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But he’s not human, either, so he arched up into my thrusts, his arms thrown over his head as I fucked him as hard as I dared, the slap of flesh barely audible over the panting of breath and rasping, growled moans that came out of his throat.
I could feel my whole body buzzing, my orgasm so close I could practically taste the salt and bitter aftertaste of my own cum. But Taavi first.
I ran my hands up the outside of his legs, pushing him just a little higher so I could get the right angle to hit his prostate with each thrust, and his fingers tightened in the pillowcase, growls interspersed with words I was pretty sure weren’t English telling me that I had it right.
And then his muscles clenched, his body a vice that ripped my pleasure from me as he let out a sharp, rough cry, cum pulsing across his stomach as his body throbbed out both his release and mine.
His limbs went limp, and I eased his legs off my shoulders, pressing tender, uncertain kisses to his ankle, then, as I crawled my way up his body, his sternum, breathing in the smell of his skin and cum as his fingers came to thread their way into my hair, gently pulling me up so that he could kiss my lips.
He felt like liquid under me, and I broke the kiss.
“Are you okay?”
His hands came around to hold my face. “I am so much better than ‘okay,’” he murmured, then pulled my face in so he could kiss my nose. “So much better.”
I felt my face and ears heat, but I let him pull me into his body, wrapping his legs around me as he wound his fingers back into my hair. I let myself lean into him, trusting him to tell me if I was too heavy.
He didn’t. He just hummed softly and tightened his limbs around me.
Since I didn’t want to be anywhere else, I let myself sink into him and just breathed him in.
The rest of the world could just fuck right off.
* * *
“So… what?”I asked Doc, the phone sitting on the counter on speaker as I whisked the egg mixture for an omelet.
By my feet, Pet was crunching away at her kibble—no tuna for her today, because it wasn’t Sunday. If I caved too often, she’d never settle for plain old cat food. Taavi was in the shower, and, no, he hadn’t walked there with his normal grace. He had looked happy, though, something that meant I was in a fan-fucking-tastic mood. Or at least I had been, until Doc called.
“So you’re saying the Culhua isCatholic?” I asked him. “That makes no fucking sense.”
I heard him snort. “Sure it does, Hart. The Culhua draws at least the foundation for their mythology from the Aztecs, and the Aztecs were subject to the work of theconquistadores, many of whom were accompanied by Jesuit missionaries.”
“Missionaries who were there to convert or slaughter the Aztecs,” I pointed out, pouring the mixture into my cast iron pan to the satisfying sizzle of egg instantly cooking as it hit hot metal.
“And if you were Aztec, and smart, you would likely pretend to convert, but secretly continue to practice modified versions of your own religion, right?”
“I mean.Iprobably wouldn’t,” I told him.
“And you’d probably end up dead or in an Inquisition prison,” Doc cheerfully informed me.
I snorted. He was probably right.
“The point, Hart,” he continued, “is that we see, over and over, all across the world, colonized peoples creating religious or cultural hybrids of their own religious traditions and Catholicism. Or Islam, although that’s a good deal less common and principally restricted to parts of Asia and the Middle East.”
“Okay, fine,” I conceded, heading off what was warming up to be an extensive lecture. Doc likes lecturing. It’s the professor in him. I sometimes didn’t mind Doc’s lectures—some of them I’ve even enjoyed, but I was making brunch for myself and Taavi, and I didn’t have an hour to devote to the finer points of post-colonial religious doctrine. “So the Culhua is some sort of Catholic-Aztec mash-up. How is that helpful?”
“The really interesting part is that I think I’ve found the Culhua’s origins right here in Virginia. Well, North Carolina, but it was part of the Virginia colony at the time.”
“And?” I tried to hurry him along.
“And,” he replied, sounding amused, “its appearance coincides with the arrival of a young man converted to Catholicism and traveling with Jesuit missionaries. In the account of the 1571 Jesuit attempt to move into Virginia territory, the Ajacán Missions—”
“Doc.” I really wasn’t prepared to lose the next hour to this. I placed some sliced cheese on the egg, then spooned in sauteed mushrooms, green onions, and dollops of cream cheese along with a slice of bacon because this was Taavi’s. “I’ve got other shit to do today besides learn about the history of early American religious oppression.”
The orc on the other end of the conversation made a grumbling noise. “Fine. The Jesuits brought a boy named Aloncito who appears, from the accounts, to have been a witch. A few very sketchy documents pulled from the museum’s basement included references to an Alonso de Olmos.”
“And you think they’re the same person? This Alonso de Olmos and Aloncito?”
