  When Finn moved his hand around and started jacking Simon’s cock again, he couldn’t hold back any longer. Neither could he manage to muffle his cry as a long-denied release burst from him, sticky stripes of come painting the wall he leaned against. Finn groaned, deep, as if the sound came from the center of his gut. His fingers twitched and spasmed on Simon’s arms, and he again began chanting something in a Gaelic-sounding tongue. Then he, too, was coming, the friction of his cock blazing a trail deep within Simon, pulsing as he emptied himself in hot jets of spunk.

  The moment lasted forever -- and not nearly long enough. Fireworks and spangles of color, brilliant colors, filled Simon’s field of vision, fading away slowly, their afterimages burned into his retinas.

  When he came to himself once more, he found that somehow he was still upright, but probably only because the wall behind him held him there. Finn had crumpled against him, sagging in his arms, breath hot and fast against his naked shoulder.

  Weary from the burst that had drained what felt like all of his strength, Simon somehow turned around in Finn’s arms and lifted one hand to tangle in Finn’s hair. The locks sifted through his fingers like strands of red gold, sparkling in the surprisingly gentle overhead light. He laughed, not because anything was funny, but because of how odd it was that this felt so good.

  Sex with a stranger, or a near stranger -- Simon-the-Lawyer would never have done such a thing. He felt as if he’d been made over in a new image. Been reshaped into a new sort of man. He thought he liked this guy he’d become a good deal better.

  Finn chuckled in return, languidly stretching up to brush a light kiss over Simon’s lips. Their breaths mingled, slowing down as their pulses did, from a race to a lazy recovery. “Good,” he whispered, perhaps forgetting that he shouldn’t speak. “You are so good, lover, and so fine to have within my arms.”

  Simon frowned, puzzled. Had he ... that had made sense. More, it caused no reaction within him save for plain delight in being appreciated. “Finn?” he asked slowly, putting a hand to his new lover’s cheek. “What did you say?”

  Finn backed up and blinked. Simon could all but see his mind racing, going over what he’d blurted out, and coming to the same amazed conclusion. “I said,” he repeated, slowly, as if he wanted to taste the syllables, “You are so good to me. So fine.” He shook his head, amazed. “I said it. What I meant to say. How did I do that?”

  Simon smiled, feeling as if the sun were coming out from behind a bank of dark storm clouds. He knew the answer, and to hell with logic that tried to deny it. “Magic,” he said solemnly, bending to kiss Finn once more, because a face like his, and lips like those, outright demanded it. “There’s magic in the air, my Finn.”

  He let his mouth ghost over to Finn’s temple, just above his ear. “Do you want to know a secret?” he whispered.

  Finn laughed, weary but delighted and curious. “Yes,” he said, rolling the sounds of intentional words coming out right over his tongue like precious jewels. “Tell me a secret, Simon.”

  Simon closed his eyes and breathed deeply of Finn’s scent. “I could fall in love with a man like you.”

  He would have said more, but then Finn’s arms were around him, and they were whooping and hollering, acting as badly as half-mad teenagers and not in the least bit ashamed. They didn’t understand the how or the why of it, but they knew -- knew -- they’d broken the chains that held each other down. They were free to live, laugh, and make love, not just there and then, but always, and as long as they wanted to go on.

  Simon shifted a little to get a better grip on Finn, then paused. The wall seemed to have moved behind him. He laughed. “Did we break the place?”

  Finn peeked over Simon’s shoulder. He let out a low whistle. “Only in the best way possible. Look, Simon. Turn around and look.”

  Curious, Simon did as he was directed, leaning back into Finn’s arms as the leprechaun held him in turn from behind. He’d been resting against a mirror set into the wall, now knocked loose of its moorings. Behind it, though, instead of still more wall, there was an empty pocket of space. A black void that seemed to have no end.

  Fascinated, he reached out to touch -- only to have Finn snatch his hand back. “Careful,” Finn murmured. “That’s a travel port, that is. I never knew it was there!”

  “A what, now?”

  “Travel hole. They’re scattered here and there throughout Amour Magique. Some folk who live in other times and spaces use them to travel here and back.
They’ll take you anywhere and anywhen you want to go. ’S a bit like Dorothy in Oz. Just think about there being no place like home, step inside, and right back out where you hang your hat.”

  Simon gazed at the benign blackness in calm wonder. Odd, how easy it was, once he’d accepted Finn as a reality, to believe in things he’d have considered impossible before. “Anywhere at all?” he murmured.

  “Anywhere you like.” Finn brushed a kiss behind Simon’s ear and laughed. “Must be this is the ticket out! We beat the curse of the Last Chance, love. We won the game Amour Magique set us up to play. This is our reward.”

  “We can go free,” Simon said. He reached down to grasp Finn’s hands, locked around his waist. He turned to grin at Finn, delighted with himself for having the nerve, courage, and willingness -- no, eagerness -- to ask the question dancing on his tongue. “Want to come home with me?”

  Finn squeezed his hands in return. “Lead the way, lover,” he said, voice rumbling against Simon’s throat. “Let’s find a better life, you and me.”

  Simon laughed out loud and stepped forward, into the black void, taking his lover with him, and disappearing into both their futures, together.

  As they vanished into the blackness, neither of them noticed that Finn left something in his wake. Everywhere he had stepped, a gold coin sparkled on the carpet. Pure gold, leprechaun’s treasure, the sign and symbol of the forgiven fallen, welcomed back into the fold.

  A happy ending when he would have time to realize it. At the moment, though, neither Simon nor Finn cared for anything else but further discovery of the wonders of one another ...

  Some distance away, Trey, keeper of the Last Chance, flipped on the flat-panel computer monitor hidden behind his bar, and gazed down at a familiar face hailing him. The incubus Liam had tapped into a vid-link and gazed up at him, questions written across a tired face. “They have gone?” he asked.

  Trey nodded.

  “Happy? Satisfied? Together?”

  Nod.

  “Good,” Liam said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Trey cocked his head, examining Liam narrowly. He opened his mouth. “You look like hell, man,” he said.

  Liam laughed, surprising Trey. “Not yet,” he replied cryptically. “Not quite yet, but perhaps soon.”

  “Say what now?”

  “Never mind.” Liam brushed his question aside. “I am needed elsewhere.”

  Trey remembered him saying that earlier, and spoke again. “A lot of elsewheres?”

  Liam chuckled. “You have no idea,” he said, and closed the vid-link.

  Trey paused to consider that, then all that had happened in his Bar & Grill that evening. To any observer it would look just like Trey were lost in his usual apathetic grouch, but thoughts were flying thick and fast behind his eyes. Finally, he nodded and picked up a bar cloth, starting to polish clean highball glasses.

  Whistling an Irish tune.

  Willa Okati

  Although a relative newcomer to the field of e-publishing, Willa Okati has been writing since before she was old enough to pick up a pen. She thinks she knows where those dictated stories are hidden, but she'll never tell.

  Willa is also very interested in the paranormal: magery, Wicca, New Age philosophy, transgender studies, and of course, writing. You can drag her away from the computer if you really fight, but you'd better be prepared for a battle.

  Just so she doesn't sound entirely dull, Willa has her fun: she is a practicing member of the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) and is involved in her community. She is owned by far too many cats, all of which have serious attitudes, and addicted to anything made out of chocolate or involving coffee. She is quiet, but has a very wicked sense of humor that springs out when you least expect it.

  A secretary for eight years, she now writes full-time -- and wouldn't trade it for the world.

  She loves to hear from readers, and always responds. You can contact her at willshenillshe@gmail.com or visit her website to check out her work at http://www.willsheornillshe.com.