Chapter Eleven #2
They stayed just like that. Not talking, just holding onto each other, as close as it was possible to be.
Stayed as euphoria gave way to all the little discomforts.
The ache where his hand gripped bone. The sting of sweat in fresh cuts.
The burn of his thighs. Even then, as he shifted his hand to Declan’s back and finally slid free, it felt better than anything Antonio had ever known.
Declan sighed quietly, his lips brushing over Antonio’s shoulder. “May I heal you? We’re a bit of a mess, and your shoulders will color impressively.”
Almost, Antonio said no. He liked the idea of wearing the marks of Declan’s pleasure on his skin. He also liked the idea of going another round in the morning without opening up barely closed cuts.
“Better you than Faerie. I’d hate to see what it’d come up with for a bandage.”
Declan snickered as he sat back, his fingertips coming to rest along Antonio’s collarbone, there above the bells.
“Some fae could manage this with a thought. But I fear healing isn’t in my nature.”
Weird, to feel magic on him, and not mind it so much. Stinging cuts soothed by smoke, then whole again. A fae, undoing the damage to skin Antonio had covered with marks meant to repel him.
“Don’t mind the ink, alright?” he murmured. “Wasn’t thinking I’d end up with a sluagh in my lap when I got ‘em.”
And maybe he emphasized the point by slipping his hand down to the curve of Declan’s skinny ass. Worth it, just to feel him.
“I rather like your tattoos.” Declan’s words remained low and lazily content. His fingers followed a new cut, down Antonio’s arm. “You have a story. I see them as you telling your story to fuck right off. Shifting the genre while wearing them incredibly well.”
“Might get a new one, now. Story keeps changing.” Antonio was drowsy with contentment, words threatening to slur as he relaxed against Declan. “Like this part best.”
“I support you in all your artistic endeavors, mo cuishle.”
That word again. He could have asked. He didn’t. Let it stay a mystery, and he could fill it with everything he wanted it to mean. He wanted to mean so much to Declan. To be so much for him, even if he didn’t know how.
Right now, he mostly wanted to hold him. Declan seemed more than content with that. The rest could wait until morning.
Waking up with Declan in his arms was a major improvement on spending another restless night with the sluagh only a few feet away. Antonio’d been sick of cold showers before he’d finished the first one.
Better, so much better, to open his eyes to find Declan just there, and drag the sluagh on top of him just for the pleasure of skin against skin. Declan, no longer heated from sex, felt wonderfully cool.
Also, there were his thin black lips, waiting to be kissed. So Antonio did. And that filled a few minutes, the two of them tangled together, lazy affection kindling into lust, until the grumble of Antonio’s stomach set Declan snickering.
“I believe that’s my cue to offer you breakfast.”
Antonio ignored the offer in favor of running his hands down Declan’s spine and over the slight curve of his bare ass. For the first time, he felt like maybe he knew a worthwhile use for the next few centuries.
Again, the growl of his stomach. And, yeah, he was hungry for more than just Declan’s mouth. “We can come back to the room after, yeah?”
“I see no reason why not. Until my mother hears back from her contacts, we’re simply killing time.”
Right. Aisling.
“Your family going to be okay with this?” he asked, letting the sluagh sit up. “Can keep it on the down low if you need.”
“They would be. Would you prefer to keep this between us?”
Declan’s voice had gone quieter, no longer playful. Sometimes, Antonio wished the bond came with an instruction manual. Feeling someone’s emotions only got you so far when what you actually got was ‘drying flowers and faded ink.’
“I know what happens when fae moms catch their kids kissing humans, is all.” He offered a sideways smile as he pushed himself up on his elbows. “Not because of you, okay? I’m more than good with being out with you.”
There, that was better. Declan relaxed again, leaning in to nip at Antonio’s lips.
“Colm is doubtlessly expecting nothing less of his wayward younger brother. Eithne may attempt to wheedle any family recipes you have from you.” Declan slipped off the bed, toward his closet, and Antonio indulged himself by watching.
“Father follows Mother’s lead, and she likes you already.
Even if she didn’t, she tends to like people who like me.
What of yours? Dulce didn’t seem too worried when she asked if I kissed you. ”
“Dulce asks everyone that. Last time it was our waiter.”
“Should I be jealous?” A question asked by a mostly naked sluagh, just stepping into his jeans.
“He did slip me his number.” Antonio made his own way to the closet, sliding his hands into the pockets of Declan’s not-yet-buttoned jeans. “You’re the only piece of ass I’m interested in, Murderpunk.”
“Lucky me.”
But he smiled, saying it, and that started them kissing again, so that they were both wet-lipped and laughing by the time they made it out of the room and down the stairs. Only, Declan stopped before they made it to the kitchen, head tilted and expression puzzled.
Antonio heard them then. Voices. One of them familiar: Aisling. The other was new.
“Eithne?” Declan asked, looking at Antonio like he’d know the answer.
Eithne. The sister who cooked. And maybe the banshee who walked in from the kitchen with Aisling’s toothy smile and her skin the pale green of new leaves.
Other than the whole banshee thing, she looked straight out of some period piece.
Not the fancy sort. The women in big aprons and loose pants sort.
“It’s certainly not Ma,” she answered, giving Declan a quick once over.
“You look significantly less dramatically morose than when I last saw you. Love the extra bits of crackle. Ma said you– Oh, how did I miss you?” Those huge black eyes blinked at Antonio.
“You’re my new brother, then? Or whatever it is they call additional legal familial connections where you’re from. ”
Much as he wanted to, Antonio didn’t rub at his tattoo, trace the protection of nettle at his wrist. This was Declan’s sister. And they’d said they weren’t going to hide things. And that meant Antonio couldn’t hide.
“Humans haven’t come up with a word for ‘brother’s magical bond, yet,” he said, stepping up so he and Declan stood shoulder-to-shoulder. “I’m Antonio.”
“I’m sure you’ll both think of something,” Eithne said, her wide smile twisting into a smirk as her gaze flicked between them. “A pleasure, Antonio. I’m called Eithne. Do you like bagels? I made bagels.”
“Why did you bring bagels?” Declan asked as he leaned into Antonio, affection radiating off of him like the heat from a bonfire. Antonio traced his thumb over Declan’s spine, while the sluagh bantered with his sister.
And it was banter, the sort of casual family bickering that developed over decades. Or centuries.
“Why are you questioning me feeding you? Ma said she’s having a guest ’round and asked me to.
That big handsome changeling friend of hers.
I thought I may as well go stereotypical and do bagels.
There’s also muffins, fruit, meat as, well, barghest and all.
I hope you’re not greatly attached to breakfast made by magic today,” she added to Antonio.
“Or if you are, be kind to my poor delicate heart and conjure something that looks like my spread. I’m very bruisable. ”
“If I had something against real food, it’d’ve been a sorry lifetime,” Antonio answered, in an effort to protect Eithne’s ‘bruisable’ ego. There was no need to explain that he couldn’t conjure food, not when Declan made sure that there was more than glamour around to eat.
“Eithne spends more time in your world than I do, on the off chance you wondered. And may have, perhaps, lost her mind. Mother doesn’t invite her–”
“Built, brooding changeling friends and their partners?”
“–business associates to random breakfasts.”
“Still. Should I…” he tipped his head toward the stairs, letting the sentence trail into silence.
“Go upstairs?” Eithne asked. “Not unless you’ve something against changelings, and it’s not their fault they’re cursed. No more than it’s mine for having a piranha smile or Declan for his deathsight. Plus, we have bagels.”
She turned back to the kitchen then, leaving Declan frowning after her and Antonio still wavering at the foot of the stairs.
“They’re not cursed. Just prophesied,” Declan said absently. “There’s only two of them in Faerie and one of those only for the last few months. Many fae are less than hospitable.”
“Yeah, well, I know the feeling. Think he’ll mind a human around?”
“It’s your home. Not Aultyr’s. If anyone is upset by your presence, that’s their concern.” Declan curled his arm around Antonio’s waist, tightening it for a brief, comfortable squeeze. “Would it help to know changelings are raised in the human world? He’ll hardly be offended.”
His home. It wasn’t the first time Declan had said it, but Antonio didn’t know what to do with the idea.
He couldn’t imagine having a claim anywhere in Faerie.
The world didn’t like him. Everyone here was ridiculously powerful and could rearrange reality on a whim.
And that reality rearranged itself whenever it felt the need.
(Antonio was never going to be able to look a lilac in the face again. Fucking lube flowers.)
His home was the garage, a place he’d not been in days, sitting warded so that customers and his parole officer would forget why they were there if they visited. A home, and a life, he was letting go to shit while he made his way in Faerie. Again.
But what else was he supposed to do? He wouldn’t leave Declan.