Waylon's Crossing - 27. Chapter 27: Temptation

Waylon's Crossing
Chapter 27: Temptation

"What's happening?" Kynan wailed, weeping into the back of the werewolf's neck. He hadn't done anything! He hadn't! He was trying! Trying so hard.

"Kynan." Hunter Karadur knelt on the floor beside the bed, staring through the gap of wing over both bodies to where he could just catch the gleam of Kynan's eyes.

"Kynan, you are Paired. You know what that is."

Unwilling to relinquish his hold on Alan to shove or tug on his wing, Kynan shrugged and nodded, feeling despair wash over him anew. He'd gotten Alan into this. This was all his fault!

"Listen to your body," Karadur instructed. "You know what you need to do."

"No! No, I can't! I can't!"

Karadur looked over his shoulder to catch his pairling's eyes. An incubus, denying himself sex? He frowned. For as long as he'd known the halfling, Karadur had never known him to be intimate with anyone. He felt Azil's agreement with that thought, worried anew. Lack of sex couldn't be healthy. Unless, unless he did it through --

Of course!

Karadur?

The Hunter smiled. That's how he got his information, he explained to his pairling. Kynan had a seemingly never-ending source of information that had spelled misfortune to countless demons, and why shit never seemed to stick to the halfling. Pride swelled within Karadur's breast.

Ah, that's all well and good, Karadur, but -- Azil tried not to fidget nervously.

Play something. Karadur turned back to the business at hand abruptly. Something soothing ... and invigorating.

Right. The minstrel looked around. "Right," he muttered under his breath. He couldn't half think himself for wanting Karadur. He reached down and cupped himself to reduce the strain, just a little, but his pairling's answering gasp only served to make him harder.

"Azil!" hissed Karadur, shifting uncomfortably on the floor. He kept his hands far away from his straining cock. He could feel his pairling's arousal prickling against his skin and shivered.

The werewolf keened again and Karadur winced at the harsh, abrasive sound. He leaned forward again, sidling as close to the pair as he dared. Blue eyes glittered dangerously at him from beneath the wing's shadow.

"How is your Pairling feeling?" he asked, breathing too fast, but otherwise grateful his voice came out normally.

"P-pain," Kynan stuttered his reply, closing his eyes briefly as a tremble overcame him. Goose bumps rose on his skin, which was not a demonic trait.

"What else?" Karadur pressed.

"I don't -- I don't know!"

"Concentrate!" he barked, making the incubus startle. "What does it feel like?"

"Like ... like ..." Kynan groaned. Heat exploded between his legs, pulsing and throbbing. He badly wanted to come, but refrained from even rubbing harder into Alan's back. He couldn't do that, daren't take the risk. Not again.

"Not again," he panted the prayer. "Please, not again."

"You are hurting your mate," said Karadur, head tilting toward the sound of Azil singing softly from where he sat on the other, smaller bed. He licked his lips and turned back to his charge.

"No, no," Kynan protested.

"Your body has needs," he said firmly. "As does your pairling. You must, Kynan." And we must find some incubi, he told Azil. This ignorance cannot be borne.

"... I'll kill him," whispered Kynan.

Azil's voice hitched in sudden, understanding sorrow. You're right, he told Karadur. He doesn't know what he is, learning on his own. How has he survived?

Pressing his lips together, Karadur insisted, "You must. You must, Kynan." When they'd first joined, he and Azil could not stay within miles of each other, or the pain grew unbearable. Whenever they had crossed paths, they'd fought bitterly. The moon-shaped scar on the inside of his right knee was from where Azil had bit him before they could be torn apart. Azil had several shiny patches, from where Karadur's hot hands had burned him.

These two evidently had the opposite problem. Instead of fighting, they had sex, instead of distance, closeness, and instead of hate, love. His throat tightened, and he felt the ghost of a caress as Azil soothed him.

This isn't working.

Then come here. Azil's mind filled with the delightful craving for Karadur, leaning back against supporting arms, head lolling backward. His voice sang on steadily, even as he closed his eyes to surround himself with the delightful dream: Karadur, kneeling before him, making his wet mouth so warm, like a hot springs for his cock. His legs, already spread, widened further in invitation.

Jacen, ear pressed to the door outside, frowned. He could only hear the demon's song. Beside him, the demon bodyguard shifted uncomfortably, scowling. Leaning his forehead against the door, Jacen let his hand drift down to skirt his growing erection. Between the incubus' presence and the haunting song, he was as tight and wanting as a virgin on his wedding night.

Understanding made Bryce's eyes widened. He cuddled Delaur possessively and made an about-face, muttering, "You are far too young for this." With quick steps, he left the house.

The song flooded Kynan's senses. This was wrong, so terribly wrong! Karadur had put these thoughts in his head, damn him! Each wiggle, each cry that left Alan's lips now coated Kynan in erotic prickles. He couldn't feel Alan; their bond was one-sided in that regard, his mind too overloaded to make sense of the werewolf's mental mutterings, and so he was left with scent and vision to make sense of their predicament.

Alan's skin was flushed and sweaty. He breathed in rasping pants. He ground his ass mercilessly into Kynan's front, and, when he dared to slide his hand down, unable to let go, even for that short a time, Kynan grasped a length of hot skin that burned with heat, slick with throbbing, trembling, desperate need.

He was doing this! Kynan cried out as Azil and Karadur's love-making spilled out over him, threatened to drown him, to betray his flesh with the demands of the monster thrashing to be set free.

He did the only thing he could think of to do: he sought the freedom and comfort of the dreamscape.

//.. Enter Dreamscape..\\

His first instinct was to flee immediately. He recognized this place.

A large bed, wide enough for two demons, dominated the room. The dark blue canopy fluttered in the light wind from the open window. The candle light lit the whitewashed walls with a surreal glow, bathing the room with the scent of jasmine and myrrh.

He remembered scrubbing the floors with a polishing rock for hours on end, until his hands blistered and he couldn't stand up straight for the aching in his back.

Trembling, Kynan dragged himself across the wood floor to the foot of the bed, up the double-stacked, feather-filled mattress, to the cream linens and ... and pillows ... and ... oh, my God.

Stretched out along the top in a pose that Kynan felt sure he'd plucked from his memories, Alan waited. He smiled, a little smugly, and a little uncertainly. The light made his skin seem golden, and he gleamed from oil, another touch he'd surely taken from Kynan's memories.

He staggered from the vision, stumbling backward, but there was no door to fall against. No escape!

"Alan!" he cried. "Please."

The werewolf shook his head, sitting up to frown at his pairling. He was sick with worry for the big man ... demon ... whatever he was. He wouldn't deny that he'd dreamed of such an event, wanted it with every fiber of his being, but it was Kynan's craving that sparked the tight knot of desire spasming uncomfortably somewhere against the floor of Alan's stomach. The more mental distance Kynan pushed between them, the more the monster in his gut screamed in outraged torment. Why couldn't Kynan see? He was killing himself! The needs of his body would take what it needed to preserve his life. The longer they put this off, the worse it would be.

Alan would give his life for this man. He knew that with a clarity that would have shocked him but for the buffer of the demon spell binding them together. They were stuck now. From the little Kynan knew of the Pair-Bond, Alan knew that what one did would affect the other. He had no choice but to give up his life if it came to it. The bond would take both of them, or neither.

"Kynan," he whispered out the call, reaching out with his hand. He'd never seen the Hunter look so terrified, and it was just sex. He hadn't looked that frightened, that Alan could recall, even whilst being beaten by the demon prince.

He remembered what had happened the last time they were together in this dream world, and winced. It had felt so deliciously, wickedly good ... but it had hurt, too, just as strongly before he'd passed out. And that wasn't even sex. Not really. This time, he could feel Kynan better and although he wasn't sure if Kynan's need were greater or if this was the difference in their bond, but Alan knew that nothing short of sex would do. Not this time.

"Please, Kynan." If he didn't give in, his body would consume him. Alan could almost see the black, writhing mass beneath his ... his lover -- his pairling's! -- skin. "Come on," he whispered pleadingly.

Kynan shook his head, palms flattened to the wall at his back, eyes impossibly wide. There were no wings, no scars or injuries, just the expanse of Kynan's pale skin against the glow from the candles.

Blue eyes; blue, demon, cat-like eyes. Alan moaned. They were so gorgeous! He wanted, badly, to know what they would look like all turned on and filled with desire. He --

He sat up fully, kneeling and sitting back on his heels. Face set with determination, skin flushed from embarrassment and arousal, Alan leaned back on one arm and reached for his aching cock.

Eyes widening, Kynan couldn't tear his gaze away from the sight of Alan pleasuring himself. His knees trembled faintly and he moaned, saliva filling his mouth as a bead of moisture came to the tip of Alan's cock, dripping over his fingers and down the side. His thumb flicked around to grab the escaping moisture, smearing the come over the slit at the top as he jacked the skin back to begin pumping in earnest.

Kynan held himself up by sheer force of will and the strength in his arms. His legs were weak, useless things, shaking. He tilted his chin up, but his eyes would not leave the sight on the bed. Alan had wide, muscular shoulders, a broad, almost barrel-shaped chest, and long, ropey arms. He would never achieve his father's muscle tone or mass, but Alan had worked hard all his life, working the bellows for hours on end at the forge, or hammering away at tools and weapons that weighed as much as he did.

He had scars, mostly on his forearms, but they proclaimed him for a working man, and Kynan's heart swelled for pride in his pairling. Alan was smart; even if he couldn't bear arms in combat, he wasn't defenseless. He was small, but he was tough and as stubborn as a mule when he decided he wanted something.

Unfortunately, he had an almost irresistible means of achieving his goals. The hand on his cock clenched tighter for a moment as he groaned, head falling back loosely. Kynan didn't have to touch himself. He could feel every movement Alan made, and his desire rose another few notches. Already the room had disappeared, everything gone but that stupid bed and the vision kneeling there in the circle of candle light.

He was across the room in three strides, falling on Alan in a fever, pushing him backward to pin him down. His mouth fell open in shock and Kynan took immediate possession. In this place, in this time, there was no need to reach for rusty skills; they came directly to his call, like a dutiful servant. Alan came without touch, without direction, at the first brushing of their lips.

Straddling the slim hips, Kynan held himself up by leaning on one hand, pressing his palm against any skin he could reach while he plundered Alan's mouth with all the carnal knowledge he'd been born with and later trained into a tool as sharp as any assassin's blade.

Alan clutched at him blindly, his hair, his face, his arms, shoulders, and neck. His tongue was everywhere, all long and sinuous, but uncoordinated with mind-blurring lust. His body pressed upward to rub against Kynan's, and then his legs reached up to wrap around Kynan's waist, clinging ferociously until Kynan, laughing, let them collapse down onto the bed.

He rolled them onto their sides, lifting a leg between both of Alan's as the werewolf's arms went around Kynan's neck. He kissed his little lover until he almost passed out from lack of air, all because the werewolf was too eager to stop and pause for breath. He flopped limply against the bed and Kynan transferred his attention to neck and chest, licking the pebbly nipples into hard nubs and tracing the lines of his ribs with his tongue.

Meanwhile, his eyes groped for the little crockery pot of oil in its hidden place in the headboard. He didn't have to look to pry the top off and coat his fingers.

Moving back up, he snagged Alan's mouth again to renew their kisses, and his hand found the small, tight entrance between his legs.

Alan tensed with a whimper and Kynan drew back from the kiss to stare into the large, worry-rounded, golden-brown eyes. He'd glimpsed, seen Kynan with others, and his mind had immediately been wracked with concern. Wouldn't that hurt? He wasn't ignorant, but he hadn't thought -- hadn't really let himself think about where this would end up, besides sex. Yes, sex, that ... thing that was sex. There were parts to it, he knew that, but the actual step-by-step, this goes there and this does that reasoning hadn't really come into it.

Kynan smiled gently, never ceasing his soft prodding and caresses around Alan's entrance. He kissed Alan's mouth, lips tight again with sudden fright. This was mental, not physical, but if Alan thought it would hurt, then it would. His body would feel the effects regardless, but Kynan kept himself reined in, just enough to keep them from crossing the boundary into reality. So caught up was he in what he did he never noticed the lack of protest from his inner demon.

Back before he reached physical maturity as a human, the pleasures of the flesh were just that. He lacked the strength to take more than what his customers released freely. Abandoned by his wet-nurse to a cold, unfriendly, bright world, Kynan had fled the orphanage and the harsh attentions of the other children. He knew he was different, that he needed something else. He wanted his mother and tried to backtrack, to return to his nurse, but became lost in the borderlands.

He didn't know what it was, then, but the brothel called to him, feeding something inside that blossomed for the attention. He wanted more, always wanting more, because the overflow of feelings between whores and customers stopped being enough. He'd thought he could temper the cravings by becoming a whore himself, but that also proved to be insufficient. His burgeoning abilities blossomed suddenly, and he killed someone. He'd instinctively known what was happening, but was powerless to reverse or stop. Horrified, he fled.

He left lives behind him as he wandered the Borderlands, searching for something, some meaning in his life, for someone who was like him. Other street rats shunned him or fled his presence as tales of death haunted the streets. Somehow, the others could sense that he was dangerous, and Kynan worked harder to learn self-control, to hide what he was.

In those months, he learned despair.