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

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1 9

Ciaran slept away his fever for most of the day, periodically waking up to eat the food Trent always had ready for him. By evening, his body felt sticky from sweat and his head fuzzy from too much sleep. He crawled out of bed with every muscle in his body aching from the infection in his blood, and he poked his head out of the bedroom door to find Trent lounging on the sofa with a book in his hand. He looked more at ease than Ciaran had ever seen him, and when he looked up, a faint smile touched his lips. Had he done that? Had Ciaran put that soft expression on his face, the unguarded slouch in his shoulders? He wanted to throw the younger man over his shoulder and carry him to bed no matter how he complained—and he would have right then if he’d had the strength. Instead, he gave a longing sigh and gestured over his shoulder.

“I’m having a bath,” he said. “If I don’t come out after a while, I’ve probably fallen asleep and drowned.”

“Do you want some floatie wings?”

“I think I’ll manage.” Ciaran grinned at him and retreated into the bathroom, filling the large tub with steaming water and happily sliding into it. He washed his wounds, which looked marginally better than they had last night, and tried to will them into healing faster. He could tell that his fever was almost gone, which was a good sign at least—the iron in his blood wasn’t going to kill him. He hadn’t wanted to tell Trent that that had been a possibility, and now it seemed he wouldn’t need to.

Ciaran scrubbed his face and dunked his head under the water, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes with both hands. He looked up as he heard the click of the door opening, and he chuckled as Trent stepped into the room without hesitation.

“No so shy anymore, are we?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Trent said. He was keeping his distance from the bathtub and his eyes on the fairy’s face. “About some things. First, I wanted to ask if it was true that you were with some woman a couple of months ago.”

He paused. “Sure. That’s how what’s-his-face found me.”

“And if we’re...together, will you still want to—will you still want to be with women?”

Ciaran chuckled. “I like women. I like men, too. Just because I’m attracted to both doesn’t mean I’m incapable of monogamy, if that’s what you’re asking. You were jealous?”

“I am jealous,” Trent clarified. “In general. I won’t compete for you. So if that’s the way it’s going to be, just tell me now.”

“That isn’t how I am, Trent,” the fairy promised. “If you want me all to yourself, that’s the way it’ll be.”

Trent nodded, and he hesitated before starting again. “I was also thinking about...what you said about everyone asking you for things. I don’t want you to think of me that way. But I’ve decided I do want to ask you for one thing.”

Ciaran’s heart dropped into his stomach, but he kept his face neutral. “Yeah?” he asked in what he hoped was a casual way, dropping his gaze on the pretense of checking the bruise on his stomach. He always did this. He always got his hopes up, told himself this time would be different. He knew Trent would be giving up his life of luxury by agreeing to be with him, and now here it was—he was going to ask for money, or for some way to stay here without his father knowing, or something. It was fair. He was giving up the life he’d always known and trading it in for nothing but uncertainty. It was fair, but it still turned Ciaran’s stomach to be right.

Trent hesitated before speaking. He had his hands in his pockets to keep them from fidgeting. “If you decide...that this isn’t going to work out, you have to tell me. You have to warn me. You can’t just...disappear. You can’t just leave me.”

Ciaran looked up at him with a furrowed brow, momentarily too startled to speak. “You...that’s what you’re asking me for?”

Trent scowled as though the words were being dragged out of him, turning to avoid looking at the other man. “The only thing I want from you is...you. Barring that, I want honesty at least. If you can’t do that, then I—I can’t do any of this.” He gave a short sigh. “And I...really want to do this.” He looked back at him with a wary frown. “All of it.”

Ciaran laughed. He leaned back in the bathtub and ran a hand over his face, then he waved Trent closer to him. When the younger man approached, Ciaran sat up and tugged him down by the hand, almost bringing him into the tub with him fully dressed. He locked a hand at the back of Trent’s neck and pulled him close, unable to keep the grin off of his face. “A thaisce, a chuisle, a rún mo chroí,” he laughed. He leaned back only enough to look into Trent’s dark eyes. “You will have me beside you until the sun burns out. Geallaim. I promise.”

Trent’s face flushed slightly, and Ciaran kissed him, pulling him so hard that the younger man had to dunk an arm in the water to keep himself from falling in entirely. Trent broke away after a moment to regain his balance, shaking the excess water from his arm as he straightened.

“I’m—glad we got that sorted out,” he said, his cheeks still faintly red. “Then...when you’re well enough, I want to go. Wherever you’re going.”

“It’s a deal,” Ciaran chuckled. “I’m feeling better already.”

Trent turned to leave, hesitated, and then carried on out of the room with a small smile on his lips.

Ciaran stretched in the tub, rotating his injured arm at the shoulder to test his injury. Bearable, and the wound was in no danger of reopening now. It would be worth the soreness later. He finished scrubbing himself with Trent’s soap and stepped out of the bath to dry off, rubbing the towel over his hair and shaking out the last of the water. Without bothering with any clothes, Ciaran left the bathroom and stalked into the kitchen, where he found Trent at the counter, cutting a slice of spiced cake to go with the glass of milk he’d already poured.

When the younger man turned around, he gave a slight start and then sighed. “Ciaran, put something on,” he said, but he was promptly interrupted by the fairy’s body pushing him back into the counter. Ciaran’s fingers twisted into the hair at the back of his head, pulling him down for an eager kiss that Trent was helpless to fight. He gripped the edge of the countertop as Ciaran pressed into him, a soft groan escaping him at the heat of the other man’s tongue exploring his mouth. When they were forced to break for air, Trent reached up to take hold of Ciaran’s wrist before he could attack again.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching the fairy’s eyes with concern.

“I don’t want to go slow,” Ciaran whispered, and he bit Trent’s bottom lip and chuckled at the gasp it pulled out of him. “I’ll be gentle,” he assured him with a sly grin, “but I won’t wait anymore.”

“You’re hurt,” Trent said without much conviction as Ciaran’s fingers began to work the buttons of his shirt.

“I’m well enough,” the fairy countered. His hands slipped over the soft skin of Trent’s chest, pushing his shirt back over his shoulders and down his arms as he bent to press a kiss to his collarbone. “Now do you want to argue, or are you going to let me take you to bed?”

A shudder ran up Trent’s spine at the low promise in Ciaran’s voice. He had very little idea what he was doing. He wasn’t exactly innocent, but actual sex was—complicated. And a little frightening, if he was honest. He already couldn’t trust himself when Ciaran touched him. Even now, the fairy’s hands on his chest and stomach drove him to distraction, threatening to weaken his already severely compromised resolve. He had told himself he had time to prepare for this eventuality while Ciaran recovered, but the fairy seemed to possess supernatural recuperative abilities when sex was part of the equation.

Trent wanted this, no question, but the last thing he needed was to look like an idiot in front of Ciaran so soon after his embarrassing confession, and he had a strong suspicion that he was going to look like an idiot.

“I’m not hearing a no, a mhuirnín,” Ciaran chuckled against his skin, nipping a line down his shoulder. “You don’t have to be nervous. This is meant to be fun.”

Trent took as steady a breath as he could manage with the fairy’s fingertips brushing his stomach just above his belt. Ciaran wasn’t going to laugh at him. He nodded, and Ciaran grinned at him and pulled him forward with two fingers in his belt, leading him back to the bedroom by the waist. He pushed Trent down onto the bed on his back and crawled over him, capturing his mouth in a heated kiss while his hands worked open his belt buckle.

Trent was hesitant to touch Ciaran in case his injuries still hurt him, but when the other man opened his mouth to him and slipped a hand below his waistband, he gave up caring. He pulled Ciaran close to him, groaning into the fairy’s kiss as his hand wrapped around him and gave a tight squeeze. Every time Ciaran touched him, he felt like he could barely breathe—the other man’s caress was insistent and firm and burning hot. He couldn’t prevent his faint whimper as Ciaran’s hips ground against his, but he held tightly to the other man’s hair and guided the kiss in an attempt to maintain some semblance of control.

Ciaran broke away from him and tried to focus on removing the fabric obstruction between himself and Trent’s growing erection, but Trent wouldn’t let him go. He sat up as the fairy pulled away and held him tight, fastening his mouth over one sensitive nipple and leaving Ciaran to grip helplessly at his shoulders as he kneeled over the younger man’s lap. Trent shivered at the other man’s pleading groan, and he pulled him down into his lap, feeling the fairy’s arousal brushing his stomach. Ciaran’s hand quickly snaked between them again, gripping Trent tightly and making him jump, and at the fairy’s teasing chuckle, Trent gave his nipple a sharp bite.

“Ach, such cheek,” Ciaran grinned, and he tugged Trent’s head back by his hair and kissed him. Both men fought for dominance of the kiss, but eventually Trent gave in, allowing Ciaran to push him back to the bed and shift down until he could slide the younger man’s trousers down his hips. The fairy knelt on the floor to help Trent kick out of his pants, but he paused with his fingers in the waistband of his underwear.

“Now you do seem eager,” Ciaran purred, and he nipped at Trent’s erection through the straining cotton. “But this is your show, a mhuirnín. You’ll have to tell me how you want it to go.”

“What—” Trent began breathlessly, sitting up on his elbows to look down at the fairy in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I want to make sure you get the full experience, of course.” Ciaran grinned up at him before taking the waistband of Trent’s boxer briefs in his teeth. He dragged the fabric down with a slowness that made Trent growl with need, and he lifted the younger man’s hips up so that he could free him properly. When the underwear was abandoned on the floor, Ciaran touched a single, dainty kiss to the pearling tip of Trent’s aching erection. “For instance, do you want this?” he whispered, his breath hot against the sensitive skin. “Or would you rather just fuck me?”

Trent’s head swam. He couldn’t focus with Ciaran so close to him, could hardly breathe with the fairy’s tongue on his hip, scant inches from where Trent really longed for it to be. He knew he was blushing, and he felt the knot in his stomach when he saw those green eyes staring up at him, asking permission to proceed.

“Is that,” he started, embarrassed at the shaking in his voice, “is that a real question?”

“It absolutely is.”

Trent sighed in frustration, barely able to keep his hips from twitching upwards. Ciaran’s hand flattened against his stomach to keep him still.

“If you don’t answer, how will I know what you want?” Ciaran murmured as he touched a kiss to Trent’s hip. “I’ll have to just experiment.” He took the younger man into his mouth in one smooth movement, letting out a hum of satisfaction at Trent’s sudden gasp. Almost as quickly, he pulled back with a soft chuckle. “That’s good then,” he mused, seemingly oblivious to Trent’s desperate pants. “Good to know.” He eagerly returned to his work, groaning as he felt pressure at the back of his throat.

Trent’s fingers were in the fairy’s hair almost immediately, the heat and friction of the other man’s tongue overwhelming him. He wasn’t going to last long at this rate. He tried to tell Ciaran to stop, but his mouth couldn’t quite form the words. When his grip tightened, Ciaran retreated on his own, pressing one final kiss to the tender tip and causing a satisfying twitch.

“Not yet. We’re nowhere near finished, a mhuirnín,” the fairy promised, and he crawled his way slowly up the length of Trent’s body, kissing and nipping at the skin on his way. He urged the younger man further up the bed and straddled his lap to catch his lips in a kiss.

He felt too light in Trent’s lap, barely half the weight he should have been, but it was difficult to think of the fairy as delicate when he was biting Trent’s lip and gripping him so tightly. Trent had to gasp to catch his breath when Ciaran broke away from him. Every touch felt like lightning; every breath against his skin made him tremble. It hadn’t been like this before. The first time Trent had given in, it had been out of frustration and lust. But now Ciaran smiled down at him, that playful, teasing smile that put small wrinkles at the edges of his pale green eyes, and everything else seemed secondary.

Trent pushed the other man off of him easily, turning him onto his back and pinning him with a kiss. He needed to take things slow. Not just because he was nervous, but because he didn’t want this to be over before he had time to thoroughly lose himself in Ciaran’s kiss. The fairy’s palms were hot against his shoulder blades, and the hard press of his arousal ground pleasantly against Trent’s stomach. He savored every sigh that slid from the fairy’s lips, every tiny groan as Trent nipped kisses down his neck to touch his lips to every freckle on the other man’s shoulders.

He watched Ciaran’s breath quicken as he slipped his fingers around him, slowly stroking him until the fairy’s cheeks flushed and his lips parted. Ciaran whispered something in Irish that Trent couldn’t understand, but the pleading whimper in the other man’s voice made his stomach tighten with need. He slipped a hand down to press against his entrance, a low chuckle forming in his throat at the sudden buck of the fairy’s hips.

“Stop,” Ciaran panted, and he sat up, gripping Trent in a fierce kiss before suddenly breaking away. He disappeared into the kitchen, and Trent heard him banging around in the pantry for a moment before he returned with a slim bottle of olive oil, which he dropped unceremoniously into Trent’s hand. The fairy grinned at him and crawled back onto the bed, settling himself on his hands and knees in front of the younger man. “Now carry on,” he chuckled with a glance back over his shoulder at Trent’s reddened face.

“Wh—but I thought—aren’t you...going to...?”

“If you’d rather. Like I said, this is your show.”

Trent hesitated, gripping the glass bottle in his hand. Ciaran only watched him with that soft smile on his face, his skin flushed from contact, until Trent longed to kiss him again. He moved forward and grasped the fairy around the middle, pressing fevered kisses up his spine to the back of his neck, only breaking contact to spill some of the oil onto his fingertips. This part, at least, he knew how to do. He smiled against Ciaran’s back as he eased one slick finger into him, enjoying the shiver he felt in the other man’s skin. Ciaran dropped to his elbows with a faint panting breath and twisted his hands in the blankets as his back arched against his lover’s touch.

Ciaran pushed back against him with a pleading moan, and Trent obliged his silent request, slipping a second finger inside of him and gently stretching him until he gasped. The fairy hissed as Trent quickened his pace, pushing into him while he left red marks down his back with every biting kiss.

Trent was momentarily distracted, unable to pull his eyes away from Ciaran’s parted lips as he let his head fall to the bed. He wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to have all of him at once and never let him go. He was reminded of his task by the insistent twist of Ciaran’s hips, though his pounding heart and shallow breath made it difficult to focus on much of anything. Ciaran pushed against him with a groan that made his impatience clear, and Trent slowly let his fingers slip free to take up the bottle of oil again.

The next step was unfamiliar to him. He struggled to keep his breath steady as he slicked the oil over himself, but his heart was beating too quickly for him to maintain any kind of composure. He didn’t know how to proceed. What if he went too fast and hurt him? What if he did the wrong thing? He hesitated with his hand on the small of Ciaran’s back, letting out a soft gasp as the other man ground back against him.

“Get on with it,” Ciaran ordered grumpily, and Trent’s face flushed.

“Just give me a minute,” he snapped, frowning down at the fairy as he turned his head to grin.

Trent took a breath, positioning himself, but then he paused. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t reach him. He couldn’t see him. He pulled away and urged Ciaran onto his back, bending over him and capturing his lips in a kiss. Ciaran’s arms wrapped easily around his neck as he shifted, and he lifted his hips to allow Trent to push into him, the younger man’s head falling helplessly against his shoulder. For a while, they stayed like that, lying still to let Trent catch his breath and slow his racing heart. The sensation was overwhelming, but Ciaran’s fingertips tracing the skin between his shoulder blades allowed him to at least breathe easier.

They moved together slowly at first while Trent adjusted to the sensation of Ciaran tightening around him, the fairy eagerly pushing back with every thrust as he tangled his fingers in the younger man’s hair. Trent pressed as close to him as he could, kissing him until he was forced to break for breath. Everything around him was Ciaran—the heat of the fairy’s body underneath him, his hands in his hair, the scent of his sweat and the soft panting breath mixing with his as their foreheads touched. He was overwhelming; too close and too warm and too tight around him. Trent moved slowly to try and keep his heart from bursting from his chest, but as he pushed deeper inside the man beneath him, Ciaran gasped and whined and lifted his hips against him.

“God,” Trent breathed, his face hidden in Ciaran’s neck, and his fingers tightened on the fairy’s hip. He stopped moving, his breath coming in shaky gasps. He shook his head when Ciaran ground against him in frustration. “Stop,” he begged, the tremble in his voice the least of his concerns at the moment. “I can’t—we need to slow down.”

“Slow down?” Ciaran panted incredulously. He almost said something biting, but when Trent looked down at him with flushed cheeks and parted lips, his chest tightened, and he drew the younger man’s face down to him with a gentle hand. It was easy to forget how young Trent was when he was snapping out insults, but like this, with his eyes shut and his skin trembling, he seemed disproportionately innocent.

“I don’t want to rush,” Trent whispered against his lips. “But you’re really making me want to rush.”

Ciaran smiled as he kissed him. “You set the pace, a mhuirnín.”

Trent couldn’t even bring himself to be irate at being placated. He took a few moments to slow his heart, and as he pushed slowly into the other man again, he moaned into his tender kiss. He rocked his hips against Ciaran at an agonizingly unhurried pace, lost again in the fairy’s heat and scent. As he brushed a sensitive spot deep inside the fairy, Ciaran gasped and let his head drop back against the mattress. Trent’s stomach tightened at the sight of the other man’s lip in his teeth, the soft movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Trent gave one quick, experimental thrust, and Ciaran’s hitched moan went straight down his spine.

“Le do thoil, mar sin,” the fairy hissed, his grip in Trent’s hair tightening almost painfully. Trent quickened his pace automatically, a groan escaping him as Ciaran kissed him and forced his tongue into his mouth.

Ciaran’s pleading whimpers and grasping hands were too much for him. Trent pushed against him again and again, his hand moving between them to grip the other man’s seeping erection and pump it in time with his thrusts. When Ciaran began to pant and writhe underneath him, his fingernails digging into Trent’s shoulders, he could feel the tension coiling in his stomach like a spring threatening to snap. He started to pull away, but Ciaran kept him in place with legs wrapped tightly around the younger man’s hips.

“Ná bac leis,” Ciaran panted. “A dhéanamh, le do thoil,” he whispered, and Trent could hear the begging in his words even if he couldn’t understand the meaning.

Trent kept up his pace as best he could, but it wasn’t long before he tensed and finished deep inside the other man, his cry muffled by Ciaran’s hard kiss as he gave a few last desperate thrusts. He felt the fairy tighten around him, hips bucking as he followed soon after, spilling his climax onto his stomach at Trent’s persistent touch.

Trent held himself up long enough to carefully withdraw, but then he dropped to the bed beside Ciaran, tangled in his arms in a mess of sweat and heat. Both of them fought to catch their breath, the process made more difficult by each lingering kiss. Ciaran smiled at him, one hand resting on his neck to let his thumb brush the younger man’s jaw.

“Tá mé i ngrá leat, a rún,” the fairy whispered, his nose brushing Trent’s.

Trent leaned close to press one more exhausted kiss to the fairy’s lips. “I love you, too.”