Those Words I Dread (Tales of the Tuath Dé #1)

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The apartment seemed a little too quiet without Trent’s grousing. Ciaran went in and out of the pantry half a dozen times, each time expecting to find something appetizing and each time coming up short. He opened and closed the refrigerator, hoping that the milk or cream would reappear, but he refused to knock on Trent’s office door and ask for it.

There wasn’t anything interesting on television, so Ciaran had resigned himself to a nap when he spotted the telescope on the small balcony nearby. He clicked open the French doors and poked his head outside, hesitating as though he expected the hunter to pounce on him nineteen floors up. When nothing happened, he stepped out, leaving the door open behind him and bending over to look through the eyepiece of the telescope. Since it was daylight, there wasn’t much to see except blue until he tilted the lens down toward the street.

A woman walked by with a small dog on a leash, faltering in her too-high high heels and doing her best to play off the stumble with grace. Two men passed each other with a small nod of acknowledgment, but one of them turned and took a few steps backwards to watch the other just a little bit longer .

Ciaran straightened to look down over the balcony, trying to spot the people he saw through the lens, but it was harder to make them out from so high. He briefly considered spitting over the side and trying to catch sight of the unfortunate person below through the telescope, but the sound of the office door opening inside caught his attention.

He didn’t want to look at Trent. He didn’t want to see that scowl on his face or that lonely defeat in his eyes when he talked about his father. The fairy huffed and slumped down with his elbows on the balcony railing, frowning down at the distant street. What did he care if Trent got along with his father? Who the hell was he? He happened to live in an apartment where Ciaran’s trail would be masked, that was all. And his hair was just as soft as Ciaran had imagined, and he made the hottest little growling noise when he was about to come. And he had looked so grateful just to hear someone say they wouldn’t change him.

Ciaran sighed with his chin on his arms, his cheeks puffing as he let out the breath. This was problematic. He hadn’t anticipated developing any actual feelings during this little adventure, especially for someone who seemed the absolute least likely person to return them. Not that he wanted him to. As soon as Trent asked for his favor, he would be gone, and that would be the end of it.

Trent stood at the balcony door, watching Ciaran pout with a slight frown. He hesitated to speak first after the things he had said, but he felt an uncomfortable pit in his stomach at the sight of the fairy’s hunched shoulders.

“What are you doing out there?” he asked, sounding more accusing than he meant to.

“Spitting on pedestrians.”

“What?” Trent stepped out to stand beside him, peering over the railing.

“I haven’t really. Why, do you want to?”

“I’ll pass.”

A few moments of tense silence passed between them, and Trent gripped the balcony rail with both hands so that he didn’t fidget. He didn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t apologize. Ciaran had gone too far by interfering with his father, and what had happened afterward— he had to push it out of his mind. They couldn’t continue this way.

Before he could muster up the courage to speak, Ciaran said, “Ach, look at this article here,” as he leaned over to the telescope and put his eye to it.

“This what? Are you spying on people?”

“You’ll miss it,” Ciaran said instead of answering, and he waved Trent over and urged him toward the telescope.

Trent looked through the eyepiece while Ciaran steadied it, and he saw a woman on the street, her dark hair wild and loose, circling and shouting at a man who seemed to be doing his best to ignore her.

“What do you reckon they’re talking about, eh? She’s right rollickin ain’t she?”

“She’s what?”

“She’s pissed off,” Ciaran laughed.

The woman on the street threw up her hands when the man finally acknowledged her, and she paced in front of him, ranting silently through the lens of the telescope.

“She seems to be,” Trent agreed.

“Let’s have a look,” Ciaran said, lightly pushing Trent out of the way with a hand on his chest as he bent back to the eyepiece. It was a thoughtless, easy gesture out of place with the argument they had had less than an hour beforehand. “Who was she?” he said, laughing and mimicking a woman’s voice. “You tell me who that slag was!”

“She probably didn’t say ‘slag,’” Trent scoffed, leaning over the balcony to get a better look.

“She wasn’t anybody,” Ciaran went on, lowering his voice to play the male part of the imaginary drama. “I told you, nothing happened!”

Trent chuckled despite himself, watching Ciaran’s smile as he adjusted the telescope to follow the couple down the street.

“I can’t believe you would do this!” Ciaran argued with himself, falsetto. “After what I gave up for you!”

“Nobody told you to quit your job at the factory,” Trent joined in, and the fairy laughed beside him as the woman on the street shoved her partner in the shoulder.

“You’re the one who said you didn’t like me coming home smelling like mustard!”

“Who ever heard of a mustard factory, anyway?” Trent snorted .

“I quit to take care of you and our illegitimate children!” Ciaran said. “I cook and I clean all day, and this is how you repay me!”

Trent felt himself smile, and he leaned over to look through the telescope as Ciaran straightened. The man on the street had his arms folded, refusing to be goaded into shouting by the clearly distraught woman. “Well, if you ever cooked anything other than mustard toast—”

“Now my grandmother’s mustard toast isn’t good enough for you!” Ciaran snapped, so perfectly in time with the woman’s exasperated gesture that Trent couldn’t contain his laughter. He stood back from the telescope and found Ciaran smiling faintly at him, causing an uncertain tightness in his stomach.

The silence was quickly becoming awkward, so Trent started, “Look, I—about this morning.”

“You want to have this conversation?” Ciaran said softly, tilting his head to look up into the other man’s dark eyes.

“No, I don’t,” Trent admitted, forcing himself to look the fairy in the face instead of staring at the floor. “But not having it doesn’t make this situation any better.”

“You going to tell me what it is you want, then?”

“I don’t want any more of your fairy bullshit than I’ve already got,” Trent sighed. “That isn’t—that’s not what I meant.”

“You don’t want to be on your own?” Ciaran prodded, taking a step closer to him. “Away from your father, free to do as you please?”

“I already do as I please,” he countered, knowing it must have sounded hollow.

“All those secret lovers of yours, you mean.”

“I don’t have—” Trent pressed his lips together and took a quick breath before answering. “However many lovers I have or don’t have is my decision,” he said. “My father doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Ah, tripe,” Ciaran scoffed. “Tell me you’re afraid if you’re afraid, but don’t tell lies.”

“I’m not—” Trent gave a small huff and pushed by to escape from the suffocating corner of the balcony. “This isn’t what I wanted to talk about.”

“Then what is it you want to talk about?” Ciaran lifted his hands and let them slap back to his sides. “I haven’t the energy to bicker anymore. You’ve done me a favor, and I’ll stay until it’s repaid. That’s it. How long that takes is up to you. In the meantime, if you want to be hands-off, I’m not about to force you.” He was proud of himself for sounding so cavalier when all he really wanted was to bite Trent’s frowning lip and push him down onto the sofa.

Trent shook his head, hesitating at the balcony door. “I was...unfair. I did start this, kind of. And I...enjoyed it.” He looked away from Ciaran to keep him from seeing the slight flush on his face. “But I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be...lovers with you, or whatever, but I don’t want—” He stopped, not quite able to make his mouth form the words he really wanted to say. I don’t want you to go. “I don’t want to argue,” he said instead.

“Fine,” Ciaran agreed, feeling a bit deflated but hoping he was hiding it well. Rejection wasn’t something he was accustomed to, and hearing it from someone he was actually a bit fond of—he could admit it to himself, if not out loud—was more difficult than he would have expected. “You just let me know when you want that favor, then.” Trent had used him to let out his frustration, and that was all. They weren’t friends, they weren’t lovers, and as soon as Ciaran was well and he could refuse Trent his favor, he could be on his way with no more than a fare thee well.

Trent shifted on his feet for a moment. “Fine,” he echoed. His mouth felt dry. “I wanted to say I…appreciate what you tried to do. It won’t work long-term, and it was a really terrible idea that’s only going to make things harder on me—” He stopped himself and tried again. “But I know you were trying to help.”

“It’s your life,” Ciaran shrugged. “If you want to pretend for his sake, at least now you’ve got a starting point. I mean, it’s all going to be downhill for you after losing a pretty little thing like me, but I’m sure you can do decently for yourself.”

Trent sighed through his nose and sat down on the sofa, leaning his elbows on his knees. He looked up as Ciaran approached him, but the fairy didn’t get too close, choosing to linger in the doorway to the balcony.

“I don’t want to pretend,” Trent said in a low voice. “But I can’t do what he wants. So I don’t…do anything.” He shook his head .

“You mean to tell me you haven’t had scads of secret lovers?” Ciaran laughed. “I never would have guessed.”

“Fuck you,” Trent grumbled, and Ciaran kept himself from accepting the invitation only with Herculean effort. “It’s just…easier.” His brow furrowed slightly as he looked up at the man standing in front of him—the man who frustrated him, and made him laugh, and who he wanted desperately to touch again. “Wouldn’t it be easier for you if you stopped sleeping with women? You wouldn’t have had that hunter after you in the first place, right?”

“Aye, but some things aren’t worth giving up,” Ciaran chuckled. “Perhaps someday I’ll find something better.” He stopped at the soft, uncertain look in Trent’s eyes. Too far. Too close to admitting that every woman and every man he had been with through the years had invariably broken his heart. He had a good image with the younger man as it was. Carefree, independent, and mostly unconcerned with the huge nuisance he was being. He didn’t want to ruin that by talking like a heartsick child. “I’m having fun torturing you just now, in any case,” he added, hoping it was enough.

“You said you have parents?” Trent asked, apparently sufficiently fooled by Ciaran’s pretended indifference. Or maybe he just wanted to change the subject, too. “As in, real ones?”

“Of course, real ones. What do you think you were touching last night, if I’m not meant to have children the proper way?” Trent scowled at him, so he held up his hands. “Fine. Yes, I have real parents. And fathers are a shit whoever you are.” He tilted his head. “Why not just pass for straight, if it bothers him so much? I’m sure there are plenty of women in just your situation who wouldn’t mind a superficial marriage. Then you could have as many secret lovers as you liked, and your father would be none the wiser.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Trent murmured. “But I…shouldn’t have to. And I won’t. I couldn’t live that lie, and I wouldn’t ask anyone to live it with me. I’d rather be alone. As long as I can, anyway.” He looked up at Ciaran and shook his head, attempting to change the subject. “Why is your father a shit? He doesn’t like how many people you kill with your fairy sex magic?”

Ciaran gave a single sniff, watching Trent with a flat expression. “You done? ”

“Well what else do I call it?”

“You don’t have to call it anything!” He sighed and moved to sit next to him on the sofa. “Anyway, my father’s a bit of a special case. We had some familial strife some time ago.”

“What kind of familial strife?”

“Well, the sort where he killed one of my brothers, for one.”

“Your father did?” Trent said, visibly taken aback. “His own son? Why?”

“You wouldn’t know how it is with my kind,” Ciaran answered with a dry chuckle. “It isn’t all toadstools and butterflies and dancing. There’s a fair bit of war, too—at least there was in the old days. My people can be cruel, and these days, things as they are, it’s better I stay away.”

“These days?”

Ciaran waved a hand dismissively. “Politics and ancient history.”

Trent tilted his head slightly as he looked over at him. “How ancient? How old are you really?”

“Ach, what does that matter? You haven’t missed my birthday.”

“How old?” Trent pressed, shifting on the cushion to face him.

“You see, it isn’t quite so simple as when you’re talking about calendars and things—”

“Ciaran,” he sighed, and the fairy paused at hearing his name so familiarly on the other man’s lips.

“Well, if you must know, I suppose it’s been…” He puffed out a sigh. “What, not even four.”

“Four? Four what? Four years? Decades?”

“Millennia?”

Trent stared at him. “Four millennia.”

“Not so long at all, when you consider the age of some other things,” Ciaran shrugged.

“Rocks. Rocks are older than that. You’re saying it’s fine that you’re sitting in my house right now, claiming to be four thousand years old, because rocks are older than you.”

“Well it’s a bit silly when you say it like that. How long did you think fairies lived for?”

“I never thought about fairies at all until you showed up.” He managed to avoid admitting that now he thought about them too much.

“Then you should hardly be surprised to find your assumptions incorrect, should you?”

“You don’t seem four thousand years old.”

“And what is a four thousand year old person like, if I might ask?”

“I would have guessed less watching trashy television.”

Ciaran scoffed. “Well, you’d be wrong, wouldn’t you?”

Trent smiled faintly despite himself, and for a moment, the silence that passed between them was calm. Ciaran was close enough that their knees touched, and that simplest of touches was enough to make Trent’s heart beat uncomfortably fast. He didn’t like it at all. He wanted to leave, and he wanted to stay. He wanted Ciaran to touch him, to push him down on the sofa and feel his tanned skin. He wanted to kiss him and let his father see it happen. The way Ciaran was smiling at him now, he didn’t care if his father saw it or not, as long as he got to taste the fairy’s lips. But that was a fantasy, and a dangerous one. When he didn’t think about it, it was so easy to be around Ciaran. It felt like being alone—comforting and relaxed and simple. Wasn’t that what it was supposed to be like? Maybe. But it wasn’t supposed to be with a fairy, certainly, and in Trent’s case, it couldn’t be with another man.

“Something on your mind, a mhuirnín?” Ciaran murmured, nudging Trent with his shoulder. He gave a sly smile at the frown on the younger man’s face. “You know, it doesn’t have to be so serious.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ciaran let his hand rest on Trent’s thigh, a grin pulling at his lips as he felt the instant tension in the other man. No matter what he said, he didn’t have the willpower to keep away from him when he looked so serious. “You’ll be kicking me out as soon as I’m well, right?” He slipped his hand up to tug lightly on Trent’s belt. “You can go back to denying yourself whatever you like. But while I’m here,” he purred, lifting himself onto the younger man’s lap in one smooth motion. He leaned close and nipped at Trent’s ear. “It can be just a bit of fun.”

Trent fastened his hands onto Ciaran’s waist without thinking, not sure if he meant to pull him close or shove him away. The fairy felt too light in his lap, but the press of his hips was firm enough, and his fingers in Trent’s hair made the breath leave his lungs too quickly. “I thought you said you’d be fine with hands-off,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Aye, but what a waste,” Ciaran chuckled. As long as they understood each other, neither of them would get hurt. As long as he didn’t expect too much, didn’t hope for too much. There was no point to denying what he wanted, especially since Trent clearly wanted it too. Whatever favor he would inevitably ask for, this was what he wanted now. And it was a favor the fairy didn’t mind granting. If they were using each other, neither of them could call it unfair. Ciaran could pretend that was as far as it went.

“I told you I can’t do this,” Trent said, but his voice was hoarse and slightly weak. He shuddered when Ciaran’s lips found the hollow of his throat, brushing the skin-warmed chain around his neck.

“You seem able to me,” Ciaran smirked, lifting his hips and sliding a hand between them to touch him. Trent’s breath caught in his chest. He was already painfully hard, despite his objections, and Ciaran let out a soft chuckle as he stroked the firm flesh through his trousers. He leaned up to whisper in the other man’s ear, pausing to give his earlobe a teasing lick. “Why don’t you tell me what you want me to do?”

Trent’s fingers dug into Ciaran’s hips, and he let his eyes close for just a moment as the fairy’s lips brushed his neck, then his jaw. “Fuck,” he sighed, unable to keep his hips from twitching up into the other man’s hand. “I can’t—I don’t want this.”

Ciaran sighed, removing his hand and settling back onto Trent’s lap with a frown. He let his arms rest on the other man’s shoulders, fingers lightly touching the hair at the back of his head. “You’re a mess,” he muttered. “If you don’t want it because you don’t want it, fine. But if you don’t want it because your father disapproves—that’s just sad. You won’t pretend to be straight for him, but you’ll be celibate? Come on.”

“It’s none of your business,” Trent growled.

“You’re right.” Ciaran rolled his hips against the younger man’s, drawing a sudden, trembling moan from him. “Just because I want you sweaty and begging, it doesn’t mean you have to agree.” He smiled and nipped at Trent’s chin, barely missing his parted lips. “Maybe you’d prefer I did the begging?” He kissed his throat at his open collar. “Moan and plead for you to touch me, desperate to have you inside me?”

“I don’t—” Trent could barely find the breath to answer. He tried once more, but his brain was empty of objections. He did want this. He wanted him. Tomorrow didn’t matter; the future didn’t matter. He was here now. With a frustrated groan, Trent pulled Ciaran tightly against him, burying his face in the fairy’s neck. He kissed everywhere he could reach, eager to taste the other man’s skin, and he slid his hands under his shirt to feel the lithe muscles in his back.

Ciaran gave a low, rumbling chuckle as he nipped at Trent’s ear, working quickly on his belt buckle. He unfastened his own jeans, pausing to let Trent lift his shirt over his head, and he groaned out a laugh as he was tugged forward, Trent’s tongue running impatiently over his nipple. He ground their hips together, thoroughly pleased by the moan it drew from the other man and the sharp bite he gave in return. Ciaran slipped Trent’s glasses from his face and dropped them onto the coffee table behind him with a soft clatter. He pushed Trent’s pants out of the way as best he could without breaking their embrace, and the younger man shuddered beneath him when his hand found his erection.

“Let me up,” Ciaran whispered against Trent’s temple, but he only grunted in response.

“No.” Trent lifted the fairy in his lap just enough to pull him closer, and he slid his hand down Ciaran’s back and below the waistband of his loosened jeans. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he closed his mouth over the other man’s nipple, his hand moving down Ciaran’s backside until he could press his middle finger against the ring of muscle there. He tested it with a slow pressure at first, groaning as Ciaran’s hands tightened on his shoulders. When he only heard the fairy’s soft panting instead of disapproval, he pressed harder, and both men let out low sounds of satisfaction as Trent’s fingertip slipped beyond the barrier.

Ciaran pushed back against Trent’s touch with an eager moan, his head falling back as he fisted his hands in the younger man’s shirt. Trent pushed into him without hesitation now, teeth grazing Ciaran’s nipple as he slid in and out, occasionally brushing the tender spot deep inside him. Ciaran managed to free one of his hands from its grip, and he reached down to return his attention to his task, panting and stroking Trent in time with the rhythm he set.

“Fuck’s sake,” the fairy gasped, his free hand gripping the side of Trent’s neck as though he was afraid to fall. He moaned and shivered with every intrusion, his forehead falling against Trent’s as he looked up at him and their breath mingling in the scant distance between their lips.

Trent could almost taste the sweetness he knew he could find on Ciaran’s lips, and he ached at the sight of the fairy’s tightly knit brow and panting mouth. He leaned closer to him, feeling the heat of Ciaran’s breath on his lips as his nose brushed the other man’s cheek, but at the barest touch of their lips, Trent’s stomach tightened. He pulled away, removing himself from Ciaran’s embrace too quickly and dropping the other man to the floor in an undignified heap.

Ciaran hissed as he hit the tile floor, sitting up with a slight wince as Trent stood and quickly refastened his trousers and belt.

“What just happened?” Ciaran asked, not yet bothering to try to hide his obvious erection.

Trent wouldn’t look at him. His heartbeat was deafening in his ears. Without answering, he stalked across the room to the kitchen sink, rinsing his burning face and scrubbing too hard at his hands. It couldn’t be just fun, and he couldn’t lie to himself and say that it could. He shut his eyes as he leaned his elbows on the edge of the sink, letting the water run. He had almost—it was too close. Too much. He couldn’t do this and then forget.

Ciaran got to his feet and buttoned his jeans, watching Trent without approaching him. “What happened?” he asked again.

“I can’t,” Trent whispered, too softly for the other man to hear. He turned off the tap and pushed away from the sink, wiping a drip of water from his chin. “I made a mistake,” he said out loud.

“Seemed to be going quite well to me,” Ciaran chuckled, and Trent sighed through his nose and kept his gaze on the floor.

“I can’t…do this. It’s not—I know that I should say I don’t care what my parents say. I’ve heard all of the inspiring propaganda. I’ve been told that it gets better. I know that I can’t…I can’t change this. About myself. But I can’t help this—this weight,” he said, not knowing how to explain it any better. He put a hand to his stomach wher e the pit always settled, where it weighed heavily now, and he shook his head. “It’s none of your business. It’s not your problem. But I just…can’t.”

Ciaran frowned, taking a few steps toward him. When Trent shrank away, Ciaran reached out and put his hands on either side of the younger man’s face, forcing him to look at him. “There is nothing wrong with you,” he said firmly, clicking his tongue and lightly slapping Trent’s cheek when he tried to pull away. “Listen.” He looked into the taller man’s dark eyes, letting his thumb brush over his jaw. “Nothing.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They stood in the kitchen while Trent’s heart slowed to a less painful rhythm, and Ciaran kept gentle hands on his face until he seemed to relax. Trent reluctantly pulled away and took a few steps back, trying not to seem like he was purposely putting distance between them.

“I should...go and get you something you can eat,” he said. He hurried over to pick up his glasses, then turned and scooped his wallet and cell phone up from the kitchen island on his way to the door without waiting for the fairy to answer him. He slipped out the front door and shut it behind him with an unpleasant churning in his stomach.

He rode the elevator down to the lobby and pushed open the glass door, ready to head down the street toward the grocery store for another day’s worth of milk and sweets. He turned the corner and lost sight of his building, then found himself face to face with the man who had brought Ciaran to his door in the first place.

“Afternoon,” Julien said, feigning friendliness in the face of Trent’s scowl. “You and I need to have a chat.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Trent muttered, but Julien gripped him tightly by the arm as he tried to pass by.

“Not that kind of a chat.”

Before Trent could snap out an insult, a sharp pinprick touched the side of his neck, and Julien moved to support his weight as he stumbled, his vision blurred.

“What did you—” Trent managed to get out, but Julien only gently shushed him, and then he slumped into the larger man’s grip and slipped out of consciousness.