“All right, all right. No need for violence.” This cat made an awful traveling companion. “Dark brownish-black hair, blue highlights, which describes a lot of humans in this age.”
“What about hiseyes?” Chynne asked, enunciating his words carefully.
“His eyes?” Chips of ice, glowing with some inner fire. “Icy blue.”
Chynne slapped a paw over his face. “What’s his name, or did you even bother to find out?”
“Piers!”
“Piers,” Chynne mumbled to himself, pacing back and forth across the bed and likely picking holes in the covers with his sharp claws. “Let’s see, dark hair, tinges of blue, icy eyes. Power to spare.” He spun and put himself nose to nose with Wycke. “I take it you were serious about bodily fluids all over the bed.”
Wycke snorted. “Of course, I was serious.”
Chynne paused, presenting a serious “thinking” face. “Did anything… unusual happen?”
Airborne sex? “What do you mean?”
Chynne persisted. “In the course of your… um… conversation, did either of you mention the word ‘forever?” If capable, no doubt Chynne would be blushing.
They’d said so much last night. Then speech disappeared into moans and groans and guttural growls. Wait. Hadn’t Piers said something about giving Wycke forever to stop? Wycke replied to Chynne’s question with a tentative “Maaaaaybe,” stretching the word out.
“While you were, shall we say, intimately involved?”
“While we were fucking, you mean?”
Chynne’s mouth formed a just-ate-a-lemon pucker. “Must you be so crass?”
“Yes. I must.” Messing with Chynne provided entertainment, after all. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What was going on?
“Answer the question, please. Did either of you use the word ‘forever’ while… fucking?”
Why make this such a big deal? “Yeah. I think so.” Wycke sat up in the waste of a huge bed. He should’ve kept Piers with him last night. If Piers went back out in the world to the club, he’d get plenty of attention. How could anyone in this realm not see the man’s beauty?
What of the power?
The image of someone else touching his bartender… Sparks shot from Wycke’s fingertips. A scorch mark appeared on the far wall. What? Wild magic? He’d not lost control since his middling age when everything from hair growing in weird places and facial blemishes hounded him regularly.
Especially not when wearing his wristband.
But…Hisbartender? No one belonged to Wycke or with him. Likewise, Wycke belonged to no one. All lovers were free to come and go, grace his bed and move on. He’d never rule out a repeat, but not with enough frequency for anyone to mistake fun for an actual relationship.
Relationships brought complications into his life. Why bother?
Wycke swept back the covers, rose from the bed, and stopped. Chairs overturned. Tables toppled. The window curtains lay in a heap on the floor. What the hell happened last night? Had bandits invaded his room?
Piers. He’d come over. They’d danced. They’d gotten naked. They’d…
Flown, a flurry of magic swirling around them, lifting them, connecting them. Connecting their magic.
But…
Humans didn’t have magic in this realm. Yet… Wycke spun in a circle. The ugly, cringe-worthy fake paintings now lay in fragments of broken glass, released from their frames. Only shards remained of the water glasses the housekeepers left in neat rows on the counter.
He’d experienced rather exuberant adventures in his life, but none left his rooms with the decided air of a battlefield.
A battle Wycke lost. He wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to find an enemy lance protruding from the remainders of a chair. At least he didn’t have to explain the mess to his fastidious brother-by-bonding.
“Yes, someone had a wild time last night.” Chynne tutted and shook his furry head.