Tag: McFassy Fortnight
McFassy Fortnight: Teaser – Marquis de Kai
It was fear.
Pure and simple.
As sharp as a fracture through crystal.
As clear as a breath of calm, frozen air.
It made his chest ache, as though in reminding him of the heartbeat that such a moment would once have set pounding so desperately fast.
He had broken the rules.
For the first time in a very long time, he had done wrong.
And he would suffer for it.
His Master already knew.
Of course he did.
Their Bond was so widely open, that such a rush of guilty shame and fear could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was.
In part he was annoyed at his own stupidity, for it was one thing to maintain dignity and self-control while on occasion suffering the results of having committed some minor infringement of the simpler rules that governed his life. But it was something else entirely to confess an infraction of far large magnitude that would take time and effort to repair.
His fear was clarifying though, reminding him of the reasons why rules existed for people like himself. He needed their limitations, their certainties, their shape and scope to define his life.
Everything had rules.
Everything mattered.
And so even as he stripped off his clothes, he placed them neatly where they belonged, before adorning his body with the symbols of his status as the Slave he had become for his Master.
It was a familiar sensation, to put on the thick leather cuffs at his ankles and wrists. The metal ring that hung from each one, had been fashioned to match the much smaller version he always wore on the forefinger of his left hand, and the one that pierced the head of his cock.
The metal served its purpose, with or without recourse to other forms of restraint, for his Master had a particular skill in more than just the manipulation of his body.
He smiled, despite the knowledge of what was yet to come.
His Master was unhappy with him, and that would require correction. But he knew what he had done wrong, and he knew how to make amends.
Contrition.
Obedience.
Suffering.
Kai looked at himself in the full length mirror, satisfied that his appearance was both pleasing and appropriate in the naked vulnerability of his well toned flesh.
As with everything, there was a time and a place for nudity, and a reason for its necessity. His body was, after all, not his own. It was the property of his Master, who enjoyed it’s many fine attributes, in many creative ways.
Kai had only to take the very best care of it, in every way, and for that he was lavishly granted whatever he might desire.
Which rather made his own foolish slip up all the more shocking to his own mind. That he could have forgotten something so important…
He sighed, adjusting his hair slightly so a wisp fell across his forehead innocently, and enhanced his eyes.
He was ready to face the results of his failure, knowing that it would make his Master proud, and further enhance the Bond they shared so freely.
When the Marquis stepped into his private rooms, Kai was waiting.
With deliberate intent he slowly closed the door and locked it behind himself, never once shifting his gaze from his Mate, who knelt in naked subservience on the bare floor at the foot of the bed.
Eyes downcast, hands at his sides, back rigid, knees placed at the correct angle to allow for nothing hidden – he was perfection.
Had the moment not required serious discipline, the Marquis knew he would have instantly softened all the tightly held rage and personal embarrassment that his Slave had so thoughtlessly brought to him.
Kai had not failed him so, in a very long while indeed, which forced him to wonder whether his Mate was subconsciously desirous of the punishments to come.
Nothing had to be said.
Kai knew that apologizing was pointless.
So too were excuses.
None were required.
None would be accepted.
He would scream when it was permitted, and that would serve due purpose.
But not before he suffered.
The Marquis took even strides toward his Slave, with slow, steady purpose, stopping only when he knew the toes of his immaculate, hand-stitched Italian loafers were within sight of Kai’s unflinching vision.
The pause that followed was exquisite.
In his right hand he already carried the cane that would mark its correcting fire on Kai’s buttocks, and he was tempted to tap it impatiently on his own thigh as a warning.
But Kai knew what was required, and with a grace that belied his physical build, he bent forward, palms flat on the floor to either side of his Master’s feet.
And with great reverence he placed a kiss on the toe of each shoe.
It was a fine beginning indeed.
McFassy Fortnight: Master David
Master David Aesthetic
“When done correctly, there should only be pleasure.”
The words murmured in his right ear, struggled to make themselves understood against the sudden surge of pressure rising up within his gut.
No stranger to the ways in which men used men for their own physical purposes, he knew he was indeed far more than the chattel he once had been, yet in this new learning he again felt as helpless as he had been back then, trapped in all his weak smallness beneath the heaving flesh of a rutting Lord who cared nothing but for his own sexual satisfaction.
Sweat prickled down his back. “It is unusual,” he agreed, disturbed at how easy it had been to accept Harold’s instruction without thought to his own desires.
Sexual coupling had thus far in his few enough years, been in no way an experience worth describing as pleasurable, yet there he was naked, lying on his stomach across soft, warm furs before the fireplace in his very own room, discovering an entirely new degree of intimacy he could never have imagined.
Upon the nearby couch sat Rhys, watching the lesson he had confessed himself to have once learned at the hands of his Mate, whose own instruction in such matters had been far more brutal than there were words to adequately describe.
Knowing he was not alone in having experienced great sufferings in his youth, had endeared him to Harold most deeply, and impressed upon him the growing belief that men could in fact share themselves without recourse to shame, or fear, or torture.
For his part, Harold had embraced him almost as a favoured nephew, and so they had come to a mutual understanding no one else could really grasp who had not endured the abject humiliation of once being owned as a plaything to be abused at whim.
David gasped, finding his fingers clenching into the furs even as the gentle fingers inside him pressed once more into his aching flesh, and then repeated the same gesture not unlike a rampant man spearing his insides.
Heat far richer and more intense than that which the flames in the hearth could themselves provide, began to burn somewhere within him, not from the penetration of his entrails, but rather from a more internal source within his body, one only he could sense. It stole his breath, and as Harold placed his other hand firmly, palm down upon the curve of his back, so David found himself whimpering, urging from his thought every hideous recollection of times past when other men were not so kind, or so considerate toward him as to ensure he was pleasured by their ministrations.
In fact, it was a constant source of wonder once he knew that pleasure was permitted him, and that he was capable of receiving it.
When told of it, he did not believe until finally it was shown.
There.
In his own room.
Before the fire.
Safe.
Needed.
Wanted.
That he was being watched, mattered not at all.
They were naked, the three of them.
Equals.
Nothing hidden.
Nothing unexplained.
Nothing granted without consent.
All questions answered.
Without the slightest shame.
He squirmed as new sensations assailed him, the likes of which he had never felt.
There was no containing it.
No words could do it justice.
He was aroused, and increasingly in need of the relief that only a hand could otherwise have wrought upon his inflamed manhood.
But it was untouched, and so he wriggled against the furs, seeking release, unsure how to make it so.
The whine in his throat became a plea, though he knew not why, nor what he wanted to say.
Sparks akin to those on a badly balanced fire, illuminated his vision.
And while he wanted it to end, he wanted also for it to never end.
It was a strange insanity, and it took him a moment to realize that Harold was urging him quietly to let go of all the fears he still retained.
It was trust.
No more than that.
Trust in himself.
Trust in the man teaching him.
“I don’t know how!” he wailed, his face hidden in the furs.
“Stop fighting,” Rhys said firmly, remembering his own first explorations at the knowing hands of his Mate. “Accept that it is real.”
David let his fingers unclench.
Then his shoulders ease.
With deliberate effort, he forced his aching buttocks to relax and accept the invasion pushing up inside him over and over again.
When the moment of triumph came, it hit him so completely it was terrifying, and a cry burst out of him that spoke of his first real climax at the behest of another.
The warm flow of his own seed spilled copiously onto the furs, and it amazed him that he could be brought to such a response without his cock being stroked or even held.
The fingers gently withdrew from his body, and it caused him to shiver, yet Harold remained beside him, rubbing his back, easing him past the moment tenderly.
There was no embarrassment.
No shame.
Nothing had been demanded of him.
Nothing was required.
Catching his breath took him a while, but there was no rush.
He could lay there for as long as he wished.
He was permitted to enjoy.
There was much he still wished to learn about himself, now that he was free, and that night’s lesson was just the beginning.
He knew he was somehow liberated all the more by being allowed to discover a better, nobler dignity in himself.
“Teach me more?” he asked at last, blinking up at the sweet man he was so indebted to.
And Harold smiled wisely in return. “One thing at a time, I think.” He nodded. “Slow and steady with all this.”
David chuckled. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome. Perhaps in times to come, you can then teach others too. You could help them also understand. You could show them that there is no shame or fear in being a whole, knowing, sexual person.”
It was an appealing concept. “I like that idea,” he agreed. “I like that I could help others be unafraid.”
McFassy Fortnight: Joshua Faraday
Joshua Faraday Aesthetic
He had left everything he knew behind. Started off on a grand adventure, to see new worlds, and experience life out of a saddle.
Joshua tip his hat, and gave the porter a smile as he settled the steamer trunk next to him. “I just need to go out front, pick up a carriage to get to my hotel?”
“Yes sir.” He motioned for a small boy, who looked to be about twelvish, wearing the uniform of the ship. “Billy here can show you the way.”
“Are you a real cowboy?” The kid stared up at Joshua taking in his jeans, button down cotton shirt, covered by a leather vest, accented by a long dark duster. Finished off with a cowboy hat and boots.
“Sure am. Born on the plains of the Wild West.” He squatted down to be closer to the kids eye level.
“You fight Injuns?” The kid asked in full wonderment.
“Actually, was good friends with a few. Good people.” He gave the boy a last smile, then stood looking down at him. “So where do we go from here?”
“My good man, I couldn’t help but overhear you, is the Wild West show back in town?”
Joshua turned to see a middle aged man wearing an expensive suit, with an actual Top hat and cane. “I’m not with Buffalo Bill’s show, just got off the ship, was seeking some culture and decided to tour Europe.”
“Well in that case, I’m Lord William Beringar, and let me show you London.” He held out his hand, smiling brightly.
Joshua took it, giving him a good handshake. “Thank you, I’m Joshua Faraday, just a simple cowboy, who’s not quite sure where to start.”
“First let’s get you settled.” He pulled out a few coins and looked down at the boy. “Make sure his trunks arrive safely and untouched.”
“Yes sir.” He nodded eyes wide at the extra coins. “Will do, sir.”
Joshua tipped his hat, gave his thanks to the Ship steward who was kind to help him, the past few weeks, and then followed Lord Beringar out into the streets of London. He ignored the stares, second glances, and comments as he made his way down the street, following William who was talking about his trip to New York, and how he had wanted to visit the West, but hadn’t realized how far away it was from the city.
“It’s a vast country.” Joshua gave him a small smile. “I’ve only seen portions of it, mostly the middle and from the back of horse. But there is still so much to see, once I’ve finished touring the old cities, I want to travel more of my home before settling down.”
“Do you have a little lady back home?” He asked with a grin, knowing he had gotten the western lingo accurate.
“No. My life wasn’t suited for marriage. I got some years yet, before … ” He suddenly stopped, turned and grabbed the hand of the teenager who was trying to take off with his wallet. “Nice try kid, but last I checked you’re not supposed to feel me up in the process.”
“Oh shite.” He stared at Joshua with wide eyes, as he backed up bowing his head. “Sorry Jake didn’t recognize ya’ in the cowboy get up. I had no idea the Rooks were out this far.”
“Who the hell is Jake or these Rooks?” Joshua asked with a frown.
“I get it.” The kid glanced at Lord Beringar, then gave another bow to Joshua. “I’ll be goin’ now, sir.” And with that he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“Well that was odd.” Joshua turned back to William, giving him a shrug. “Show me this city of yours.”
McFassy Fortnight: Paul Mallory
Paul Mallory Aesthetic
(This snippet ties into The Russian Spy)
As Paul made his way through MI:6, he couldn’t help but think for a spy organization it sure had a lot of glass walls. He had got the call from M, early in the morning, requesting his presence. He couldn’t read her tone, or figure out what she needed him for.
It could range from a new mission as a Double-O, an under the table mission to break into some Nazi asshole house to go through their safe, or request for lunch. Either way he made sure to pull out his best suit, and look presentable.
He settled outside Moneypenny’s desk, giving him a smile. The latest assistant was tall and very handsome, M was probably enjoying the eye candy, he did look aesthetically pleasing in the designer jeans. He wondered if it had stopped James from flirting, likely not.
His older brother’s main mode was: Flirt.
“She’ll see you now.” Moneypenny gave him a reassuring look. “Warning, she’s annoyed about something.”
“Isn’t she always?” Paul put away his iPod and headphones. It was starting to get old, but it was perfect for him to concentrate.
“Get in here Paul!”
“I see what you mean.” He ignored the staring at his ass, as the door closed behind him. With a flick of the wrist he unbuttoned his suit and sat down in the front of her desk. “What can I help you with M?”
“I have a mission for you.”
“Official or unofficial?” He could tell by her tone, she was upset about something.
“Unofficial for MI:6, but officially for the Clan.” She leaned back in her chair, watching him intently, waiting for a response.
“Okay.” Though he had never been introduced to Arthur, or for that matter many members of the Vampire Clan he was involved with. He had been turned twelve years ago, and still hadn’t taken a trip down to Cornwall, he figured that was mostly due to M. “What’s going on?”
“A traitor rose up in Sylum, one who was attached to Camelot. His last communication was to another traitor here in England.” She had a small snarl on her face, if there was one thing she despised was traitors. “As you are not known in the Clan, I want you to follow them.”
“Who?” He asked shifting in his seat to take the file folder she picked up off her desk to hand him.
“Danny Blue.” She gave a quick intro of the Vampire, while Paul read the more detailed reports. “I need you to talk to Jacob Frye, it would seem the idiot pissed off the Rooks, and they’ve been keeping an eye on him for a while, it’s how we got most of the information.”
“The idiot who runs around the rooftops in a top hat?” He asked with a smirk. “He’s got style, will give him that.”
“He’s good, don’t let the ‘idiot’ play you.” She gave him a smirk. “Him and his sister have good control of the East End, and know more of what’s going on in this god forsaken city than us half the time.”
“I’m sensing a trip to the Rookery. James has stated a few times the food was good.” He finished memorizing the information, and then put it back on M’s desk. “Anything else?”
She slid a phone across the table. “Dump your old one. This will be the only one you use, it’s encrypted to the point even I can’t fathom. Don’t let Q see it, as he would want to marry it and have its babies.”
Paul picked up the phone fiddling with it a bit. A thumbprint was required to open the screen, he set his thumb on the dot, watching with a sense of dread and awe as it scanned and then peeped. The phone was nothing like he had ever seen, it was slim, sophisticated and had apps he was sure weren’t standard.
“Fancy.” He flicked through it, blinked a few times when the music section was filling up with albums he preferred. “Really fancy.”
“Don’t ask.” She stood, taking the file folder to the shredder. Took a second to give Cockatoo a pet, and snack. “Have you heard from Dr. Evan?
“He’s going to Rio, something about a Sloth Sanctuary. James suggested he stay at Sanctuary Clan, that they had lots of Sloths.”
“Oh yes, adorable creatures. I should send Vachon a note, it’s been a while.” With a last pet, she sat back down. “This could lead into places that no one is expecting.”
“I’ve been in weirder situations.” He pointed out, slipping the phone into his pocket.
“I know.” M hesitated, then gave him a rare smile. “Paul, you’re my youngest boy. I know you’re good at what you do, very good. You wouldn’t be a Double-O if you weren’t. Just be careful, and read up on the Illuminati while you’re at it.”
“Now you have me intrigued.” He stood, moved around the desk and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Do I have backup?”
“James or Craig, or your father. Trust no one else.” She patted his cheek. “Go talk to Jake, he’ll let you in on a few things.”
“I’ll head over there now.” He buttoned his coat, and headed for the door.
“Paul… be careful.”
“I will.” And with that he left the office, gave Moneypenny a smile, before heading towards the elevator. He had a feeling his life just got interesting.
McFassy Fortnight: Charles Victor
Charles Victor Aesthetic
He looks at me with disappointed eyes.
I see it.
And he knows I see it.
He has never made it secret.
Why should he?
Instead, it has taken me far too long to figure out the meaning in his expression, especially given that it wars so closely with my father’s.
Unlike Victor, Craterus is by far the more patient man.
His love for me runs deeper.
Hotter.
Yet there it is.
His disappointment.
What can I say to that?
Men have never talked in this house as they should.
Perhaps I am alone in recognizing it?
At times, I know when I am wrong. I am not so foolish however, as to imagine I am always wrong.
Men such as Victor are not required to either explain or justify themselves. They are simply a force of nature, and to get in the way of their endeavors is to face the brunt of their ire.
And so, again, I may say I am not always wrong.
I am, on occasion, in the wrong place perhaps.
Dearest Craterus does not see it thusly, nor does he recognize the moment for what it is.
Before Nature, can any man defend his right?
I am not a Shakespearean character that I might bellow fruitlessly at the coming storm.
At least as a Vampire, I heal the faster.
There is blessing in that, before some unfortunate believes me the victim of an entirely different fist.
Craterus asked me yesterday – at last! – why I permit myself to be so abused.
Whereupon I did reply with some haste, “Why do you permit it?”
And with that, my father may well have struck the same blow upon him as my words did cause.
It was a considerable shock to us both, I dare say, and my chagrin granted me to stutter and stumble over my own tongue as though I had become naught but a babe again.
I would not hurt darling Craterus for the world, but only then did I pause long enough, stuck in that awful moment, to realize my physical discomforts at being so struck had indeed been felt by him each time too, from as long ago as our Bonding, if not before.
Why would he not tell me this?
Did he think I already knew?
And why do those around about me assume I must always inherently comprehend what none have actually deigned to teach?
On occasion then, I am the fool my father sees.
And the disappointment that Craterus endures.
Where lies the future in all of this?
I was not gifted the precognition to know it, despite my other silent skills, but resolve from this moment forth to be the catalyst that at long last fires the dawn instead of following the dying day to dusk.
McFassy Fortnight: Craterus
Craterus Aesthetic
The first time he’d seen Victor backhand his Mate for some trivial and otherwise minor offense, it had taken every fiber of self-control he possessed not to rip the man’s head off and piss on his ashes.
For his part, Charles had stood there and taken it stoically, blinking back the stinging tears that sprang naturally to his young eyes.
That had been a very long time ago indeed.
And since then, Craterus had catalogued a considerable number of bruises inflicted upon his beloved, each met by that same determined stare in return.
He wanted to believe that eventually all that pain would reach its peak, and with it the years of resentment his Mate had surely to have been building.
For Charles never fought back, despite having been very well trained to defend himself by a pair of old friends who never gave him an inch when it came to developing the necessary skill sets for a whole lot more than merely self-preservation.
Craterus had reconciled himself by sheer force of will, to the obvious vulnerabilities that came from being so remorselessly tied to a man in his life who had made it abundantly clear that should the need ever arise, he would have no problem removing even his own son from the world, for the sake of maintaining all that he had built.
Thus it was, that he tolerated – albeit barely – the blows which inevitably followed that very first.
Much had been done in secret, away from Victor’s prying eyes and ever present, ever grasping reach.
Much was still to do.
And Craterus was disciplined enough to reach his goal, though yet again he was made very well aware of the power his own Sire could wield, as into their home Victor brought the bitch who would doubtless be the downfall of them all.
The blow that fell upon his Mate’s right cheek that day was loud enough to be heard from the lobby all the way upstairs to the shadows on the balcony, as it cracked with vicious fury and deliberate malice.
Once more, Charles said nothing, though Sidney snickered like the self-satisfied little asshole he had become.
Instead, it was Craterus who flinched, watching at the railing, waiting for retaliation.
It had to come.
One day.
Surely.
McFassy Fortnight: Teaser – Quintus & Arianne
“Are you writing all this down?” he asked, unsure about being in such close confines with so terrible a stench, even though he had been subjected to his own fair share of appalling smells and dreadful sufferings down the many long centuries of his life.
“Of course!” she replied, horrified to imagine that such a situation might come her way and she be remiss enough not to document its entirety. “I might not yet be aware of who exactly would benefit from it, but I am not prepared to lose sight of the significance of this poor man’s injuries.” Arianne had never truly seen such a thing, even in her own long experiences, and she was still somewhat struggling to reconcile her patient’s tenacious desire to live, with the all consuming nature of what he had thus far endured.
Several times, during the worst moments, when no sedation had been able to keep him at ease or free him of pain, she had begged him go to God and end his torments, for he was indeed a man of the strongest faith. Yet he had refused, no matter the consequence to himself
It made her wonder who exactly he was punishing.
His reasons for being thrust into her care, were hard enough to understand for one not particularly well versed in the ways of either politics or current social thinking.
Not that she was a fool.
Not by any means.
She was simply a woman raised to mind her business, leave the ways of men to those who could maintain them – whatever their ills – and do as she had been chosen by the powers of providence to do.
She was a healer.
And from that she took great contentment.
The rest was of little concern.
Or so she’d imagined.
Until there before her, lay a corpse refusing to die.
Though at one point she had figured it rather generous to even think of him in corpse-like terms, when he was but a fraction of anything immediately resembling life.
That he bore her husband’s face, had itself been made all the more shocking by those who carried him into her home, as they too were quite clearly of the same kin.
Stubborn then indeed, was her husband’s blood.
It was he who had taught her reading and writing, for until the day he discovered her to be incapable of either, she had simply retained her learning in her head, carrying all she had experienced and come to understand, in the very same way her mother had, and her own mother before that, seeing no other need to instruct anyone else once her people forced her into the forest and left her there condemned as a witch, to perish at the vengeful hands of the winter’s cold.
Fate had destined her life to a different path than the one men once thought to grant, and whilst she’d thrived upon being left to her own devices, it had taken her Mate to finally unlock the strange mysteries of reading and writing for her, that she might eventually keep record of all that she knew, and then aid others in need of her medicines.
Poor Quintus had often been hard pressed to keep her well supplied with the necessary tools, and he had learned to make a great many writing implements for her, from stylus and pencil, to tablet and paper. For she recognized the virtue of her continued crafts, and the need to leave instruction for anyone who might think to follow her path some day.
“He will live?” Quintus asked, not especially shocked at whose face he found himself staring at the night her newest patient arrived, but the man was of red hair, and he already knew that those with such coloring were more naturally inclined to tolerate pains with ease.
Although they also tolerated fools with great temper.
“In his place, so too would you,” she replied.
For the first few weeks she had barely left the man’s side, and been eager to assure him when he woke, that he was never alone in any of his anguish.
As time had gone on, Quintus fashioned various means for preventing him from causing any further harm to his damaged parts, and had expressed a certain fascination with the healing processes he could see occurring.
“As a human, without the benefits of our extraordinary nature, there would be no returning,” he muttered, “but as he is, he is.”
“And he is remarkable,” Arianne admitted. “Worthy of your blood line, husband.”
“And your tears, woman. I have heard you grieve for him. I have felt it.” He put her left hand over his chest. “Would that I had you by my side when first I was myself returned from the dead.”
“You torture was but brief compared to his.”
Quintus nodded sagely. “Ay, there’s the truth of it.”
“You ask me daily if he will continue to fight, and I tell you daily, yes. His body and it’s workings already fill several of those books you brought me from the city. I will need a good deal more before we are done.”
“And you shall have them, of course. One day there will be those who find your work of highest value. I don’t doubt it for an instant.”
“One day,” she mused, “when men no longer value life the ounce and death by the pound.”
Quintus kissed the top of her head as she turned from him back to her patient. “One day,” he answered firmly. “One day.”
McFassy Fortnight: Teaser – Guido & Wesley
Arianne had the patience of a Saint, but then Wesley was one of the few who knew the true identity of her Mate, so he understood how she’d coped all those years. It was a secret few would ever know.
Whenever he and Guido came home to them though, they’d bring boxes of gifts from Italy, and lavish them with all kinds of treats.
Arianne did love her notebooks and journals.
As far as Wesley was concerned, they deserved the very best for keeping his Mate in the world, when to every rational intent he ought to have been long gone. In fact, his gratitude was often hard to fully express in terms that could be readily accepted, but Arianne knew, and her patience with the pair of them never failed, even when they’d still been working their respective ways through the early stage of their Mating Bond, learning about each other’s particular needs and desires, and how to cope with their histories together.
It hadn’t exactly been simple, but then he didn’t imagine it was easy for anyone, no matter the circumstances of their meeting, or the baggage they brought with them. The centuries since then, had permitted him a finely honed sense for when his Mate’s emotional state was reaching collapse, and he would, if at all possible, ship the two of them safely to the isolation of the Scottish Highlands where silence, open space, and crisp fresh air were guaranteed to cleanse almost every Soul of it’s ills.
Sometimes however, there was nothing better than to be surrounded on all sides by the most comforting of things, in the surety of absolute safety. And this had become one such moment as Guido’s increasing agitation and sleepless frustration roiled through their Bond like an approaching hurricane.
Wesley had, years ago, come to accept that he could do nothing to prevent it, but he could certainly curtail it, and one of the most satisfying ways to do so, was the pillow fort.
His Sire had first suggested it back in a time when it didn’t actually have such a cute sounding name. But no matter the modern connotations, it worked brilliantly at defusing the dreadful mixture of socially enhanced pressure, anger, and abhorrent self-loathing that Guido could only contain for so long.
Arianne watched him then from the living room doorway, as the space they’d made in the middle of the floor was steadily transformed into a veritable pillow fort work of art, that she rather liked to think of as more like a ‘pillow cavern’.
It took just about every cushion in the house, several sheets, and the contents of her blanket chest to construct.
Wesley then added a string of softly colored LED lights that gave the whole thing a warm glow on the inside, and he finished it off with a tray of his Mate’s favorite snacks and some of their favorite oils for various and sundry purposes.
“Perfect?” she asked.
“Yep!” He beamed proudly.
“You’re a Master Fort Builder,” she assured him. “And just in time too.” She could hear her own Mate back from having dragged Guido out on a long, and hopefully exhausting walk. “Go upstairs and get changed. They’ll be in shortly.”
Wesley kissed her on the cheek as he dashed past her, and she closed the living room door firmly, so as not to spoil the surprize.
Whatever it took to keep her boys contented, she was totally good with. She just hoped her occasionally dense husband caught on to what was happening, before giving the game away.
Thankfully, however, the noble Roman she’d managed to corral in the kitchen, didn’t realize anything was amiss until he plonked himself down on one of the barstools and grunted in pain as his backside met wood with nothing in between to soften the blow.
By that time, Guido was safely ensconced in the ‘Pillow Fort of Epicness’, being slowly stripped naked by his linen shirt and leather pants clad Mate, who was lingering over every inch of him, and drawing him steadily into a haze of sensual comfort that swept away all the fears and torments of the past before they could became far too real again.
Their Bond was positively aflame, as kisses deepened and skin was laid bare to the finest of touches.
Wesley knew what Guido needed was to be reminded that his body was capable of so much more than pain, and with all the time in the world at their disposal, nothing could pressure them to hasten or doubt.
No one could reach them.
Touch them.
Stop them.
They were as one in that place, always together, always united.
There was some teasing and a little laughter to break tensions, but there was no physical restraint, no hurt, no torture.
Wesley had learned well from Master David how to build desire using every single inch of Guido’s body to explore along the way, with hands, lips, and tongue, until he had his Mate whimpering, purring and climaxing without effort or stress.
It was fun to challenge himself so, given that his own sexual predilections leaned firmly toward more painful lusts and violent fucking, and he rather enjoyed the release from being taken hard and spanked into submission.
Guido too had learned many lessons in helping him achieve such a desire. But that was for another day entirely.
Wesley had to concentrate on his Mate’s needs above all else at that point, without getting carried away in the wrong direction. Though he had to admit, straddling Guido’s waist as his ass was cupped by those big, solid hands of his and squeezed through his leather pants, that he was craving any and all expression of their mutual need for each other, whether soft and slow, or rough and hard.
“I want to be inside you,” Guido murmured, when his caresses had the desired effect on Wesley’s increasingly rampant cock.
He loved the sensation of those deliciously soft pants against his own bare flesh, and it had already gotten him hard just being naked under Wesley’s oh, so very innocent gaze. For there had never been a time when his Mate had failed to look upon him with a very special sense of reverent awe.
Not that Guido felt his deserved it.
Far from it.
Yet Wesley insisted that he would rather worship on his knees before his Mate, than do so at any other man’s bidding, regardless of faith.
And so Wesley took his time wriggling out of his clothes, teasing and grinding over his Mate’s erection, until they lay, skin to skin, panting slightly.
“I’m already prepped for you,” he whispered, licking a path down Guido’s neck.
They had always used rich scented oils as part of the sensuous experience, but there were times when he surprized his Mate with pressed olive oil, or grapeseed that had virtually no smell. And it pleased him greatly when Guido chuckled dirtily.
Rising up, he positioned his Mate’s swollen cock head at his willing hole, and lingered there, watching Guido’s expression, a soft smile on his face.
“I love you,” he murmured, bracing his hands on Guido’s abdomen as he sank back down with a slow, steady self-control that had taken him some considerable practice to master without shaking or trembling.
It was infinitely pleasurable, and so well worth the play of emotions that crossed their Bond in the process.
Guido gripped his Mate’s buttocks possessively when he was fully inside the tight warmth of Wesley’s body. “I love you,” he said softly in reply. “So much. So very much…”
And the wave of unspoken gratitude that flooded through them both, was enough to bring tears fast behind it.
“I know,” Wesley whispered, bending to kiss his lover’s fluttering eyes. “Let me take care of you.”
And he always would.
He had sworn it before Father Kiernan in a tiny chapel in Rome when they’d first been struggling to reconcile faith with need, and past with future.
He’d never broken that vow.
Not once.
And he swore it again as he tightened himself on the rigid flesh buried inside his body.
It would be ever so.
Just the two of them.
Safely together.
McFassy Fortnight: Karla
Karla Aesthetic
“She shot my son!”
Smiley just sat there and stared across the desk at his oftentimes elusive Mate, who had to all intents, just miraculously appeared in his office like a wraith on All Hallow’s Eve.
“She set him up!”
Still Smiley said nothing, knowing the best way with one who generally said little enough himself, was to play the same card.
“She doesn’t get to keep living for this!”
Several sarcastic comments on the nature of parenthood, lanced caustically through Smiley’s mind, but never once made themselves known upon his face.
“My own government wants her dead!”
Having deconstructed the material Lorraine had used to frame the Head of Berlin Station as the much sought after traitor known as ‘Satchel’, George had only a moment before put the phone down on M, after securing her agreement on a mutually beneficial deal that would ensure the cooperation of the Americans for quite some considerable time.
“I’ll kill her myself!” Karla snarled it with a particularly vicious tone that naturally reminded George of the manner in which his Russian nemesis was known to conduct daily business. “She’s murdered sufficient Russians to justify a death sentence from Moscow.”
“Moscow bought her cover just as much as London and Berlin.”
“My son is not a traitor!!”
“Very true, but then again he is no more like you than he is like me. David will inevitably have his moment to confront her before he goes back to work.”
“Insanity!”
Smiley pushed his glasses up his nose. “The Wall has come down. The world changed shape over night.”
Karla’s eyes narrowed nastily. “And one day we will truly be obsolete, but until then, I will see justice done!” He was about ready to thump his fists on the desk.
“It will be,” George assured him. “The real ‘Satchel’ is ruthless, efficient and quite brilliantly smart. At least for a female operative. She’ll be made to help train a different generation of spies for us in this brave new world we are creating.”
“For the Americans?”
“No. For us.”
“The Americans will simply hand her over? Are you mad?
“Yes, they will. And no, I am not. At least not today.”
“How will they do this?”
“Well now, that would depend on whether you trust your son to be more ruthless than you, more clever than me, and more efficient than our enemies across the Pond.”
“You just said he was nothing like either of us.”
“He’s not. He’s better than we ever were.”
Karla snorted, though it sounded more like a disgusted cough as he contemplated the future. “He can adapt.”
“Indeed. He’s very good at it.”
“While we are old and crusted over?”
George allowed himself the mildest laugh. “We do have our moments, don’t we?”