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Dear God, how much of this could he take?
“How long has it been since anyone’s held ye?” Malcolm queried gently, rubbing his stubble-beard against the skin of his shoulder, then soothing the abrasion with a gentle kiss. “Since ye’ve been touched by another with affection?”
He sucked in a shaky breath. “It seems like… ages. Centuries, maybe.”
He smiled against Sean’s neck, and pressed a kiss behind his ear. “Did ye know that our bodies require human touch?”
Sean shook his head as Malcolm ran his fingers over their previous path, and back up again, seeking the places that caused him to arch and moan. Distracting from his tears.
“No matter how much ye feed a bairn, it willna thrive without the tender arms of a mother or nurse and will most likely die. Every caress, every embrace, every time our hands hold, like so.” He traced Sean’s arm until he laced their fingers. “It creates a substance within us that is vital to life.”
“Magick?”
“Nay. It’s just how we mortals are made. Call it what you will. Social beasts, souls in need of affectionate connection with another. Compassionate companionship.” He released Sean’s hand to cup his face, kissing the tear from his cheek. “’Tis a gentle thing ye’re feeling,” he murmured. “And I’m glad to be the one to touch ye. To ease yer loneliness. To liberate these tears of need.” With utter tenderness, the king pressed his lips against Sean’s temple, then his eyelid, then his cheek, and jaw.
Seized by raw emotion and instinct, Sean pulled away from Malcolm, urging the man to roll to his stomach. Throwing a leg over his shapely ass, Sean climbed atop him and thrust his hardening length inside the king of the Picts.
Next time. Next time he’d say the spell, but this moment was for Sean.
For Malcolm.
And what they could never have together.
“Give me yer name,” Malcolm gasped, his hands fisting in the furs and moss beneath them, voice tense with pleasure and strain. “I want to know what to name to call when ye’re inside me.”
“My name is Sean,” he said, then leaned in for a desperate kiss.
Now he knew the name of the demon he’d one day despise.
Chapter Four
It never ceased to amaze Sean how quickly humans could drop off to sleep after sex. He’d barely climbed off of Malcolm’s lean, talented hips before the king had collapsed onto his back, pulled Sean to drape over his body, and given up consciousness in almost his very next breath.
Sean had spent the last fifty years in a dark chasm, and thus didn’t even like to blink, let alone fall asleep and miss one moment of freedom. Besides, the flutters of Malcolm’s auburn lashes entertained him, as did the twitches of his limbs as he slept.
In fact, he reposed as though he and slumber were strangers. Perhaps he was as consumed with saving the earth as the Wyrd Sisters were with ending it. It would explain why he seemed so lean, hard, and stern.
It made the fact that he’d been nothing but gentle and patient with Sean that much more extraordinary. Here, on the floor of this hovel, he looked nothing like a king, but every inch the Earth Druid. The forest, indeed, seemed to welcome him.
Sean didn’t know how long he watched his lover sleep. Long enough for the fire to die to glowing embers and the silver light of dawn to pierce the many cracks, holes, and weaknesses of the hovel.
He’d become accustomed to encompassing silence, so the sounds of the forest fascinated and lulled him. The rhythm of Malcolm’s breath and the beat of his heart became the percussion to the forest’s midnight melody, and the music transfixed Sean for splendid hours.
His body woke before he did, muscles lifting to press into him, and his manhood thickening beneath Sean’s thigh as it rested in between his legs. His breaths came deeper, and more quickly, and when he shifted atop him, Malcolm groaned and stretched.
Now was the time. The spell of the night was broken, and everyone had to face the hard truths in the light of day. If Sean were to work the curse on him, this would be the moment.
Sean bit his lip hard, to cause himself physical discomfort that could match the sharp pang of guilt and sorrow.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “There’s no other way.” He reached down to Malcolm’s hard, throbbing sex, meaning to guide it inside and awaken him with the last bit of pleasure he could give…
Before he took everything.
The gentle nicker of a horse warned him a second before the entire hovel shook with the impact of the door being kicked in.
Malcolm shot up, his arms coming around Sean in a protective vice before he rolled him between the wall and the shield of his body.
“Odin’s bones, Malcolm, your pale backside is the last thing I need to see this early in the morning.” A dark masculine voice trembled with half amusement, half disgust.
