Mostly Lamen
(Closed, Moderated, Unrevealed, Anonymous)
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“I’m going back to bed,” he says loftily. “I was right; you’re absolutely mad.”
“Laurent.”
“I do not recall inviting you to use my given name.”
“Do not be ridiculous—Marquis, you cannot go in there. Please.” Damen cannot touch him, not even to stop him. He can, however, use his body as a blockade. He strides ahead before turning and spreading his arms. The Marquis draws up short.
“You are the one who is being ridiculous,” he informs Damen evenly, as though it is a fact.
“There is—A Man is in the entrance hall.” The Marquis rolls his eyes, but on looking down, the frown descends on his brow once more.
“What have you done?” There is something strange in his voice. “Why are you bleeding?” Damen looks down as well. Indeed, there are ribbons torn into his right leg, flowing lines of red cut along the flesh by the fingers of the ghost. He had not noticed, but the bottom of his shirt is shredded.
He will have to send to Ios for a trunk of clothes. Laundering will not mend this.
“As I have said to you, there was a Man—as there was a Boy, the night before last. He came out of the arched doorway, and clawed at me.”
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a Laurent/Damen gothic romance
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Will breathes hard against his lips for an eternity, familiar and sated, the silence around them unbroken, until—
“I wish this was real.”
James flinches.
“It is,” he promises. “It is real.”
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(My continuation of Dark Heir. Title unrelated, just a boss line from the book. This is therapy for me, please come for the ride.)
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The apple is an easy target. It is gripped by long, thick fingers, and with a practiced twist and an application of strength, splits down the centre in a spray of juice, as though that is simply how apples are supposed to work. The man laughs, a rich and buoyant sound, and flicks an errant chunk of apple from his cheekbone. Each half is still held in a secure, clawed hand.
“Broke that one open for you real quick,” he says, gravelled yet cheery, in rapid Akielon. He then takes a large bite of the apple, still grinning as he chews.
Laurent frowns.
He had begun with strength training videos. He is not entirely sure how he ended up here. The algorithm had seemed well content to show him what he was looking for, up until this fruit-splitting brute.
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When Auguste suggests an Akielon holiday as a break from their Christmas monotony, Laurent is not expecting anything but boredom on a beach. That is, until he meets the fetish video creator who he has been obsessing over for the past few weeks.
Damen is ready for a relaxing Christmas—nothing but sun, sand, and sex. But when he meets an unpredictable Veretian on the beach, he starts to think that maybe a challenge is just what he needs.
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Summary
Will leads them to a sanctuary where they are only themselves: here, they are severed from the collar’s pull. They find it is Sarcean’s former estate, perfectly preserved in time.