WandWchaptereighteen

Of The Fire Part Two

NC-17 Everybody screws, more or less. Het sex in this one, but relax, it's humorous. Or at least meant to be.

Carson was beyond concern for anything except the absolute violence of his pleasure, his arms and legs wrapped around me now as he shuddered and thrashed through the same powerful orgasm that had taken Jalin. And it really was the same one, in a way, since the kid's feelings cycled back through us both. And of course, the other way around, too.

But somehow, spiraling through a circle of three, it was now contained. Still awesome, but tamed.

Jalin slumped to the floor, whimpering and moaning, his body and mind on sheer fuck overload. Carson, amazingly, hadn't made a sound out loud. But there was no doubt what was happening to him, aside from the sudden heavy pulse of burning liquid pouring over my stomach and chest in an amount just short of amazing.

And me? Oh, yes, I came too. But I'd done so about a dozen times already, so this orgasm was almostwellpeaceful. Languid waves of pleasure swirled through me, honey-dark, thick as flowing blood yet keen and crisp as starlight on a windy night. And not mine alone, of course. A bit behind them both, but still sharing, had to share or be consumed, bright strands of fire arching from me and painlessly impaling my chosen ones on the unsheathed blade of my delight.

And thenoh dammit. Falling back into reality, laughing as I did so. In reality, I was a sweaty, hot, dripping mess. Been fucking hard non-stop for hours, what else should I expect? My hair was so wet you would've thought I swam a river.

At least Carson meticulous as always had managed to scarf up all the honey.

He lay beneath me, eyes closed, face so relaxed I barely knew him. When I pulled free gently, though, his eyes opened and he smiled at me. What a look. Calm and warm and totally satisfied. Mixed just a little with that expression that wow. Was only for me.

"My life for you," he said, softly. No dramatics, no special emotion. Just quietly stating a fact.

I fell to the side, trying to get my breath back together. "I must be one hot fuck," I stated grandiosely. "Because I get remarks like that all the time after a good session in the sheets."

I could've matched his romance, no problem. There was no hiding, anymore. It didn't matter what I said, he knew. We both knew. But he'd cast his lot with Keith McIntyre, and that's who he wanted. Not some poetry-spouting drip. Me. For some reason, he wanted me.

There is no life without you, I whispered somewhere inside myself.

He heard. Or maybe he just understood, which was good enough. He smiled, and pulled me closer.

"Damn you! You always pretend you don't care! Not for himnot for m-me"

Oh, shit. I sat up, double time.

Once again, I'd forgot about Jalin. Had the feeling I was gonna pay for it now.

He had regained his strength, put his dick away, dragged himself up to lean on his arms against the bed, watching us as we finished I suppose. Damned if I knew why at this point, but I felt my face heat up a little at the thought. And here he was just glaring at me for some damn reason. Carson may have understood me, but it was obvious Jalin didn't. Just as obvious he had no interest in doing so. Those silver eyes flaming with, hell, that couldn't be disgust. Could it?

Was he that fucking conservative? Or that fucking hurt? I couldn't believe either. Didn't want to believe either.

"Jalin," I began, really confused now. I knew, of course, that the force between myself and Carson must have bled over to him. Pulled him from sleep, hornied him up. Brought him stumbling over here, probably in a high state of piss-off at not being invited to our little party. I wasn't sure what to say to him, because the painful truth was that yeah, in my crazed need for Carson I really had forgotten all about the boy. Blasting sex magic all over the place, and a fellow wizard not ten yards away in the tent next door, sure as hell to notice. Real smooth, McIntyre. Why couldn't he have slept over at his momma's house like I'd expected, for crying out loud?

"You unfeeling bastard!" he began, and I winced as if he'd caught me in the thought. More than ready to grovel and apologize for ignoring him, forgetting him. I felt shit-awful about it and that was the truth.

But neither one of us got a chance to indulge ourselves.

"Mor'gwaine." Carson's voice was beyond icy. "Less than a moon it has been, since you were claimed akanea between us. And now you insult the one who cared enough to give you this gift? Dare to judge his feelings? How long have you known him, to be so arrogantly sure of your perceptions? Be careful, boy. Beyond careful. Do not indulge yourself with a speech that will please your pride yet lose you everything."

The boy froze. And I swear to God, I don't know how Carson did it. Myself, totally naked after sex, I'm awake but I'm sure the hell not ready for company. Takes me more than a moment or two to compose myself. And here was Jalin, who I had a weakness for anyway. I mean, since coming to this reality I know I got a certain flash to me. People found me attractive, I mean people besides Carson who always had the good taste to want me, even when I was just a regular Berkeley guy. But I knew damn well if you lined the two of us up, me and Jalin, both men and women would go for the icy blond beauty every time. Way before the red-haired elf, despite all ears and charisma to the side. Shit, I knew who I would go for if you lined us up. Maybe I'd thought Carson would feel the same, given time to think about it.

I shoulda known. He was nowheres near as shallow as me.

Carson after sex, well, he likes to relax. He sure the hell wouldn't feel like dealing with a problem like this. Yet here he was, after a session that must have melted his gonads, all fired up and lecturing Jalin. Naked as sin, too. Another thing that I just can't pull off with any panacheyelling at someone when I'm totally starkers. But Carsewell, his attitude was such that he might as well have been wearing steelplate armor. He was himself always, no matter what state of dress or undress he was in. And Carson in a temper might as well have been geared up for battle. He was that frightening, nude or clothed.

That strong, that beautiful. I almost wished he were yelling at me. Because I wouldn't be wearing Jalin's frightened look. No, I'd know how to pull him into something much more interesting.

Jesus Christ! What was I thinking here!

I pushed forward, and fell off the damnfool bed. Just wasn't with it. I managed to grab my pants and teeshirt, pull them on while the boy glowered at me. "So," I said conversationally. "Are you pissed off that I screwed Carson without you? Because I admitall I could think of was him. I'm sorry, Jalin. That doesn't mean I don't care about you too." It sounded pretty lame, even to me. But I couldn't lie to him. Lying to make current things easier always comes back to bite you in the ass later on, and I just wouldn't do it.

I kinda wished I was less honest, as he continued to glare at me. My sincerity was making no impression, unless it was a bad one. Then he remembered Carson, and glanced at him guiltily. "IWarchief. Truly, I, I have no right. I would have ignored it if I could have! But it was sexual magic! All the tribe felt it; not myself only!"

Now that he mentioned it, there seemed to be some kind of racket going on outside the tent. A bunch of moaning and groaning and yelling.

Aw, Jesus. Admit it, Keith. It sounded like a goddamn orgy was going on out there.

I kicked up my courage, got up, strode to the tent door like I meant to go outside. Then I freaked and just peeked out of the flap like the coward I was.

Glad I did. It was hell out there.

I couldn't believe it. My elven sex magic had fired up the whole damn tribe.

Most of 'em, thank goodness, seemed to have made it to their tents. I mean, the ground wasn't totally covered with writhing bodies, just a few here and there. But everyone sure was being noisy about it, whether they were in private or out in public view. Louder than Carson at his finest. The whole place sounded like the set of a hundred bad porno movies.

And one pair who didn't seem to have made it, tentwise, was less than thirty feet away, going at it like bunnies in the middle of the path.

I felt my face heating up. One of the couple was Smitty. She was on top, of course. Trust a New Yorker. Bemused, I noticed that yeah, she had body tattoos as well. Pretty intricate snake winding up her back, there. Not as skinny as she looked in her robes. Kinda fine body, in fact. Definitely, um, flexible. Well, she had been a stripper. Anybody could've told she was from Brooklyn; she was cussing like a sailor as she bounced around on this poor warrior dude, but it was a happy, I'm-having-fun kind of cussing.

And there was something familiar about the big guy underneath her, too. I mean aside from his face, which bore such a strong resemblance to a young John Travolta it was a little creepy. Chin dimple and all. I couldn't remember seeing him around the camp before, though. His eyes were closed, and he looked to be enjoying himself, letting Smitty do all the work while he just hung onto her butt with two big hands and went along for the ride. I got the feeling she'd just knocked him down and jumped him in the middle of the path to have her wicked way with him when the elven senses hit, since he was still mostly clothed.

In very familiar, sort of ratty brown leather armor and an assortment of Viking furs, some of which had gotten scattered around the pair of them in their enthusiasm. And the careless braids of brown hair which surrounded that handsome face were familiar somehow, too.

Oh, shit! It couldn't be!!!

It was. It was Do'nar, sans beard.

I shut the tent flap in a hell of a hurry. My mind was reeling. Who would've thought the bastard would be good looking under all that face-fur? And look so much like an Earth actor it wasn't funny. Already I felt a strong sense of unreality, like maybe I was an extra on "Welcome Back Kotter". I'd thought Do'nar was my age! My real age, I mean, close to forty. The loss of that stupid half-beard had knocked some fifteen years off the bastard. Maybe Smitty had pounced on him because she didn't recognize his ass.

I sure hoped so. Shit, it would be fucking nice if this was a sitcom or a movie, come to think. Because if it was all real, then once they came to their senses and found out who they were with and whose fault it was, either Do'nar or Smitty was gonna kill me.

I was kinda hoping for Do'nar to catch me first. He'd just behead me with that big honking axe. No frills or subtleties. Smitty, I thought, might have a taste for torture and long, agonizing deaths.

I turned around, feeling somewhat green, to see both Jalin and Carson eyeballing me.

Jalin, still looking pissed off, was the first to speak. "I had been taught by the Witchlady," he said icily, "that sexual magic is used only for a purpose, something for the good of the tribe. What purpose was there here? Forgive me, Warchief, but to have magical ability is to own a responsibility! And this one seems to have a lack of that!"

I had never thought Jalin could make me really angry. He was just too cute, and I melted like vanilla ice cream every time I looked at him.

Well, I guess this time I was ice cream in a damn good freezer. Enough was enough! Especially since the small pout told me the real reason he was mad at me. If he'd said "I feel left out and jealous" I coulda related. But this hoity-toity "responsibility" crap just burned me up. From a sixteen year old kid I was tutoring? No way. And I beg you to believe that being called "this one" didn't exactly warm my heart up, either.

"Jalin," I snapped before I could even think about it, "why don't you just kiss my ass, you strait-laced little fuck? Your damned Witchlady is outside boffing Do'nar into the ground. She doesn't know jack about magic, and neither do you when it comes down to it! Magic isn't a goddamn stiff-necked piece of, of stone that you wear around your throat dragging you down to the ground! Magic isn't about being a damned accountant, or a priest, or any of that shit! Magic likes to have fun, magic likes to play! If you only use it as a tool you're missing the whole goddamn point of having it! And anybody who uses it that way all the time is just begging to lose it. But I guess you'd prefer that to losing your dignity and being a kid, right? Maybe I didn't change the world with that bit of magic, but I had fun. Someone I cared about had fun with me. Hell, if it comes to that it looks like the whole bloody tribe had a fine old time behind my irresponsibility! So you can pull that stick outta your ass right now for all the effect it's gonna have on me, because what I did was the opposite of bad and you fucking well know it!"

He jerked back, more startled than I'd thought he'd be. Well, of course from me he'd never heard a cross word really. A bit of sniping when he'd disobeyed me about staying outta the pool. But he'd never seen me full-bore pissed off before, and straight in his face too. On some level of consciousness, I noticed Carson open his mouth, then shut it again and begin to actually chuckle. Jalin turned to stare at him in betrayal, and he shrugged elaborately.

"I am sorry, Mor'gwaine. But he has the right of it. Yet so do you, in a way."

He moved off the bed, bent to the carpet to pick something up.

"Whether we meant it to or not, Hawkit seems what we did together accomplished something. Had a purpose, if you will."

Calmly, before I could fire up on him and I was more than ready to, once I get going on a good rip I'm hard to stop he held up the runesword I had brought him.

It glowed in the dimly-lit tent like a demon star, blazing with power. With fire-tinged mana. A charged battery. I could feel the magic roaring through it from six feet away. Not just the urge to slay Southerners that the elves had worked into the blade. No.

The damned sword was alive. Filled, with the sheer immensity of what we'd done together.

The sword, too, was jerfal nai. Of the fire.

And you better believe it had a purpose.

He jerked awake in the darkness of the forest, panting hard. Aroused beyond bearing, and furious with it.

Magic. The arrogant little snot of a hedge-wizard had done this. Gods damn him!

Whether the legend of Wizard and Warrior were truth or the fiction he still believed it, one thing was certain beyond all doubt. The Nightwolf knew a wizard.

Hell, the Nightwolf fucked a wizard. The whole screaming forest could bear witness to that.

The trees shivered in the ground, as if ready to pull their roots forth and stalk in search of prey. And with the senses he had learned to use while a ranger, he could feel the animals of the woods going berserk. Seeking mates, in some cases not caring if what they found was one of their own type or breed. This had nothing to do with natural procreation, everything to do with mindless lust.

The stupid reckless bastard!

Asher shuddered, at the sudden realization that his fingers were wrapped around his aching erection, pumping eagerly. Despite his disgust and fury, he couldn't stop. There was a scattering of dark images in his mind that flickered from the Nightwolf, to brush Merron almost gently, to the Lady in all her glory before she had begun to rot.

And on to the bastard of a red-haired wizard, beautiful souless elf, hateful and powerful beyond belief, all gods damn him how I hate him!

And yet it was with the imagining of the elf's naked beauty that he came hard, cursing hopelessly as his body betrayed him. Shocked and horrified by the violence of pleasure he felt. Kill the bastard, tear him to pieces, hang him on hooks, gut him, destroy him rip him to pieces

Fuck him. Fuck him to death, make him pay for this.

Asher shivered, and came again with the picture of the dying wizard's tortured body burning into his imagination's eye. He was a wizard too, though of a different kind. And the forest was still storming with the weight of sexual magic, turned to darkness inside his mind but none the less potent.

He had waited too long. Bemused by spying on the two of them, a little startled by the way his first crashing wave of jealousy had turned to rueful amusement at the pair of them. He had been too late, to stop the power from rising between them. But he found, for some reason, that the Nightwolf's obvious happiness charmed him.

Even if he were not the source of that joy, to feel it pouring from the Wolf in place of the stark loneliness he remembered it had almost been enough.

By the gods, he had been crazed! Something also the fault of this hedge-wizard, this useless boy of an elf scum. He had been stunned by elf-magic, held in a snare. And it wasn't his fault, all the fucking elves were supposed to be dead!

Gasping, he leaned back into the rigid circle of his campsite. His horse, a beautiful creature of golden coat and long white mane, snorted and nudged his shoulder gently. He refrained from killing it with an effort.

Death. The Lady was right, foul and hideous bitch that she was. Only death, for these two!

After a timeless while, he began to pick some calmness out of the chaos of his feelings.

Well. He had moved into the battle that Nightwolf had been engaged in. It had been a startlement, to see him fall to an arrow wound. No be honest. It had nearly destroyed him, to watch that glorious creature fall. To know there was death in the arrow's barb

Foolishness, stupidity. He had been there half intending to pull the Nightwolf's soul from him, for the pleasure of the demon he served. For the Wolf to die on an arrow's wing, however painful and awful the poison, could only be better for him. Face it, face it now. He had been almost relieved, in spite of the horrible grief that ripped him asunder. He had taken note of the one who launched the arrow oh, she would pay, and miserably. She had paid later, he had seen to that.

But to save the Wolf? He hadn't thought that possible.

And then this creature had appeared. A swearing, silly looking person bouncing all over the back of the horse he'd obviously charmed into carrying him. Leaping no, falling off the steed, running to the Wolf's side. A huge warrior had tried to block him, to Asher's mind a good thing. This fool had looked half demented, and in his shock and grief at the Nightwolf's death he was almost ready to betray his invisibility and kill the bastard himself for making such a mockery of the warchief's end.

And then the crazed-looking, redhaired fool had blasted the big warrior with a snap of fire magic that should not have been possible, given the time he had to prepare. Then fallen on the Nightwolf, pouring forth enough green mana to have healed a city. That the wizard had collapsed after his effort wasn't surprising. Asher would have been more frightened if he hadn't collapsed, after such a gush of power.

A wizard, truly, had come to the warrior. A wizard of such strength that the Lady should have been terrified not gloating.

Instead of moving in, he had stayed close and silent. Watching, observing for longer than he should. Days of dark pleasure, fascination. Sometimes he had felt jealousy, and hatred. Other times

Other times he wished

The elf was beautiful.

The Nightwolf loved him.

Had always loved him. "You remind me of someone."

With a small sob, he pounded his fist into the ground. Had done so often, since he had realized what the Nightwolf's words had truly meant.

He supposed he should be flattered. To have reminded the Warchief of someone like that, a goddamned elf who had always been a flame of beauty. Who had probably come to him on a whim, seduced him like a thief in the night. Then flittered away as elves were said to do, coming back when he was damn good and ready, after spoiling the Wolf for any other kind of love. Ever.

He was doomed. He was dead!

Slowly, Asher rose from the ground, eyes golden steel. He methodically went about checking the camp, realizing that he had spent far too many days bewitched by the damn elf's spells. Stunned and helpless by all the gods, he was ashamed of himself!

He smiled, mirthlessly. He understood now what had happened to him.

That devious beauty would fall. He would make sure of it.

About the Nightwolf well.

He had yet to decide, on that one.

"I never thanked you for the present, by the way," Carson observed, in a halfway teasing voice. He spun the glowing blade curiously, testing its balance. It twirled in his hand like a pinwheel of icy fire, and I winced at this big naked fool playing like that with a definitely sharp object. Beautiful though the sight was, it was a don't-try-this-at-home move and even though I knew his skill it just turned my stomach shaky.

"Goddammit, Carson, get some fucking pants on before tossing swords around like that! You're giving me the fantoids here! Cut your dick off and just watch me kill you!"

Jalin, who had been staring at the negligent swordplay with eyes like yoyos, impressed as all hell, threw me a look like I'd gone crazy.

Carson, on the other hand, burst out laughing. His eyes were as wild and beautiful as I'd ever seen them. But he stilled the flashing blade, holding it loosely. There was a fire in his face that I'd only seen before when scrying him in battle. "I suppose that would indeed upset such a sex maniac as yourself," he purred, the rude bastard. "But thus karma takes you for terrifying me through all of your foolish motocross runs," he observed almost whimsically. "I cannot count the times I imagined you crushed like a beetle from the chances you took on your foolish motorcycle."

I stared at him, exasperated. "Carson Jeffrey Ravenstreet, that was over ten fucking years ago! And it has nothing to do with"

Like a silver note of dark music, I felt the ancient elf in my mind again. And knew without even a breath of speech from him what I had to do.

"I'm wrong," I whispered softly. "It has everything to do with it. Thanks, Carse. For reminding me."

He was staring at me now in a manner not so pleased. "Reminding you of what?" he asked, but in a disgusted, resigned voice that said he knew quite well what I meant. And that he'd like to kick his own bare ass for bringing it up.

I had to grin. Instead of responding to him directly, though, I turned to Jalin. "Kid, are you still mad at me?"

The boy studied me for a moment, then smiled shakily. Brushed the bright hair nervously from his brow. "I, I was hurt more than angry, I think. Though I had no right, to feel so. And my speech about magic," he frowned, then drew a deep breath, "was extremely pompous."

He sounded totally revolted with himself. Good God, I just loved this serious, beautiful little creep to death sometimes.

"Pompous it was," I agreed. "You're good at that, kid." Course I had to lean over and hug him one, to make sure he didn't take it personal. It seemed to work; he hugged me back, anyway. Then flashed a guilty glance at Carson.

"Warchief, I apologize. I had no right."

"Right, schmite. Next time we play you go with, I promise. But enough apologizing, it takes too damn long. And I need your help with something magical. Big-time magical."

Carson groaned. He lay the glowing sword on the bed and stalked to a cabinet for some clothing, muttering to himself bitterly.

Jalin's eyes lit up at the notion of assisting me with "something magical". Although Carson's reaction seemed to alarm him somewhat. "Of course, Hawk. Always." He eyed our grumbling warchief a bit uncertainly. The man had pulled out the black leather stuff, as if he'd decided that he was more in the mood for battle than comfort. I leered cheerfully at him, and he glared back. Jalin vibrated nervously as if impaled on our different expressions. "Ah, Hawk? What would we be doing, this magic you speak of?"

"Getting me a ride from planet Earth," I said in a silky voice that made Carson growl at me warningly. I ignored him, of course. "A Kawasaki dirt bike, I think. I'll have to run over some specs in my head, figure out which model would be best for this terrain. But I should have it figured out by morning. You game to start spell-casting then?"

Jalin nodded, all kinds of questions in his face, but before he could speak Carson snapped at me. "I seem to remember a reckless fool telling me of being sickened for a month by transporting a mere guitar from Earth to this reality. And you will bring the boy into it? What effect will such a casting have on him, or had you even considered that?"

He was in his black leathers by now, every inch the Warchief, cold and hard and arrogant. The moaning, begging lover shuddering under my touch might never have existed.

Except, well, he couldn't fool me on that one. Not after what we'd shared.

I gave him a look back that was just as arrogant. "I've considered every damn thing. Magic is my bag, remember? And all I need Jalin for is to hold the portal open while I pull her through. I wouldn't put him in any danger, and you know it, Warchief."

He stared at me coldly, not giving an inch. "And what of yourself, reckless fool?" he asked softly.

I smiled back at him. "The elf in my head is telling me I can do this and barely get a runny nose from it, this time. Don't you have a clue what our last little session actually did to me? Magically speaking, I mean?"

I let the mana slowly trickle out, about and around me, searingly bright. More than I'd ever dreaming of owning, more than one person should be able to control by any sane measurement really. Jalin gasped and took a pace away from me as I spun the wealth of colors lazily around the tent, then pulled them back into me with a single sharp thought. Reds and greens mostly, of course, destruction and restoration, fire and earth. But there was also white mana, silver-bright as an angel's wing. Protective magic, magic of the Sun. Some blue; just a trace, it was not what I was best with, but before I'd owned none of that complex, deceptive mental magic that Jalin wielded so effortlessly.

And like a somber backdrop, the black mana. Rich ebony like vampire velvet, lurking around the brighter magics as if thirsting for blood. Death magic, cold and powerful. Mine to use if it was needed.

Quite a lot of it, actually. More than I would've been comfortable with before the Elf had taken me with him to see what letting your enemies beat you could cost.

"We're gonna be at war again pretty damn soon," I said quietly to the tall man in black leather. "And this time I am damn sure going with you. Like it or not."

He studied me with those hot blue eyes. Trying to keep the sudden fierce pride in me from reaching them and making my head any bigger.

Failing miserably, I might add.

"You promised," I told him softly, and he finally smiled a bit.

"If you can keep up," he agreed gravely.

"On a Kawasaki?" I hooted, giving him the finger. "Better feed that nag of your some horse vitamins, big guy, and get ready to eat my dust."

Jalin was staring at the two of us, all at sea. "Hawk. What kind of animal is a, a kow'soki? Is it fast?"

I burst out laughing at the sour look on Carson's face as he answered for me.

"Faster than the wind, Mor'gwaine. In this fool's hands, faster than the very wind."