WandWpartthree

NC-17 slash. Although most of the first part is a drunken, lonely Wizard floundering around angsting and feeling sorry for himself, they do get it on a few pages in. Romance and sap, too. Wooo-hoo!

Four of the longest, most boring and miserable days I'd ever spent. In fact those four days in some surrealistic way seemed longer than the three years here before I'd found him.

That first day, I spent inside the tent; I knew what most of the tribe's members felt about Southern wizards and I saw no reason to get into any more trouble right away. I didn't think any amount of talking was gonna convince these idiots I WASN'T a Southern city scum, either; couldn't argue about the wizard part.

I briefly thought of trying a Charm spell on one or two of them, just so I could have some company if nothing else. Fortunately, I tabled that idea. It wasn't that I was too honorable to manipulate their fragile little minds; hell, no. Just that I wasn't very good at illusion spells like that. Destruction and restoration, those were my two fields; blasting hell out of things, and healing/repair magic. Kind of a serendipitous combination when you think about it.

So I dragged around the tent till noon, and for awhile snooping through drawers, boxes and cabinets kept me occupied; not quite television, but one couldn't have everything. I found some neat stuff, too. What looked like a type of board game, with multi-colored, strangely inscribed jewels as pieces. I set that up on a convenient table, ironically thinking that it might come in handy if sex lost its appeal. (Or if he'll even want to touch you now, you petty bastard. No, don't go there, Keith. Losing your mind on Day One would not be cool).

A large flat wooden box nearly surprised me into bawling, when I opened it and found it contained a couple of arm rings holding down a surprisingly good sketch of-you guessed it-me. He'd drawn me both better-looking and more formidable in appearance than I really am, and a way lot sexier. I hastily stuffed that find back in the drawer where I'd found it. Just looking at it made me feel like the biggest, most worthless asshole on the face of the world.

I finally found what I assumed was the tribal version of personal lubricant-a stoneware pot of a slick, cinnamon-smelling substance. Set it up temptingly on a small table that I dragged beside the bed. Might as well be optimistic here. And finally, the prize--a corked blue glass bottle that, when opened and sniffed, nearly knocked me on my keister from the sheer smell of the alcohol content.

I dug around looking for something to mix this find withI can be an idiot at times, but even now I wasn't dumb enough to guzzle whatever *this* was straight from the bottle. Nothing presented itself, and the thought struck me that I was getting kinda hungry, too. Shit. What was I supposed to do about food, anyway? Steal from the damn cooking pots? There were a lot of details I should've gone over with Carse. Of course I'd been too busy being a bitch on her period at the time. Shit, now I almost was ready to gulp that booze straight and let my internal organs fend for themselves.

I sat there on the heavily carpeted floor, scowling at the bottle and wishing I was dead. Suddenly a low, tentative voice interrupted my black mood. "Lord Wizard?"

Like the answer to my stomach's prayer, a short, plump middle-aged woman with a pretty face and smiling eyes had stepped inside the tent. There was a big, covered platter in her hands. Her look at me was so friendly and non-judgmental, after all the crap I'd taken from these people, that I almost glanced behind me to see who she was really talking to.

She laughed; an easy, musical sound. "Indeed. And sorry I am to be so late with it, but until the hunt this morn there was naught but fruit and bread."

"Oh, that would've been okay!" She'd placed her burden on the largest table and I lifted up the lid-geeze. You didn't get breakfast like this at MacDonald's. That weird blue knobby fruit which tasted more like a pineapple than anything, honey bread slathered with butter, and stacks of cooked meat that smelled like pork from heaven. And enough for three of me.

She laughed again; seemed like a woman who did a lot of that. For some reason, though, her cheerfulness wasn't in the least grating. "Oh, but I couldn't so offend you. The Wolf explained when he asked me to see to your needs that you are no lover of vegetables. Quite carnivorous, I think he said."

She looked startled, and frowned a bit. "This displeases you?" She looked at me doubtfully. "Perhaps if you would prefer-one of the younger women? He did not quite explain your preferences here-in fact I thought-" She was blushing a little, now.

"No, no, no, that's not it. It's fine." How the hell could I tell her that Carson telling someone off to take care of me while he was gone had spiraled me down another step in my own estimation? "Er, what's your name? Can't call a woman who's nice enough to bring me lunch 'Hey, you.'"

Her face cleared and she beamed at me. "I am called Foxmoon, Lord- I mean- Keef? La, I cannot say it right! But indeed it was no trouble, and if you have any other requests please to voice them. I know it is difficult, to be the stranger in a strange land. And if I fail to please you in any way, I fear the Lord Nightwolf will have my head. He loves you most deeply."

Good God. This woman was gonna KILL me with her well-meaning comments. "Well, er, yeah, as a matter of fact--" I picked up the bottle and handed it to her. "What would one want to mix this with, d'ya think?"

She took a sniff and didn't flinch a bit; in fact her eyebrows raised appreciatively. Then she walked confidently to a little cabinet I hadn't even noticed in my snoop-fest, and pulled out another bottle, this one of clear glass and half full of a creamy brownish liquid. "My Lord Wizard is brave indeed, to drink Blue Death so early in the day."

"Blue Death, huh? Sounds like just what the doctor ordered." I drew a deep breath, then took another quick glance at her smiling face. Nothing there but friendliness, interest and a bit of curiosity that she seemed trying to hide for politeness sake. "Uh-got another request."

I made a grand gesture toward the table. "Join me for lunch? There's too damn much food even for a carnivore like me. And I'm not as brave as you think about finishing this bottle off by myself."

If I'd expected her to argue, she fooled me but good. Her dark eyes lit up and she settled down at table instantly, reaching for the bottle of booze and pouring the contents into the jug of brown stuff. "It is sad, to sup alone," she remarked astutely. "My honor."

"Nope," I replied, sitting my own self down and watching with appreciation as she found two mugs under the table and proceeded to pour the liquornow indeed a noxious looking blue color. "Actually, Fox-can I call you Fox? Actually, I think the honor's mine."

So Day One turned out not so bad. I got drunker than I'd ever been in my life and bawled all over this poor woman I'd barely met about what a bastard I'd been. Showing a much stronger head for this devil's brew than me, she patted my back and made encouraging noises. Finally, though, she got tipsy enough herself to start gossiping. I passed out somewhere in the second hour of our conversation, and didn't wake up until dawning of the next day with, to my extreme surprise, a clear, lucid head. And a memory of the more useful parts of our talk, even seeming to extend into the period after I'd lost consciousness. Booze like this I could definitely get a taste for.

Fox turned up with breakfast not long after, not in the least embarrassed that we'd gotten rip-snorting drunk together the day before. She'd thoughtfully tucked me into bed after I keeled over, too. Stronger than she looked. This, she teased me about like I was her favorite nephew or something. Soon had me blushing and swearing , which seemed to delight her no end. But she had chores to do other than tend to me, and I was just as glad when she departed. Based on some of the things she'd told me, I had stuff to do as well. And even though I knew it would be unpleasant, it was better than sitting around moping.

He'd been imprisoned, of course. In his own tent, with guards at the door. They were a fairly grim-looking pair, and I was a trace anxious I might have to get somewhat physical to get past them. But although the look they gave me was of the "damned Southern wizard" variety, sour enough to curdle milk, they let me pass without comment. Almost as if-someone-had instructed that my orders were to be obeyed.

Goddammit. Please let him come back alive, and I'll happily be the one doing the bending over thing. And the cock-sucking thing, and-- shut up Keith. Just stop thinking and attend to damage control here.

Of course, as I'd suspected, no one had bothered to tell the kind old Southern Lord just why he'd been imprisoned. He was confused, upset and indignant as hell. It was my task to explain to him not only the fact that his prince was a backstabbing sneaking bottom-crawler, but also that I'd been the one to disclose the plan to the Riders. Not my most comfortable hour of life.

Fox in her cups had been a gossiping dream. She was older than she looked-in her mid-fifties actually-and she remembered Lord Severn and the battle maiden he'd boinked very well indeed. "And wasn't he a sight, all chestnut hair and soft brown eyes! A warrior, too, yet la! Could he play the lute and sing like a darkangel! None of the tribal maidens stood a chance; very surprised we were, when he chose a warlady"

This gave me an unexpected slant on someone I'd considered a very nice but somewhat dotty fellow. It also explained his unusual interest in the moderate-rock stuff I'd been playing down south, the fascination of a fellow musician.

Because I'd not mentioned being a wizard while in the South, oh no. I was strictly a bard-for-hire. The Southern attitude towards wizards was the opposite of the Tribes suspicion, but slanted way in the wrong direction. They welcomed wizards with open arms. And they expected you to use your powers to work for the government.

Severn reacted kind of as I expected, given his personality. Of course he was some surprised to see me here, but he didn't blame me for calling foul on the Prince's scheme. As a matter of fact, the level of his anguish and rage when he realized how he'd been used was so intense that if the good Prince had been within striking distance he would've had to rethink his views on the harmless old coot, just before said coot stabbed him in the brisket.

Then of course Severn fell into depression about what an ass he'd been. Hey, I could identify. And I brought out my secret cure-all; a wineskin full of mixed Blue Death that I'd smuggled under my shirt past the guards.

Not that he needed it as much as I had; he was a fiery drunk, not a weepy one. The more squiffed he got, the more he swore and paced and vowed that he hoped Carson and his troops carved those treacherous dogs into raw spareribs. And wouldn't he just like to be thirty years younger so he could turn coat and carve out some cowardly Southern hearts, wouldn't he just? His only fear now was for his daughter, such a delicate young thing. Probably trembling in fear at being imprisoned. Could I use my kind influence to possibly get her permission to stroll outside, she was not used to being less than free

I jumped, and gulped, and got sober in a damn-fast hurry. I'd been so focused on cheering up Lord Severn I 'd forgot that his daughter was Irenea. The woman bent on landing Carson. With whom I'd had such a less-than-perfect first meeting only three days ago.

I looked around guiltily and sure as shit, there she was. Sitting quietly in a corner of the tent, watching me with an assessing look that seemed pretty similar to what I'd gotten from Do'nar. She must've been sitting there all this time, while I was explaining the bad shit to her dad and then getting the poor old boy totally pie-eyed.

She was dressed in tribal leathers, which suited her way better than the seductive Southern gown. She also was raising an amused eyebrow at me as I dithered to her father that, well, I would try to get her an outdoor pass but I wasn't sure how far my influence went around here

"No need, Lord Wizard. Our thanks for your kindness in bringing this news, but I would prefer to stay and care for my father." The unspoken "especially since you got him three sheets to the wind" hung in the air between us. Then she suddenly laughed and smiled at me in a way that had me getting up and saying my goodbyes in one hell of a hurry.

I approve of strong-willed women in the abstract sense but hey, I didn't need one coming on to me no matter how damn beautiful she was. I already had a strong-willed man in my bed, thank you very much (at least I hoped I did no don't go there Keith). That was all I needed, or wanted.

Day Three and Four were not so productive, though I visited Fox's tent a time or two to gabble with her extensive family. But mostly I sat, and drank, and brooded. I was a snarly, rude bastard to Fox when she brought my meals. Even worse, she appeared to understand and forgive my hateful attitude so damn easily I wanted to strangle her.

I was beginning to freak. It hadn't taken me long. Why hadn't I tried a Charm spell on him, to keep his ass here, or at least to let me go with? But wait, Fox had told me that illusion spells like that didn't work on tribesmen. They had something in the blood that made them immune to such mind-influencing stuff. But Carson was from Earth, like me, even though he'd gone far more native far more quickly. Maybe it would've worked? No; aside from my lack of skill with those foolery spells, it was cheating. Like lying only worse. Kill a relationship.

I was pretty damn squiffed. Deep in the evening of the Fourth Day, sitting staring owlishly at the last tiny dribble of Carson's booze stash. Wondering if maybe tomorrow I could convince Fox to get me some more. Christ, she probably thought I was the world's worst alky. The wind outside the tent was rising; it was gonna rain sometime tonight. I thought of Carse out there somewhere, wet and cold. As alone as I was. Dammit, here I was gonna go sniveling again.

I felt him even before I turned and muzzily focused on his silhouette in the tent opening. It was as if he'd come in on the storm wind. Been standing there watching me for how long?

I don't even remember getting to my feet; good thing, it must've been a sorry spectacle. All my half-assed plans of sussing him out, checking to see how he seemed to feel about me now before making a move-I might as well have not made any friggin' plans.

He smelled like blood and death and lightening. It didn't stop me from plastering myself all over him in a sweet hot second, gabbling like a lunatic and uttering apologies, half-articulate declarations of eternal devotion, other emotional stuff that would've horrified me in a more sober moment.

He gasped a bit when I hit him with all this and once my boozed-up brain realized it I jumped back instantly, appalled. "Shit! You're hurt-I'm sorry, I just--"

"No, not hurt-just, I wasn't expecting- Hawk, I meant to, to clean up a bit first, but I had to-" Christ, when was the last time I heard him stammering like this? "Had to see that you were still here, that you were real, that you weren't still angry with me"

"I'm a damned amusing idiot. I deserve to be laughed at." I was getting less drunk every second. I was getting more-well, you know-every second.

"Keith!" He was gasping again as I went for his throat-I could just reach it, hanging on him as I was-and started biting ravenously. "I'm really filthy-" He was starting to laugh. I loved him laughing. Even if it was at my expense.

"Yeah. You smell like a slaughterhouse. Think I care? Now, goddammit!" I started pulling ineffectually at his leathers. "This offer will probably be repeated in future, but never with the total abandon of this precise moment. So has the Warchief got a brain in his head or what?"

He was really laughing now, that blazing-with-joy, wildfire laughter I'd managed to startle from him maybe once or twice in all the time I'd known him. "The Warchief's brain says go take a bath." His arms were around me, lifting me effortlessly, carrying me to the bed as if he too had wizard-sight to see in the dark. "Fortunately for us both-my brain has little to do with this whatsoever."

His voice had softened to a growl. And then he was on me, mine in the darkness as the storm truly came and howled against the thick fabric of the High King's tent.

We were crazy and ridiculous, clumsy as virgins. Mad for each other, shaking with lust but I was half-drunk and Carson was exhausted.

It was a comedy of errors. When he tumbled me into the furs and began struggling to peel off his leathers, I remembered my little clean-up spell and tried to apply it. I mean, I really *didn't* care how filthy he was at this point, but the damn leathers seemed almost to be sticking to him and I wanted him comfortable.

Being filled almost to my eyeballs with Blue Death, I managed to make a mistake in casting a spell I'd used so often it should have worked perfectly without a thought from me. Oh, I got all the gunk off Carson easily enough, but instead of dissolving into the ether all the mud and blood landed right in the middle of his elaborate carpeting, with a disconsolate "splat!" that after the first astonishment sent us both into near hysterics when we realized what had happened.

Then, recovered from this humorous moment, Carson went off again when he spotted the big pot of what I'd put on the bedside table so temptingly, thinking it was lubricant. Turned out it was some sauce for pastry that Fox had absent-mindedly left in his tent. He produced the real lubricant; I took one sniff and said,

I nearly got my face kissed off for that one, once he came back from nearly passing out. I mean, he laughed so hard I seriously thought he would just keel over and leave me all alone to take care of myself. I hadn't even meant to be funny.

He used it, too, a ton of it, until I felt like a goddamn cinnamon bun. And didn't he just make an art form of prepping and fingering and Jesus, even tonguing me straight up the hind end-I would never have believed I'd let anyone do that in a million years. Showed what I knew; I damn near came right then and there. Never felt anything like that in my life.

I got what I wanted. Getting me ready had turned him on so much he'd forgot he was the least bit tired. And it was a good thing that I was just as hot as he was, all greased up and as relaxed as a noodle from the alcohol intake-well, all but one part of me anyway. Because guess what, friends and neighbors-I was so turned on I totally forgot to throw my little anti-pain protection spell.

My take on pain had changed quite a bit since coming to this reality; I chased monsters for a living, physical abuse was now part of my routine. I wasn't anything like as chickenshit as I'd been in Berkeley where I concocted the spell, purely as a favor to Carson since he wanted to screw me so badly and I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it. But if I hadn't been so forgetful from lust and booze I would have thrown the spell anyway. No point in being hurt if you don't have to, and Carson's, er, attributes were exciting but also mildly scary.

Knowing my take on pain, he of course assumed I had the spell up and running. I was all but chanting, 'C'mon, Carse, want it now, want you in me, hurry up-" quite like a whore but with much more sincerity. So he took me at my word. Suddenly flipped me over, lifted my hips a bit, positioned himself and entered me in one powerful, savage thrust that even though not quite up to the full length of him damn near skewered me.

He might have got a clue when I screamed "JE-zuz CHRIST!" and nearly leaped straight off the bed. He might have backed off, apologized and restarted events with a bit more gentleness, but there was no need-the comedy of errors continued.

Only that one hard stroke. Then I felt him shudder all down the length of his body, heard him choke out "Oh-fuck!" in a startled voice; not a word he uses with the same abandon I do.

And then the marathon-sex champion of the twelve tribes came so hard I felt like I'd been filled with molten lava. Down in one, and after a couple of gasping seconds he pulled out of me with unseemly haste, causing me to yelp with discomfort yet again. He was so humiliated I think he was actually planning to flee the tent, rain or no rain, dressed or undressed. Had to hang onto him like grim death, convince him how damned flattered I was that he wanted me so bad he lost it. Convince him that, no, he hadn't hurt me-well, not that much-and no, he didn't have to apologize a gazillion times.

"Le's get some sleep, Carse, 'kay?" I mumbled. The booze had suddenly hit home, and I was swaying as I sat. "Night's still young. More sex later, right?" I toppled over, face in a fur, and was out like a snuffed candle.

Don't know how long after that I awoke to the pleasant feeling of someone licking my throat gently, a few soft nibbles being thrown in for good measure. A fair amount deeper in the night, I think; I felt warm and rested, a tad drowsy but clear-headed and as comfortable as I'd ever been in my whole life.

"Do you think, wizard," he whispered into my neck, still thrusting against me lazily, "that you're finally sober enough to work your damn spell?"

"Later. Yeah. Gotcher point. Do I ever. Okay, I'm easy. And I even think I'm still all goopy with cinnamon sauce-" I rolled to my stomach drowsily, spread my legs to give him better access.

"The spell. Run it. I-" he hesitated, and to my displeasure the throat-licking and the erotic push of his engorged member against my thigh stalled for a bit. "I want you badly, but I won't hurt you again."

"Okay, okay. But it really didn't hurt much. Not like I expected. More startled me than anything. Run it at half strength. The spell, I mean." I was getting more awake as things grew more interesting, and as I started getting aroused my brain seemed to perk up along with other parts of me. This was a good idea!

a bit-" I turned around, enough to find his face and give him a sloppy kiss. "I wanna feel how fuckin' big you are inside me. Exciting. Kinda miss that feeling with a full protection spell on-"

I felt him shiver; for some reason my innocent statement just fired him up to the max. What had been nudging me gently suddenly throbbed and pushed fiercely against my body, and he moaned softly as he pulled me closer. I tossed up that half-strength spell in a hell of a hurry, thinking he was going to jump me and take me just as violently as the last time.

Of course, he didn't. I'd already gotten kind of a clue as to how considerate he could be, from everything I found out while he was gone. How certain he'd been to make sure I was taken care of, honored, obeyed. It made me feel kind of small and-well, mean-in comparison.

And-cherished. I'd never been so cherished in my life. A life that suddenly struck me as having been pretty lonely and loveless until I found him.

Ah, don't be silly, McIntyre. You had fun, it wasn't so bad. You partied hearty, had lots of friends. Had a few babes, one brief affair with the drummer in your band. You kept your cool and didn't take shit from nobody, not even your parents, tightass religious jerks that they were. Saved a few messed up kids including Carson, gave a few others the gift of knowledge. You did good, all in all. Don't tell me you're gonna be a wimp now and fall in love with your fuck buddy?

He was stroking me so gently, kissing my shoulder. Finally moving to push inside me, very carefully this time, almost reverently. A shudder went through me; not pain this time, oh good God no.

Falling? Oh, falling hard, McIntyre. Jesus-what was-was I crying here? I never cried in my life except when my brother died. Well, drunken blubbering didn't count.

This was real. This was ripped from my soul, and totally silent as pain this beautiful and frightening had to be. Except for one choked sob that I fought down, not wanting to startle him.

He heard it anyway, and paused in the slow, careful thrusting that was filling me with the hot velvet steel of him. "Hawk? Does it hurt? Is something wrong?"

He jerked slightly. I'd never called him by his tribal name before. I'd never deliberately used the language before, pronounced it out instead of letting my tonguestone do the work for me. Na'jah-wolf. Skalna'jah-Nightwolf. Oh, I had asked Fox a thing or two while he was gone.