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       Isle of The Mighty

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Chapter 2

By: Nikki Ree and Michel

* * *

 

Delbáeth’s feet were silent, but quick down the corridors, until he came to the wide oaken doors to the royal chambers, and there he brushed past the guard, pushing open the doors with a trail of red-gold hair behind him. “Cian, I must have audience with you!”

Cian had been reading one of the older books on the histories surrounding the lands in which they inhabited when Delbáeth burst into his chambers. Amber eyes looked upwards at him and he shifted, an eyebrow rising. "Is there something wrong, cousin?" he asked.  "Have you come to your senses about me?"

“Spare me; what I have to speak to you about is of much greater importance.” Delbáeth paused just inside the doorway, scanning his eyes over the room before he sealed the door behind them.

Cian sighed longly and put the book down onto the table, before he turned his attention back onto Delbáeth.  "What could possibly be more important?" he asked, sarcastically. Though, if his cousin said one more thing about Balor, he was going to lose control of what was left of his even temper. Unless someone else came to him with news about Balor, he was not going to pay it any mind. Listening to the word of an Unseelie Leanan sidhe was like paying attention to the twisted words of a Pooka.

The Tuathan general spoke one word, lilted off his tongue quickly, though it came unexpected. “Nemainé.”

"Nemainé?" Cian asked, blinking amber eyes at him. "What about Nemainé?"

“I believe... I may have found him.” His gaze lifted, though now that the words had been spoken he sensed a warning yet... now was not the time to reveal him. Still, if Nemainé was alive... Alessandré... the fleeting wish passed before his eyes and then vanished as stars under the light of the sun.

Cian rose to his feet then in one movement with all the lethal grace and beauty of the Black Panther. "You believe that you may have found one of the masters of this race?" The High King asked, golden eyes narrowing, smoldering crimson. "You can find him, but no one can seem to locate my bastard brother..."

“I am most certain that he can.” Delbáeth could not pretend that he was not slightly intimidated by the flash of temper that drew the High Lord into a figure both beautiful and terrifying to any mortal or immortal, save for perhaps himself.

"My brother Alessandré has been missing a millennia and not one of you bastard sons of Balor can find him!" Cian shouted, his rage igniting before he could grasp a proper hold on it and settle it down. "But you managed to find Nemainé, the second Master and Arch General of our entire race! What did he do, Delbáeth, fall into your lap?!"

“Do you trust me or do you not!” Delbáeth's eyes flashed bright, as he took a step forward, his voice rising to meet like water against the fire of his cousin's rage. “I would not have come so urgently if it was a child washing blood from his hands by the river!” He took the final step up, within reach of the High King, holding his gaze fiercely. “I would not lie to you.”

Cian growled at him.  "You believe me not when I speak the truth..." he whispered.  "Why in the name of Annwn should I trust you?" The High King of the Tuatha smiled then; he had Delbáeth right where he wanted him. He reached up, his fingers tangling into the strawberry blonde hair of his cousin. "Who then, my beloved, is Nemainé?" His breath was but a ghost on his cousin's lips and his ivory fingers gripped tighter in the red-flecked golden hair, holding him there.

Delbáeth's fair chin tipped high, his throat bared though his collar was high and tipped with threads of gold, but he offered no trace of warmth toward his cousin as the fingers wove their way into his hair and grasped it for pain as quickly as the caresses had been for pleasure. “If this be your mind, the hells of Balor could not make me tell you.”

The Tuatha smiled and loosened his grip but a small bit, his lips touching just under his cousin's jaw. "Why do you deny me?" he asked again.  "Do you not see how much I love you?" Cian tipped his head away then and let a long breath slip from between his ruby lips. "You cannot, can you? I could whisper words of love to you until Tir Na NOg vanishes into the waking world and we are naught but legends told at bedtime, but you will never see it so. I shall have to convince you some other way then..." he whispered, his tongue sliding up to the point of his ear.

Delbáeth made no answer at first, but his eyes closed, his body willfully submitted to the will of the lord of the Tuatha. His lips parted, the sweet taste cloying on his tongue even as he met it to that of his kinsman. His skilled fingers rose, climbing the folds of cloth that shrouded Cian to his shoulder. “Are we not the legends of bedtime already; the dreams that haunt the weak old man on his way to his resting bed?” He whispered, breaking the kiss that left distaste in his mouth in its familiarity. “There is but one way you can prove to me.”

Cian shivered and parted his lips, kissing him harder, hot and long. He tangled his fingers deeper into the locks of strawberry blonde hair, holding tightly, almost afraid that if he released him, he would lose him forever. The High Lord of the Tuatha drank from him as if he were parched and dying of thirst. If his cousin would not trust his word then perhaps he could put his trust in his soul. Inside the will that made him what he was. "How?" he asked.  "How can I prove it to you?"

Breaths came heavier, the muscles in the general's thighs quivering, as the words came slightly huskier. “Mock me not...” He breathed. “Mock not my word, and I will not mock yours. I will find Alessandré...”

Cian slipped his cousin's hand down to rest upon his hips and he brushed closer. "I mock only your word because you see fit to mock mine..." he whispered, his tongue licking gently at his lips. "I love you...but you believe not my word..." Cian pushed closer, backing Delbáeth against the door, holding him there. He shivered as he pinned him, settling gently between his thighs. "Do not deny me..."

The fair-haired warrior's hands rose to the sharp hips of the king, circling them, and then slipping into locks of black that spilled down his shoulders as he drew his cousin to his body willingly, covering the crimson lips with his for a thirsting kiss. Then their lips parted, sweat trickled down Delbáeth’s back beneath his armor, his breath heated as his lips moved, his tongue trailing the edge of an ear. “We shall see..”

Cian trembled in his embrace and loosened his fingers ever so slightly in the locks of long strawberry blonde curls. He pressed closer still, his hips brushing against that of his cousin's as he yearned to be ever closer. Delbáeth was not Alessandré and he did not want him to be. The Tuatha panted softly when his cousin pulled away from him, his lips swollen slightly.

Delbáeth stepped forward, pushing back against his cousin as without a sound other than the audible heavier breaths that filled his lungs, he drew himself down onto the floor and his hands caught Cian's, dragging him down on top of him.

Cian shivered as he was pushed back, his fingers loosening entirely from his hold on his cousin's hair, though Delbáeth surprised him as he pulled him down upon the ground and on top of him. The High King of the Tuatha shivered as he straddled the warrior's groin, his robe hanging off of one ivory shoulder and his ebon hair spilling down his back in waves of black satin. Cian seemed to very vulnerable then; as he was not the terrifying creature he had been moments before. "Del..."

Delbáeth’s fingers lifted to brush over his cousin's lips, his touch gentling as if he had sensed the shift, perhaps uncertainty of how to answer a true consent. Though Cian was unstable and not to be trusted when angered, he had ruled the Sidhe well. Until now. Delbáeth unfastened the robe, smoothing it down off of shoulders and revealing pale skin unaccustomed to the warmth of the sun.  The warrior lifted hands behind his cousin's back to pull his lord down for a kiss. Every touch was a bitter memory. But from the day Alessandré had vanished, and Nemainé was never to be seen again, he had not allowed a tryst between Cian and himself. For a thousand years they had lived suspecting war and dwelling in peace. Now he had found a Tuatha hidden in the broken body of a former slave of Balor. Now things would change. Nay... some things.

Cian hooked his thighs about his cousin's hips and yanked him forward, pulling him down against himself. His fingers tangled into the strawberry blonde curls and he covered Delbáeth’s mouth with his own, hot and hungry for him. Amber eyes fluttered to a close and he trembled, his hips arching and grinding against the warriors. For years he had wanted him and for years the two had danced about the subject, one wanting the other denying. Was this all because of Nemainé? Was this all because one warrior-god had been discovered? Or was it because Delbáeth had truly decided to believe the words that spilled from Cian's mouth.

Delbáeth offered no answer but to answer the kisses with even greater fervor, the passion built of a hundred mortal lifetimes. His hands famed Cian's face, his mouth stealing the breath from both of their chests. His hips met the other's, his hands falling and finger's twining with Cian's as he bucked hard against his cousin, letting his body free to do as it had willed for some time. Sharp tingles of energy sparked, burning through his every vein.  He had wanted this for over a millennia and yet he had always been denied such luxuries from his beloved cousin. He trembled a bit and arched his hips as he felt Delbáeth buck his own against him. "Ahh!" he cried out, feeling no shame in doing so. Cian kissed him hot and hard, hungry for everything that he was. He needed him. Every waking moment of his life had been spent thinking of some way to convince Delbáeth of this. And as his cousin had finally consented, indulging in it was all he could do. "My cousin...I...love you..."

Delbáeth’s lips suckled hungrily at Cian's throat, as he fell back again, his thighs straining to cup around sharp hips, welcoming his cousin against him while his skin burned with the fever of a simple, raw need. Why had he denied them so long? Perhaps it was that Cian was conceited. But this... the general chastised himself inwardly. As much as he needed him... he would never love him. Visions of blue eyes and dark hair spilled before him, as heavy-lidded eyes closed and he let a growl, biting upon Cian's lower lip. Believe I love you... he said in his own mind. Find your pleasure there. And weep not for Alessandré, for your tears would not be half so bitter as mine.

Cian did not know that though, he knew not that his cousin loved him not. That he felt only the desire and not the love that spilled out over the Tuatha's entire being. The High King held him tightly and trembled under his cousin, arching his hips and thrusting up against him. Cian cupped the back of Delbáeth’s neck and pulled him downwards, devouring his mouth with his own, his tongue sliding between his cousin's lips.

Delbáeth moaned, his eyes misting with the storm-like fervor of his kinsman's feeling. “Ah! Cian!" He thrust back, the sharp flash of heat making his every muscle ache for satisfaction

The Tuatha licked over his lips and rubbed his hips harder, moving against him faster, his hands slipping down to unlace the ties that held the warrior's breeches together. "Del..." he whispered, his tongue lapping at his lips, before he covered them with his mouth again. He sat his rear down against Delbáeth’s hardened groin and moved back and forth, his thighs trembling and he pulled back away from his cousin's lips to let a moan slip from his own.

Delbáeth’s head tossed back locks of straight strawberry blond hair cascading across the floor without elegance or reason, like scattered water in a flood as he arched and thrust against the weight pressing down against his groin. His eyes flung open, wide and colorless. The Tuathan lord was offering himself. “Cian...” He repeated, coughing out the word.

A smirk spread upon the lips of the High King and he brushed his fingers across Delbáeth's cheek.  "Do you want me, my cousin?" he asked, his words twisting and his voice dropping low. Cian jerked forward and ground down against his cousin's groin. "Do you want me to have you? Or are you allowing me the pleasure of feeling you deep inside myself?" He panted heavily across his lips and arched upward, gripping him with his thighs. "I want it..." he said without shame. "I want you."

Delbáeth growled, shifting his hips up, his brow glistening as the words sent tremors through him. He panted for breaths, his tongue darting out to dampen his lips. “Do as you will, my cousin. I will keep no pleasure from you...”

The robe of midnight blue slipped from Cian's shoulders and fell about his hips as he moved upward and sat down on his cousin's shaft, allowing it to slip inside of him. He bit back a wince and trembled slowly from head to toe as he thrust down against him. "Ahh!" he cried out, his lips moist as his tongue darted across them. "My love..." he tangled his fingers into Delbáeth's hair and covered his lips with his own, drinking from him, tasting him.

The warrior's hand lifted to the back of Cian's neck, nestling in a fall of silken black hair as he bit back a sound, capturing Cian's mouth deeply, ravaging them and the sweetness that lay beyond them, as he buried himself into the restricting tightness of the muscles that spasmed in the High King's body. Their tongue twined as he lay still, his heart pounding.

Cian moved up and then down again, bouncing on the lap of the warrior Tuatha. He let a moan slip past his lips as he kissed him again, hard and deeply. He couldn't stand it, the friction of moving the way that it felt. "D-Del..." he quivered, trying to hold tightly to him. "I...Del..." he trembled, whimpering but a bit. "Make me feel it...I do not care how!" He moved again, back and forth against him, up and down. Cian tossed his head back and let his lips part, a moan slipping forth from them.

Delbáeth lifted his knees just enough to gain leverage against the floor as he thrust up, finding a quick pace with no true rhythm, imagining behind closed eyes all the images of a fair face as his fingers slipped beneath the fall of dark hair and held Cian's hips hard to his own. The passage was slick with sweat as they moved, the heat of it holding his senses keen to the moment that would be all so fleeting. The pleas were not unheard. Delbáeth's hands lifted to those of his lord, twining as he continued, harder, quicker, gulping breaths erratically.

Cian was far rougher than his brother Alessandré, who was soft and sweet. He was far more primal, even as he possessed a grace that had made him high king of the Tuatha Dé Danann. His youngest brother had the grace to back his beauty, but lacked the drive to be the warrior that Cian could be. The Tuatha whimpered softly as he moved against his cousin's sporadic rhythm, moving up and then sliding back down. "So hard..." he whined slowly, licking his lips. "Ahhh! Del!" he cried out, wrapping his arms around him and clinging to him as he rode his rocking hips hard.

Delbáeth made no sound, offering with each thrust every fiber of his being, every glimpse of strength to satisfy. It was Cian, and there was little denying it. Cian, his lover of a thousand years untouched... Cian, lord of the Tuatha De Dannan, and who knew no fear. He let his body move, carrying them both on the searing edge rapidly toward a climax.

Cian shivered and curled against Delbaeth, whimpering as the other moved in and out of him with help from his own movements. Finally, he had his cousin. Finally, after so much dancing and denying, he had his cousin. But...did he really have him? Was it he that Delbaeth was thinking of as he thrust harder and harder inside of him or was it someone else? Was it Nemainé? Or Alessandré? Cian twisted his hips and moved harder against him, trembling more still. He clamped down around him and let a whimper spill from his lips as he released against him. "Ahh!! Del!"

The damp spill of hot fluid upon Delbáeth’s chest awakened the general from his dreaming to the fire of his own body, searing reality into his conscious mind. His backed arched as he thrust deep once more with a moan, and tipped his head back, yelling aloud as he released hard inside of his cousin, a name caught on a breathless call “Cian!”

Then all fell silent, save for the pounding of blood in the warrior's ears as the fair-haired Tuatha laid his head back on the stones beneath him and gazed up at a ceiling above him. The rafters themselves seemed to move as if alive in his blurred vision. He drew a fresh breath of crisp air into his lungs, and his fingers lifted to stroke gentle trails down Cian's back

"You do not love me..." Cian whispered finally, "do you?" He reached out and brushed his fingers through the silk of his cousin's strawberry blonde hair. He knew that his cousin loved him not, for some reason, deep inside of his mind. He knew. He knew that he loved another.

Delbáeth’s eyes had faded back to their soft dark blue as they gazed upon his cousin, and then the warrior's gaze fell in quiet to the hand that sifted through his hair. “I have given you what I promised,” he whispered, his throat tightening. “I have made tryst with you. Ask no more, for you understand not of what you speak.” His gaze rose to the amber orbs seeking truth from him.

Cian shivered, his question had been avoided, though he knew the answer to it already. He sighed longly and leaned forward to kiss his mouth.  "Find my brother for me, Delbáeth..." he whispered. "Find him...please?"

The golden-haired Tuatha met the kiss with one of his own, but he said no more.