W&W Beneath a Haunted Moon W&W Chapter 29

One of the guards at the tent door cracked up the minute he saw me. "Hail, wizard! Think I'll let you pass, when I know you have designs on the warchief's person?"

Oh, very funny. At least, he was grinning like he thought it was. I stopped obediently instead of smacking him to the side with a fireshock like I wanted to. It was late afternoon, Carson wouldn't be back until dusk, at least three hours from now. I supposed I could be sociable for a few minutes; I had just talked to Jalin and was in no good mood, but it wasn't this guy's fault. "Very clever, Le'gahn. We'll talk to the warchief about it later, after you refuse me entry and he's wondering WHY his person is still intact."

The guard smirked at me. Most teen-agers for about a year after their naming get guard duty before battle duty; the only way Jalin had escaped either was being in training to me and later, Smitty. And of course, Jalin was a frail kid compared to this husky young punk with his spiky quiff of black hair and his restless grey eyes. "Well, I'll let you pass, but only for a toll, pretty wizard."

I traded glances with the other guard. He was older, a big rusty-haired Viking guy whose name escaped me. He kinda rolled his eyes, but really did attempt to restrain his silly partner, vocally at least. "Just let the wizard go about his business, you idiot!" was what he said. Well, I guess that meant he was on my side.

But Le'gahn was high on his own new importance. With war close at hand, he'd actually gone out as a scout for a hunting troop. And killed a lurking Southerner; more from luck than skill as I understood it, but he was proud of it all the same and how could I fault him for that? When I went to war with Carson I wasn't just going as an impartial observer. I hated these dicks too.

"Listen to your buddy," I advised, as I started to shove past into the tent. I met with the boy's hand flat against my chest, and I sighed just a little. He wanted a kiss, to cop a feel, or maybe even more. He wasn't about to get the time of day here. In fact, if he didn't get his hand off me, his dick wouldn't work for months---human body parts with second degree burns rarely perform all that well.

The kid stared into my face with narrow, hungry grey eyes that held no interest in my sexy bod whatsoever. "I want to learn the magic of riding your mechanical beasts. Will you teach me, Gwai'vharn?"

Oh-ho. So he'd seen me taking the bikes over to the arena, had he? I'd discovered that Tyr, with more smarts and consideration than I would have given him credit for, had supplied a full tank with each and every 'cycle. So I got to transfer those babies in style to their new home, rather than pushing them. And so I'd zipped through the tribal pathways, scaring women, children and the bravest of warriors outta my way. Popping wheelies, whooping and yelling, I'd had a grand old time. I'd forgot how much fun riding was.

I'd also forgotten a lot about how TO ride, but I only ran over one tent, I swear it. And the old gal inside, once she untangled herself from her flattened home, had found it more amusing than anything. Still, I figured I'd do the rest of my practicing out on the plains where there was only the occasional stand of trees or a river to blunder into.

But this young fellow's extreme interest in learning to ride, as well as his insistence that he knew of others who shared his fascination, made me think, well, why not? It wouldn't exactly be easy to switch these barbarians' mindsets from animate warhorses to a machine where they had to do all the work, or at least all the thinking. But on the other hand, there was no traffic to contend with, unless they turned out bad enough to broadside each other. And the sight---and especially the sound---of a troop of bikers would scare the bejesus outta the high-strung, aristocratic horses the Southerners preferred riding. Not to mention the superstitious riders of said horseflesh.

The more I thought of the idea, the cooler it seemed. So I made the kid's day by asking him to tell his buddies that I'd be ready to instruct them in about a week---I had to re-train myself, first, before I took on students! Since Carson and Do'nar seemed to be plotting our offensive for what would be the end of the month in Earth terms, that gave me some time. I left the young warrior strutting and swelling his chest, the older one eyeing me as if I'd gone seriously crazy, and dived into Carson's tent.

Once inside, I felt a wave of exhaustion hit me. A kind of dreamy sadness. I walked over to his makeshift easel, studied his latest work critically. The sight of it lightened my mood a little. I snorted, touched the painting to make sure it was dry, and turned it backwards on the stand. I was here in the flesh, why did he think he needed to do portraits? Well, I'd asked him that once, and he'd inquired why I'd taken so many photos of him back in Berkeley? I had no ready answer; I really didn't see it as the same thing; but since I had no reason "why" it seemed different, I let it drift.

But we were gonna have to talk; this last work was embarrassing. I wasn't wearing anything but a pair of carved arm bands, a feather in my hair and a sinful smile. What if Do'nar had strolled in and saw it, or some other warrior dude? My gawd, I'd never live it down!

I crawled into his big, throne-like chair. I'd chew him out about it when he arrived. I'd just close my eyes for a bit, try to relax although it was probably impossible at this point, given what I now knew---

Not physical touch; he wasn't close enough at first. Maybe it was the weight of his eyes on me, or just his presence in the tent. There was a warmth along my skin like a brush of dark heated velvet. And a really weird flame suddenly kindled inside me, a mix of heat and hunger and mild pain.

I stretched, then groaned, surprised at how stiff I'd gotten, falling asleep curled up in his monster big chair. I'd thought I was too upset to ever sleep again, but being there, in his place, that in itself had soothed me. And I'd dozed for a good while; the tent crawled with moving shadows of black and purple, of which he was one. "You're late," I pointed out in a fuzzy voice.

"I went to the other tent first, thinking you'd both be there as usual," he responded, touching my face lightly before moving away. His deep voice, in the darkness especially, made my flesh tingle. "And I also took time to bathe, I admit, and change clothes." I could imagine his disgusted expression even if I couldn't see it, just from his tone. "Politics make me feel filthier than a hard day in the saddle."

"Got that right`," I agreed. "But you know me and Jalin have turned that other tent into a library. Not a spare inch of space for romance; you shoulda known better."

I wobbled upright from the grip of his chair for a real stretch, then wandered over to settle on the fur-covered bed. I threw a small light spell also; no need for us to be sitting in the dark here while we waited for him to do the quest for fire thing.

Ghost lights filled the enormous tent, enough to see by. I could see him eyeball me, for one thing. I felt his questions rise and fall, unvoiced; he didn't really want to ask, if Jalin was coming.

But he didn't really like to share me with the boy. Nor with anyone else, I understood that now. Oh, he had finally grown confident enough in what was between the two of us to curb his jealousy, just to please my horny self. I wondered if he realized that his trust in what he was to me was far more pleasing than if he allowed me a frickin' harem. And he would TRY to enjoy sharing, because that was the tribal way. Hey, having two sexy dudes in your bed ready and willing as a permanent thing, that was hot even for the High King of the Twelve Tribes.

Still, he preferred Jalin as a younger brother not a lover, mine or his. He really wasn't that much different inside from the insecure teenager in Berkeley, who hated everyone but his goofy red-haired high school tutor.

Oh, he didn't hate everyone now, not here. He had friends, a whole tribe of people who respected and loved him. And to my great pleasure that mattered to him.

"Jalin's got studies with Smitty; he begged off." I said it lightly; this part at least was true. I saw no need to elaborate on the boy's sneaky expression, the quickly downcast eyes that made me curious enough to probe him deeper before he slammed the doors in my face.

Not being a fool, Carson examined me closely. "It's okay, Carse. It's like you said; he's establishing a place outside us. We maybe shouldn't push it."

Oh Carson, my love. Not a fool in any way. I keep forgetting that. He might accept that Jalin would grow apart from him. But from me? Harder for him to believe.

"Well," I said with intentional casualness, "I can't get into the kid's brain of course. But he's been intense about learning everything he can from Smitty even before this war thing came to light. It might just be he digs the shaman trip more than wizardry, and he's embarrassed to admit it to me."

This came out pretty sincere-sounding, because really I thought it might be partly true. Being a wizard was groovy of course, but it wasn't a status symbol in the Tribes like the post of Shaman. Hell, hadn't been such a long time from now these damned barbarians had despised me for my gift of magic. Probably some of the non-Rider tribes were still mighty suspicious of me. Shaman magic such as it was was respected here, totally P.C. But wizards were just sneaky, cheating wimps. That was the viewpoint ever since the elfwars, and I figured it would take years not months to change the attitude of the whole North, whatever lip service they gave me because I happened to be their king's favorite boink.

"And now he's really gung-ho into the shaman thing;" I continued. "Christ, he even married us! He's gotta be good at it, if Smitty let him handle that. Maybe he figures since he's not much of a fighter, he can help the cause by learning as much as possible? He'll likely be back to normal, once this damn war thing is over with. "

"You're more than likely right," he replied, slowly. And finally he looked directly at me, with a gentleness that made me squirm. "I am sorry; I know how much it meant to you, having a student again."

Dammit Jalin, I wasn't trying to snoop! I only wanted a clue as to what was bugging you, in case I could help. Since you were being so tight-lipped. Damn, it wasn't wrong. My intentions were good.

"Keith?" He said it softly, but with enough emphasis to grab my attention back. "In a way, this is good. I would only have had to ask Mor'gwaine to leave us. Hurt him perhaps, maybe angered you. For this is our time together, lanisha."

He drew a breath. "Perhaps we did not Bond in the usual manner, neither here nor in our former world." He said the next part almost shyly, checking me through his eyelashes to gauge my reaction. "But privacy I have commanded, for a measure of time at least. Unless there is a direct attack here----"

Now I had a clue, as to why Jalin's absence or the reasons behind it weren't claiming his usually blade-sharp attention. It wasn't my skill in deception at all. Kind of a relief, that, since I'd hate to think anybody with sense would fall for my so-called innocent look. "Ah, Carse, you didn't twist Smitty's arm again!" My voice held only approval and sheer admiration.

"I did. More than that, I insisted that we be given a Time of Binding. I am High King; I should accept less for myself and my love, because of idiot Southerners?" His tone was so insufferably arrogant I had to chuckle; he eyed me sternly, then melted somewhat. "I mean it, fool. Unless there is a direct attack, we are free of all responsibilities. Smitty will inform us if that need arises, but I have strong hopes it will not. The first strikes against us have been laughable, easily countered without my involvement." He glanced at me, suddenly concerned. "I, I seem to have forgotten to ask your opinion before acting, though. Again. You are not angry?"

Look at him, this tall dark dangerous creature with his anxious blue eyes, so much wanting me to be pleased by his action. What did he need with my approval, he was the boss? It nearly ripped my heart out, him so wanting, so needing me. Goddamn it anyway! I was speechless.

"We are as good as alone together, my love," he said encouragingly, maybe not understanding my lack of response. Hell, I wasn't sure I understood it myself. "Being a king is a kind of magic sometimes, perhaps?"

I looked at him, had to laugh. I shook myself out of the strange dark mood a bare glance into Jalin's thoughts had created. "The best magic I ever heard of, Warchief. I get to nail you without interruption. I can only call that absolute sorcery. But just in case they forget---I intend to put a fucking lock spell on this tent of yours. Okay?"

I did what I said. I slipped the spell behind the human guards he already had on the tent. He usually didn't bother with guards, since he could kick ass on anyone fool enough to invade his privacy why bother? Hell, he could likely kick ass on an entire wartroop without breaking a sweat. But with all these out-tribe folk in camp who might not be aware just how dangerous it could be to come barging in with their petty concerns and ideas---well. The guards were more for the protection of the visitors, I think. But no need to make them feel useless.

Time seemed to hesitate then, almost to stop. And that was cool. I leaned back against the heavy pillows of the high king's bed. I wouldn't hurry this despite what I'd learned since we last talked.

I wouldn't hurry this for gods or demons, war or politics, death or taxes. They owed me, the bastards. This moment, they more than owed me. I knew that now.

I drowsily watched him for a while, as he stalked around the tent lighting various braziers against the dark and cold, and smiled to myself possessively. Only wearing the loose cotton pants, tie-dyed in streaks of purple and blue. He'd pulled all the heavy black hair back in an ass-length pony-tail and now it didn't surround him like a cape. So each time another fire sprang into life, I was treated to a show of golden light flowing down the smooth, powerful muscles of his upper body, the lean stomach, narrow hips. And what was beneath, impossible to conceal even in trousers that loose.

"Hey, Carse." He glanced down at me sprawled lazily on the thick pile of furs on his bed, propped up against the monster pillows. My heart caught as a smile touched his lips, lighting those laser-blue eyes with something very like the fire itself, softening the cruel vampire planes of his face. "Enough light, already." I patted the furs beside me. "Come here, baby."

I couldn't keep a slight hoarseness from my voice. He noticed it, of course, and was next to me in a heartbeat, not beside me as I'd indicated but dropping and crawling between my bent legs, snuggling close and wrapping his arms around me. His hip a magical pressure against my crotch, the touch of his breath against the side of my face moist fire.

I felt his fingers lightly stroke my cheek, stroll down to my mustache, tracing the furry growth gently. Funny, since he was always on about disliking my lip-wear almost as much as my Lennon specs. "What I want to do to you," he corrected softly.

I caught his hand with my own and pulled it to my lips, turning it and innocently licking his palm, a burning wet trail all down the center of it. I was intentionally sloppy. I felt rather than heard him groan, and smiled with a lazy, wicked sense of power.

"N---no." I hadn't let his hand go, was blowing little puffs of air on the wetness. He was beginning to squirm, and knowing what I'd find happening between his legs if I chose to search there made a dark tension flower in my own body.

I turned to face his outrage, grinning openly now. "And a big, oversalted bag of microwave popcorn. Remember? This tent is bigger than my flat ever was---"

"Wes Craven---not so bad." Carse had always liked horror films, the sicker the better. And he was falling obediently into my trip; remembering our Earthly past, rather than thinking of the here-and-now war.

"Or even better---old Star Trek reruns." He began to laugh in earnest then, making exaggerated gagging noises, and I let my gaze drift dreamily to the main firepit in front of the bed. "Oh, yeah. I can see it now. Kirk comes out and starts making a speech with those damn dramatic pauses that make you want to grab him by the throat."

He had wrapped his arms around me again, as I released his hand in the burst of my creativity. I could feel his body quivering as he fought against the giggles

"Exactly!" I cried, delighted with his contribution. "Kirk's gut bursts out of his girdle and his hair flies off as Spock beats the crap out of him!"

We were both shrieking helplessly now, locked in each other's arms and squirting tears. Thank God I'd thought of the privacy spell, because anyone dropping by would have run away immediately, convinced that we were stark, raving and probably dangerous lunatics.

Gradually, we settled down, hysteria dropping to snorts and pops, then contented silence as we snuggled back together. I glanced at Carson; he was staring dreamily into the fire as if now finding his Wes Craven movie. "I love it when you laugh like that," I finally said, very softly, meaning it.

"Mmmm----I always had kind of a thing for Spock, y'know," I offered casually, to slow him down. I was torturing both of us, and I knew it. "A guilty desire, as it were."

"Ah, yes. In reality. But this is television. I can fantasize a little. He was so lean and dark and---chilly. You just knew there was a sexual volcano inside the guy. You knew when he finally DID lose it, it would be so fucking sexy--- Well, I have an imagination!" I protested, as he studied me narrowly, a half-smile on his face.

"Lean and dark and chilly. Quite imaginative. Did you imagine it would be like this?" he asked quietly, those jewel eyes almost stroking me physically. I knew he wasn't thinking of my faked lust for Spock, and suddenly I felt tortured enough.

"Words I never thought to hear you speak," he said dryly, and then like a striking snake he drove forward the rest of the way, fastening his lips on mine, his tongue immediately there, forcing my mouth open and then melting from aggression into something hot/sweet/perfect oh god, flame and honey. Our tongues met, swirled, fenced like swords of soft fire. My body seemed to harden and melt at the same time into his tightening arms as we sat there wound around each other, sucking face like we were dying of thirst in the desert and each other was the pool of life.

I pulled free of him after a few minutes of this, gasping. Had to, before my brain melted too and ran out my ears. "Jesus, Carson, slow down. Back off. You want me to come in your lap, fer Christsake?"

The evil bastard's eyes lit up at the thought and he tried to gather me back up into that kiss. I managed to fend him off, not sure that I really wanted to. "We've got all night, love," I panted, letting the hands pushing against his chest begin to roam downward, stroking his ribs in a way I knew he liked, then up to lightly brush the hardening nipples. "Three whole days in fact. I don't wanna go off like a firecracker at the very beginning of it."

He arched against my moving hands, growling something unintelligible, eyes burning down at me as if he wanted to devour me alive. At this exact moment, I wouldn't have minded in the least. "What do you want, Carse, hmmm? " I murmured, leaning into him and beginning to lick his chest as well as stroke it. His body jerked once, almost violently, and I couldn't help grinning against him, loving my power over this man everyone else was scared shitless of. Oh, ignoble emotion, but I couldn't deny it even to myself.

As if reading my mind---and maybe he was, the mindtouch between us was returning swiftly---he whispered unsteadily, "You are a fiend, wizard."

"Am not." I began to insert little open-mouth bites between the licking, just to prove how angelic my intentions were. "I'm Santa Claus. I'm your fairy godperson."

He began to laugh even between his gasps of pleasure. Oh, God, when did making him laugh become my highest priority? At least I finally seemed to be getting good at it.

"I'm fucking I Dream of Jeannie." I finished my comedy routine by sucking a nipple into my mouth and nibbling it until he was writhing against me.

Somehow when locked in that kiss our positions had twisted and I really was on his lap, facing him, legs wrapped loosely around his waist. I could feel his erection throbbing hot right beneath my ass, and as usual it was a doozy.

The feel of it somewhat banked my desire to clown around. "C'mon Carse, quit sweet-talking me as usual and make a wish. What would you like, mmmm?"

I felt his arms slip lightly around me, his fingers sweeping down my back and almost casually dipping into my waistband. "To suck you off," he stated bluntly, a little breathlessly.

I felt a rush of heat to my face that matched the sudden throb in my cock, which I suddenly realized was as hard and straining as his, pressed between our bodies, actually pushing against his abdomen. "You don't say," I breathed against his chest. I was getting dizzy, losing focus. Or maybe gaining focus, because all I could think of now was the picture his words evoked. "Well, at this point, that would last about ten seconds. What else?"

"You---inside me. Want you inside me." His hand slipped lower, going from back to front too quickly to comprehend and his long fingers were around me, squeezing gently. I could only gasp and shudder until I regained control or some faint approximation.

"I'm not your damned king," he whispered thickly, almost rapturously. His hand tightened and released, tightened and released. "I'm your slave."

Even half-crazed with how he was touching me, I couldn't let this go. I gently gripped his hand, reluctantly stopping its movement. "Carse. Slave sounds nice. For an hour or two. I may even take you up on it." He was staring at me now, not hurt yet, but definitely bewildered. Nice going, McIntyre, on breaking the mood.

At each of the last five or six words, I kissed him softly. He accepted the kisses, eyes hooded, inscrutable. And then---ah, dammit. It was so hard once again, and yet so easy.

"I love you. More than that, I'm in love with you. We're equals. You---you're mine. But I'm yours, too. There were parts of me, I didn't even know were empty, but now they're not. Because of you. You got it? Stop putting me on a damn pedestal!"

"K--Keith," he whispered, eyes suddenly shining much brighter than they should have. He drew a long, shaking breath. "I never thought anyone would want me---that way. I never thought---you'd say---you---in love---" His voice hitched and stopped.

"And no fucking crying!" I snapped, glaring at him, daring him to argue. "It's no wonder you never get any sweet-talk from me, you always start with the waterworks!"

"It is not just for sex, this time alone together," he said a while later, rather dreamily. Kinda anti-climactic in every sense of the word, since we were twined around each other in bed now, recovering from the big, mutual pounce my keyed-up emotions had incited.

"Well, I do apologize," I muttered drowsily into his hair. "I'd take that boink back if I could, but I don't think even magic---yeow! No smacking a man's butt when he's all relaxed here! Some romantic you are!"

Soft laughter shook his whole body. I liked the feeling; had to forgive him, nuzzle in even closer. I might even have started purring. I was such a sap for him. Even worse, I didn't care at the moment if he knew it.

This went on for a few, with neither of us speaking but not exactly "quiet" either. In fact we produced some of the sloppiest kissing sounds I've ever heard; I'm not sure, but I think we were trying to gross each other out. I gave in first, cracking up totally and damn near spitting on him. He retreated hastily, but not too far. Not even arm's length.

"As I was saying," he observed with chilly dignity, "It is also a time to get close, to learn to know each other. If there is anything in your air-filled skull to know, Sir Comic!"

I grinned at him. "Don't try to game the massa of cool," I warned him. I could easily see the look in his eyes behind all the frost, he was ready to grab me and apologize all over the place if I happened to get offended or hurt. And the corner of his mouth was quivering without him even noticing. As a game player, he just stunk.

He silently acknowledged it, by pulling me tightly against his body, his fingers weaving through my hair as.if that powerful hand was formed of velvet not steel. "We have been close, Sensei. But there were years apart as well." He pulled back enough to study me almost shyly. "I would like to reclaim those lost years, as much as can be."

"In three days? Pretty ambitious--- And are you saying you'd rather chit-chat than jump my bones every hour on the hour? I think I'm offended!" I wasn't arguing, not really. In fact I was touched as all hell and determined not to show it. I'd been mushy enough for one night, god damn it.

I guess my cool wasn't as seamless as I thought. He gave me a tender smile that pretty much knew me, inside and out. "I doubt you're too offended, fool. I make no secret of wanting your body---"

"Damn straight, you nearly shouted the camp down that time," I gloated. "Bet our visitors are gonna be giving me respectful looks when we finally mosey outside the tent. And they'll know my name for sure!"

It shook me, too. Because I knew what I would say next meant something far beyond the words. For better, for worse. Sometimes being a wizard flat sucks.

He was eyeing me strangely, not understanding what else I would want to add. And he probably wouldn't realize, that I wasn't just directing it at him.

It went to every fucking god, every Lord of Law and Chaos. So we are those who preserve the Balance? And I gotta sacrifice myself to do it? Okay.

You got it, Tyr? If your Dark Half has to nail me to save the world, well okay. I won't like it---I refuse to like it!---but I suppose I can deal. But I better come back from that thing's touch sane and safe, into Carson's arms. Or else.

What an awful thing, for Jalin to know. That this creature of dark sweetness would turn into something even darker, and much less sweet, to ravage me.

"If you please me enough, power I will give you beyond your reckoning, defiant one." Was that what the Wolf had meant---that to gain victory for us, I would have to open my arms and body to him, at a future date that was now nearly upon us?

"I---Keith. What is wrong? What do you see?" His voice was tense. Suddenly, I hated myself for not just telling him how scared I was of what was coming. But that would do neither of us any good.

"It's war," I explained tightly. "I'm not a warrior, as you've pointed out a gazillion times. I---don't know how well I'll do. I don't want you thinkin' I'm toast the first time I get knocked off my 'cycle. I don't want you mother-henning me to death, and I don't want you worried I can't carry my weight! I don't wanna think of myself as your burden, okay?"

All true, and he melted for it. "Keith---Hawk---you know I would prefer to keep you safe. But if you think I have no pride in you---you are wrong."

"Yeah. That's why the paintings, I guess. You ever think of offering them to Playgirl magazine?" Yes, it was time for Keith to lighten things up a trace here.

He actually flushed a bit, but he didn't look away. "The last days have been frustrating," he said evenly. "And perhaps my fantasies have become a bit---undisciplined."

See there, tossing the comment out as almost a joke worked beautifully; his smile grew, but he seemed willing to stick with the lighter tone. "Of course you are proud of me," he observed in a beautifully snotty tone. "I am High King----and a great artist."

"Nah, we're not talkin' titles or talents here, Grasshopper. We're talking you. I'm proud of you, Carson Jeffrey Ravenstreet, former computer geek." I softened my voice, said what I needed to say before my common sense grew alarmed enough to shut me up. "I'm proud of who you've become. You've turned into quite a guy. Probably too damned good for me, but I wouldn't try to get away, if I was you."

Without a word, he pulled me into a fierce hug, tucking his face into my shoulder to hide his expression. And even though we were both nude as noodles and still in bed together, for once there wasn't really a shred of sex in our embrace.

Not that I intended to bask in it for too long, mind you. For one thing, I planned to ask if those arm bands he'd painted me in had any basis in reality.