Isle of The Mighty
By: Nikki Ree and Michel
Oh for a voice like thunder
And a tongue to drown the throat of war
When the senses are shaken
And the soul is driven in madness
Who can stand?
When the souls of the oppressed
Fight in the troubled air that rages
Who can stand?
"I told you this was not going to work, Cian! But you would not heed my word!" The general's voice boomed throughout the enclosed space, bouncing off of the walls and echoing down the corridor. "Now you are up to your neck in Fomorians and their darkness is not one you can ignore!" The man shoved sweat and dirt soaked blonde hair out of his face and behind two leaf-shaped ears, glaring at the Fae before him with startling intensity. "You have ignored my warnings long enough! If you ignore any more of what I tell you, you will loose Tir Na Nog and you will only have yourself to blame for it!"
Cian took a long breath and let it slowly escape from his lips, half of his attention seemed to be elsewhere and not on the General before him. "Fionn, you are jumping to conclusions. Just because Allényë said that he saw a gathering at Balor's palace does not mean that he is readying for war. Besides, do you trust the word of a Leanan? How do you know it is not just another lie?" Cian said, pushing himself away from his chair to stand tall before the Leader of the Fianna.
"I am not saying that I believe whatever it is that half-blood said that he saw, I am just taking the precautions, as you should be doing!"
Cian rolled his eyes once again and threw up his hands. "I cannot believe you are taking this seriously!" He turned then, ignoring the growl that laced Fionn's words.
"I cannot believe that you are not taking this seriously. You saw what Balor and his bastard sibling did to your knight! You know what it is he is capable of and you are continuing to disregard it as if it is nothing!"
Cian twisted around then, ebony black hair settling about his waist like a ripple of shadow clinging to his frame. "Are you questioning my motives?"
"No, you imbecile, I am questioning your judgment! I do not want to see another repeat of Magh Tuiredh! And I know you do not either!" With that said, the blonde warrior turned on his heel and headed for the door.
"Do not walk out on me Fionn Mac Cumhail!" Cian snapped.
"I will not speak another word to you, Cian, until you get your act together!" The Tuatha opened the door and sauntered out, slamming it behind him.
Delbáeth, strawberry blonde and tall, and otherwise impassive took a step to the side as Fionn passed him and slammed the door behind him. The second Tuatha turned a cool blue gaze onto Cian with little more expression at first than the twitch of his brow.
Cian raised one dark eyebrow at Delbáeth and crossed his arms, "are you going to harass me as well?" he asked, leaning against the wall. "Just because a Leanan said that he saw Balor hosting a gathering does not mean that he is rallying for war. It means nothing. Fionn is taking things far too seriously." He said, tipping his head to the side. Gold eyes traveled up the length of the warrior before him and stopped short, resting on the other's dark blue orbs. "Harassing me gets little accomplished."
“Well, then let us get something accomplished.” Delbáeth took a step forward toward Cian, the words simply spoken, and a nonchalant threat as he then turned away himself, ignoring the amber eyes and the words of disregard as he, too, headed toward the door.
"Delbáeth..." Cian whispered, "stop..." The Tuatha paused a moment, before he put his slender hand on the door and pushed it shut, hard. "Stay here a moment..." Fionn was one thing, a gruff swordsman who listened naught to anything that he said, Delbáeth was another thing all together. "Do not leave yet..."
The golden-haired Tuathan noble stared at the hand for a moment, and then his eyes paled slightly the shift in color speaking suspicion. But he didn't back away from Cian. “Now you have my rapt attention. What do you wish to say?” he snapped.
Cian smirked lightly as he backed Delbáeth against the door. "Ah, my cousin. You have never managed the art of reading me well, have you?" The raven-haired fae caught the blonde's wrist and held it against the door, Cian seemingly having a bit more strength than he pretended to. "I want your trust..." he whispered, pressing against him. "I want your beauty, your will...your love..." Cian shivered, "it matters not how you choose to give it to me..."
Delbáeth felt the pressing of hard wood behind his back, his senses keenly aware of the Fae that pressed in on him, though the strength of this lust, and the hand that pinned his own wrist unnerved him slightly. Still, the warrior found little more than annoyance at his cousin's stance against him, and he snorted, twisting his wrist. Then, without warning, he shoved forward, pushing the other away with a strength not as deceptive. His limbs were taut with muscle, hard and sleek and strong against all dreams of fair beings among the mortals that were as ethereal as the wind. The Sidhe folk were powerful, but the Tuatha Dé Danann held an unknown power the lesser Fae could only dream of. They were the gods. The lords of the hidden world. “I give you nothing.” He answered coldly.
Cian held tightly to Delbáeth's wrist as he was so forcefully shoved away, his grace and beauty wavered not. Cian was one of the most beautiful, graceful, and powerful of the Tuatha Dé Danann. His eyes narrowed slightly, lidding golden orbs in a sensual sort of way. "Why do you resist?" he asked, tongue sliding over his lower lip. Cian pressed forward again and caught him there, holding tightly. "I always get what I want, Delbáeth. Always."
“Not always…” The now colorless eyes of Delbáeth held coldly in those of Cian, his gaze frosted, while his body again settled, offering no response. That in itself would be the most efficient way to escape this situation. If he struggled it would insist a tighter hold, and if he gave in, all would be Cian's ultimate triumph. “You will not have a victory if you ignore the warnings of Fionn.”
"Fionn will have much shame then, if he listens to the word of a Leanan..." Cian said, holding tightly to Delbáeth’s wrists. "Would you dare listen to him, over me? Your own cousin?" He seemed hurt for a moment, but that abruptly dispersed moments after it had formed. "Do you not love me cousin?" He smiled but a little. "Your own flesh? Your own blood?" Cian pressed forward again, brushing his hips against that of the warrior's. "Do not deny me...I know you wish it not..."
Delbáeth let their lips linger... Close enough to catch the scent of the other's breath before sharp teeth bit down upon the lip and drew a tangy drop of crimson form the injured skin. “I deny you.... everything.”
A shudder ripped through Cian's frame and he pulled back. "Why?" he asked. "Why do you deny me what you know is mine?" His tongue darted out to lick the stray drop of blood from his cousin's lips. "Why do you deny me?" He seemed to not understand. "What happened to you, Delbáeth? What happened to my sweet cousin? My sweet and beautiful cousin who loved only me?" He purred, his lips lingering just above Delbáeth's. "Have you found another?"
“I have lost...” His eyes fluttered closed, a shiver rippling through his frame though he tried to deny it. “The love in your ignorance…”
"Ignorance?" Cian asked, his breath a ghostly whisper upon his cousin's lips. "You should love only me, no one else..." He shivered but a little and pressed closer, grinding his hips against Delbáeth's groin. "Forget about Fionn, he knows little...and he seems to trust a Leanan Sidhe, one who lives to destroy all that we hold dear..."
“And what has the Sidhe destroyed? He is harmless...” Slender hips twitched sharply against the firmness of his cousin's, his lips grazed over Cian's, his every nerve tingling. Cian knew him entirely too well.
"He is a Leanan..." Cian said, his breath hot against his cousin's pointed ear. "That should be enough." He rocked forward a moment, trembling before him as a shiver slipped down his spine. Ah, Cian did know him well, but Cian also knew himself just as well. He could barely exist in the same space as his cousin, without becoming slightly aroused, if not more so. "Will you still deny me?" he asked again, nimble fingers unbuckling the leather straps of his armor with elegant ease.
Delbáeth leaned back with a release of breath that came as a low-emitted growl from his throat as he tossed himself against the wall, his hands grasping at Cian's sides to drag him to his own body. Their mouths met in a fierce kiss, his hips rising to buck against the hard groin of his cousin. “I deny you respect...” he whispered, and caught the other's lip in a suckle, much more tender than before.
Cian's upper lip curled gently as he let his cousin grip him tightly, grip him hard and yank him forwards into his embrace. He let only a small sigh escape from his lips as he brushed harder against his cousin's hips. The Tuatha's slender fingers curled into the long strawberry blonde hair and held it tightly, his mouth suckling hard at Delbáeth's, tasting him. "Deny me nothing..." he whispered, "and I shall give you everything..."
“What have you to give...?” the fair Tuatha breathed heavily against the lips, a moan still edging his throat.
"Everything that I am..." Cian whispered, "I'll give you everything I am..." He shivered just a bit and slipped his tongue up the side of his pointed ear. He tangled his fingers deeper into the other's soft blonde hair and dropped the metal breastplate very unceremoniously onto the ground. Cian pressed himself against Delbáeth then, another purr slipping from his lips. "Give me what I want, cousin..."
Delbáeth arched his hips, one leg curling lightly around his cousin's to keep their bodies tightly together, as his lips rose to Cian's temple... and then his head dropped to make another bite at the lobe of his ear. “Give me a reason I can believe.”
"I love you..." Cian whispered, slipping to rest between his cousin's thighs. His slender fingers curled about a lock of Delbáeth's strawberry blonde hair and he brought it to his lips. "Is that reason enough?" Cian could seduce as well as fight the glorious battle, thus was the reason he was in high command of the land of Tir Na Nog. The Tuatha trembled but a little at his cousin's gentle arch of his hips, his own moving back against Delbáeth's without his permission.
Without warning, the warrior thrust his hips hard to distract, caught Cian's leg, and pulled the other Tuatha off his feet, taking a step back as Cian landed on his rump. “No, it is not.” Delbáeth paced to the door, and nodded simply toward his cousin. “If you change your mind, you will know where to find me.”
Cian blinked amber eyes, shocked for the better part of the moment. It had been a very long time since someone had refused him in such a way and Cian, for one, did not like it. "Bastard son of Balor..." he snapped, as he pushed himself to his feet and jumped for the door. "How dare you deny me, Delbáeth!"
The strawberry blond noble walked calmly with long strides down the organic corridor, though his feet were soundless on the stone. “When my lord presents a more tempting and believable offer, then I may see to consent to him. You have your harem. Use them wisely.” He answered sharply. “We must prepare for war, and I have no time to waste.”
The Lord of the Tuatha seethed quietly as he watched his cousin retreat down the corridor and away from him. "Unseelie son of a whore." Cian snarled as he retreated back into his chambers to devise a new way to entice his cousin. The challenge had been issued and Cian was not one to take such things lightly.
* * *
Morgan sidestepped away from the lunge his opponent drove towards him. His lone sapphire eye watched the dark-haired Sidhe before him. Though, Søren Excalius was silent and had little standing political status, he was not one to ignore. Aside from being perfect in every possible way, slender and striking in his looks, he had little difference to Morgan. What the redheaded Sidhe lacked in beauty, he made up for in dexterity. Morgan had the ability to move, to bend in impossible ways to avoid other's swords. He was a master swordsman. His movement was his perfection. Outside of the realm of knights and swords, he was quiet and subdued, as he had reason to be. Morgan had been kidnapped and tortured at the hands of Balor and his brother Avoron so badly that the knights that had rescued him barely recognized him. The Sidhe whipped his head around and leveled one eye on his foe, twisting under Søren's sword as he darted away. Sweat soaked red hair settling just below his chin. "Is that all you have?"
From the side, Alléynë stood, leaning back against a column, his body half-covered by shadows as he watched with interest, though the purpose of his interest was indefinable as to whether or not it was Søren who took his interest in his sparring, or the redhead who fought him. Scars marred the sharp cheeks of the fiery Sidhe. Morgan circled with Søren, as sweat dripped to the floor, the scent sweet and unpleasant at once to the blood of both sides that rested in Alléynë's veins. His eyes flicked to Søren once again, and his lips curved down slightly. He was an elegant lord, and fair as the morning of spring thaw... but the expression did not suit his fine features but to mar them like a bruise would on pale skin.
A shiver suddenly wracked straight through Søren's entire frame, catching him off balance, Morgan's sword nearly cleaving him in half as he darted away. Alléynë was watching him again, those piercing eyes barring down deep into his soul. It burned like wild fire and made it suddenly difficult for Søren to concentrate on the spar.
The sidhe shook his dark head and waved a hand at Morgan, who lowered his weapon slowly. "I...stop. I cannot concentrate..." Søren sighed, as he could never decide whether he hated Alléynë or whether he loved him. The Leanan was the keeper of a secret, his secret, a secret that could destroy him and thus, because of that...Alléynë owned him. Mind. Body. Soul. He owned him.
Alléynë made his presence known to Morgan calmly, even with the faintest of smiles as he stepped forward and laid a hand on Søren's shoulder. “Oh do keep going. There is no need to stop of my account. I do so love to watch you fight. It... inspires the imagination. After all...” He slipped past, trickling fingers along bare skin of Søren's neck with the power to energize him that would tingle through his every fiber though the touch was simple enough. “It is an art, is it not?”
Another shiver slipped up Søren's spine and he let out a small whimper, one of Alléynë's favorite sounds. His cheeks flushed slightly and he hesitantly caught Alléynë's wrist with his hand. "Why do you torture me so?" he whispered, voice loud enough for only the Leanan to hear. Alléynë had such power over his being, he could make him love him one moment and hate him the next, which he often did.
Without a word, Morgan's lone crystal blue eye narrowed at the sight before him and he flipped a dagger into his hand, whipping it through the air and quickly past Alléynë. This earned a raised eyebrow from the dark-haired Leanan, but then he turned his gaze back to that of his personal servant... although Søren was a warrior, and not a chamber man. Though he owned several talents in that arena as well. His best was, of course, that he obeyed his master's will. But Alléynë did not often dominate him. There was no need to. “Do you perceive that I am torturing you?” He asked in turn, keeping his voice low enough that only the half blood could hear, as he brushed fingertips along Søren’s wrist. Without waiting for an answer, Alléynë, cast his visage over the redhead with derision again plain in the unpleasant turn of his lips. “And how fare you, Morgan of Danann?”
Morgan flipped a lock of sweat-soaked hair behind one slashed leaf-shaped ear and he growled. "I fare well," he replied. Though, it seemed that Morgan was having quite a rough time keeping things pleasant between himself and that of Alléynë. He loathed him and he did so with every fiber of his being. The redhead was not entirely sure why he hated him, only that there was something that did not settle quite right with him.
Søren's emerald eyes lidded as tipped his head away from his Lord. Alléynë did not torture him physically, not the same way that Balor and his brother had tortured Morgan, but he was still not free. The Leanan could do as he wished with him, and Søren would not fight it.
“I am glad to hear it…” The Leanan answered simply. He could veritably smell, of course, the distaste for his company that Morgan felt for him, and while it did not please Alléynë, neither did it disturb him. “Søren.” He began again, turning. “I require your presence.”
Morgan watched as a shudder wracked through Søren's frame again and as the Sidhe before him turned to go, the redhead caught his wrist in his hand. "Do not leave."
Søren tipped his head towards Morgan and then he turned away, tugging at his wrist. "You understand not. Let go." The Sidhe’s long dark locks tangled down his back and over his shoulder, brushing across Morgan's cheek.
"Søren. Do not let him control you..."
Søren smiled then, a bitter smile that brought sadness to his eyes. "Why? You let Cian control you." And with that, he yanked his wrist out of Morgan's hand.
Alléynë just smiled, his dark eyes watching in amusement, as he then gathered his arm around Søren's waist lightly and gestured for his servant to come with a mere hand at his hip. Upon touching the doorway, he turned, and his admonition was simple. “You see, Morgan. Søren does nothing that he does not do willingly. What binds him here is in his own heart and it does not concern you. And Morgan,” He started, meeting the scarred Sidhe’s fiery blue gaze. “I would suggest that you mind to your own affairs. If you touch him again, I shall personally kill you.” His cloak shimmered iridescent color behind his heels like silk shimmering around the Leanan's body as he led Søren away.
A shaky breath escaped from Søren's lips. This was one of those moments where he could not decide whether he hated the Leanan or whether he loved him. His presence was dominating and managed to make Søren lose his concentration every time. Slender ivory fingers curled down into the cloak that wrapped itself about Alléynë's body. Then Søren watched as Morgan smiled behind him, a smile that touched his eyes and made the half-Fomorion wonder if his friend knew more than he was telling.
"Alléynë..." he heard the House Danann Sidhe say behind him. "You are more than welcomed to kill me, however, I shall have cut you down before you can get close enough..."
Alléynë laughed, a bright sound with dark humor behind it, as roiling with threat as the legend of beauty about his clan of the Leanan Sidhe. His fingers trailed down Søren's hip as he led him away. Eventually stone gave way to wood, and earthen carvings of vines in ornate words studded with rubies and his doors had etchings inlaid with gold. This was his chamber, a cool room sparsely decorated. His bed stretched out, adorned in velvet linings of midnight blue and black, tipped in silver. They were the colors of the night, pale and appropriate.
Emerald eyes were lidded still and the half-Fomorian's head tipped to rest gently against the shoulder of the Leanan Sidhe, his fight gone and his will lacking. It was as if he had been drugged and it was always the same. Soon, Alléynë would slip close, touch him and ignite a fire inside of him. Søren knew that it had something to do with the nature of Alléynë and his clan, but it was not his place to ask. He took a long breath and leaned up against the wooden door, a blush spreading over his cheeks. Where ever did Alléynë get this sort of power? Søren reached for him. And why was that power so strong?
Alléynë nodded toward the tub in the corner, half-hidden by a thin veil mesh of silk as his skillful fingers unclasped his cloak and it pooled at his feet. His eyes of dark brown beheld the shining emeralds glinting under heavy black lashes. Søren was entirely too striking, though he did not carry his beauty well. He was not a noble, merely a half-blooded Fomorian child. Alléynë had done him a kindness in allowing him to learn from him, but there was a price paid. The pale limbs, the slender hips. Every muscle and inch of skin from toes to the tips of leaf-shaped ears belonged to him. He was possessive by nature of what was his. He slipped forward to the arms that beckoned him, backing Søren against the wall as full lips grazed over Søren's eyelids in a parody of tenderness. His hips pinned firmly against his charge's, as he pressed his chest to the leaner one, and his lips brushed the corners of Søren's mouth. “Would you hide your tongue from me? The taste beyond these lips?” It was a demand, whispered under a breath.
If being the property of one Leanan Sidhe bothered Søren, he never mentioned it nor did he ever fight against it. He could not decide whether he loved the other or whether he hated him and he was always in a rift between the two. The Sidhe let him touch, as he never allowed any other, his hips brushing forwards against his Lord's. "I deny you nothing..." he whispered, his lips parting to allow Alléynë to do as he liked with him. Slender fingers caught the velvet fabric of his master's tunic and tangled nicely there. The fire was lit and Alléynë was the only thing that mattered to Søren.
The Leanan began undoing Søren's clothing, peeling away cloth from glistening skin, as he covered the tempting lips with his own and hungrily partook of what lay beyond them, all while savoring the taste. He pulled away then, his nose twitching. “You must bathe. You reek of the Danann and I share my bed with none of his kind.” With that, he abandoned the trembling charge, removing the sapphire clip that held back his hair. Long ringlets curled loosely, the shade of dark that absorbed color and light instead of reflecting it.
Søren trembled softly, his fingers trying to catch in the blue fabric of Alléynë's cloak to hold him there, to keep him from escaping. He tipped his head back against the door and gulped a moment, breathing hard, panting as his emerald eyes lidded once more. "Alléynë..." he whispered, his head tipping to the side. "Please...do not leave me this way. I beg of you..."
“Patience my bird,” Alléynë's lips turned in a pleasant smile to grace his fair features. He cast his hand, and closed his eyes, dreaming the wildest imagination to conjure the art that he could. The room shifted around him. The sound of trickling water filled the bronze tub, the steam curling with the scent of spices from the surface of the waters.
Beside were candle stands that moved and twisted as if alive, tossing flames to one another until all of the wicks were lit, then they settled into the shape of vines. Then the air settled, the magic dispersing into nothingness and leaving a hole where the energy had been inside the Leanan. Still, the moment of artistic liberty was something he had been experimenting with, after having used the traditional methods of inspiration through a mortal for centuries. He disliked his dependence on the mortals, and so he had devised the art of temporarily creating arts of his own. However, they could only last for a matter of hours, before dissipating into dust. And after such a splurge of power, he would need the energy from another.
Predatory eyes glinted darkly toward Søren. “Come, my little bird...”
The Sidhe nodded slowly at his master, watching the world move and twist into something else entirely right before his eyes. He knew Alléynë had power, but he knew not that he had this much of it. His legs seemed to move on their own accord and he followed behind the Leanan, his long locks of dark hair sticking to his back from the sweat. Annwn's dark underworld, he wanted him. He wanted him so badly he could barely think of anything else.
At that moment he cared not whether he was Alléynë's lover or his bed slave, he just needed to have him, in the same way he needed to breathe. Alléynë had the power to make Søren bleed for him, lie for him, inspire him and die for him and for once Søren cared not.
Alléynë grasped Søren's wrists, weaving his unsung sort of magic as he circled him, his hands moving deftly to undo a belt... and the peel away layers of armor and clothing. Fine maille and velvets hit the stones until both stood naked, and the Leanan stepped into the tub of scented water.
He drew Søren past the veils that half-cloaked them from the swimming lights of candles and down into the tub over him. His hands cupped down Søren's backside, tucking it tightly to his body as he settled between parted knees and a hand thrust the back of his slave's neck to fuse their mouths together in a kiss of unbridled lust.
Any other night, he would have tossed Søren upon the bed and had taken him there, but this night he felt patience... patience enough to snare his loyalties forever.
Søren fought him not; as he never had the will to fight him, never had the want to push him away. He stumbled once as he stepped into the tub, his emerald eyes lidded and glazed over with lust for his Lord. The dark-haired Sidhe trembled slowly, his arms wrapping about Alléynë's neck, fingers tangling deep into the other's midnight black hair as he kissed him hard and deep. His lips parted and his eyes slipped shut as he surrendered completely and utterly to his master. Søren's thighs closed about Alléynë's hips and held him there, unwilling to let him move away from him. He quivered again, his nails dragging down the Leanan's back, leaving red streaks across pale flesh.
Alléynë growled low in anger, pulling the hands up that bit into his flesh to his own. He parted the kiss to suckle at the fingers, biting at the sharp nails of Søren. He lift his mouth for another heavy kiss, thrusting his tongue deep to explore and invade every corner of Søren's mouth. He suckled at it, pulling the other's tongue into his own mouth and then biting down lightly upon it. His hands released the long fingers, tracking up the halfblooded slave's chest. Still, greedy in his insatiable hunger of the soul, he breathed out into the kiss, letting his inspiration flow into the mind of the young soldier. Do as you will... Anything you wish to me. Come... I hunger for your strength...
Søren tangled his fingers with that of his Lord's, holding tightly as he arched his hips up, his soul tangled in the spell that the Leanan was weaving around him. He squeezed Alléynë tighter with his thighs, his fingers tangling deeper into the long locks of ebon black hair, his fingers toying with the pale skin at the back of his neck. "Ah! Allëy-né.." the cry slipped from his lips and echoed off of the walls, his own dark hair wet with sweat and the hot water from the tub.
Søren let the other kiss him again, hard and hot. He tipped his head and slipped his tongue into the mouth of his master, his hands slipping back down his back as he bucked his hips harder, his desire so painfully obvious. Take what you will... his mind whispered. I am yours and what is mine is yours if you wish it. I deny you nothing. I hold nothing back from you... he whispered, his aura spilling blue as he let Alléynë take whatever it was he wanted from him. Søren twisted his hips, pulling him closer. Even as his flesh brushed against that of his master's it still was not close enough. Not close enough for Søren.
Alléynë laughed inward, a hiss of breath amongst the steam, as he felt the energy slip into the air, winding into his weary mind, and recharging what was spent in his efforts of moments ago more than tenfold. He submitted to letting Søren kiss him, grinding his hips upward against hot flesh between slender thighs. Come, you want me... you want me... He bit down into Søren's shoulder, his fingers tracing energy down his spine, winding around him, before his fingernails bit into Søren's buttocks, dragging him down tightly onto his lap. Fingers invaded the ring of muscle, met with fresh heat. There is nothing hidden from me of you... Is this what you desire? He slipped two fingers deep inside, and kissed him again, bruising his lips.
Søren jerked and moved his hips, his breath coming in short pants as he twisted his fingers tighter into Alléynë's long ebony locks, moving ever closer. The fingers of his other hand spread over his cheek and down his neck, a gasp leaving his lips as he felt the Leanan bite down into the flesh of his shoulder. Green eyes widened for a moment, before they lidded again and he allowed Alléynë to drag him down onto his lap, his thighs tightening back around him. The Sidhe clung to his master; shaky breath moving in and out of his lips was followed by an estranged yelp as he felt Alléynë's fingers slip inside of him. The Leanan could twist him and bend him in whatever way he wished and Søren would not stop him. He parted his lips to allow him passage inside of his mouth, and he kissed him hot and hard, bruising already swollen lips. He loved him. He could deny it no longer, he loved him more than he loved any other and he cared not if Alléynë used him or abused him, only that he keep him. Forever.
Alléynë slid down to lay back, the hot water steaming through his curls that floated like dark snakes around their bodies and clung to skin. Fingers dug into his neck, twisting at his scalp, but he would allow Søren this much. He kissed him, the kisses dampening lips until his tongue caught a droplet off of his servant's lip as he never wavered, teasing, twining tongues, and then sucking his jaw. His fingers twisted and curled inside, digging nails into the flesh inside just enough to hurt a little, to steal Søren's mind away as his other hand grasped a thigh and dragged it over him, and then suddenly the fingers disappeared and the iron-hard heat of his shaft replaced them, thrusting deep into the sweet channel of his body. Physical ecstasy mingled with the energy he drew, and then it was briefly cut short. A low groan rippled through his throat as he thrust again. I am yours this night little bird, as you are mine.
“Cry for me...” he whispered, twisting his hips down and back in a painfully slow rhythm.
The slender Sidhe soldier whimpered as his master's fingers left his insides and he tipped his head back, his throat barred for his love to do as he wished. Søren reached forward and clung to Alléynë's frame, his fingers tangling back into the long locks of black hair. He rocked forward and then yelped loudly as he was entered, his whole body quivering atop the Leanan's lap. His slender fingers tangled deeper into his hair, toying idly with the soft strands as his mind went completely blank. "Ahhh!! Allëy-né!!" He moaned, swollen lips parting. He could not stop himself from trembling and he released a silent scream as Alléynë twisted his hips and thrust up slowly inside of him. Søren panted, he was so hot and so sensitive he could hardly stand it. Am yours...to do..as you...wish...
Alléynë thrust again, the cry inspiring to him as his own fingers caught the long damp hair of his striking companion. He could feel pleasure, delight, heat. It was a fever to Søren... he would hopefully not thoroughly exhaust all of his energy in this, but if so, pity.
Alléynë rocked up, suckling harshly at the throat exposed to him as his fingers bit nails up and down, razing and stroking. Slowly, he closed his eyes, and panted for breath, falling to a quick rhythm as the physical pleasure soon began to overcome the rest.
Søren panted harder, trembling constantly now as he rocked forward and backward on his lover's lap. "Mmmm..." he whined, holding tightly to Alléynë's frame, his fingers curling and nestling nicely into his hair. He gripped him hard with his inner muscles, gripping and releasing as he moved in and out of him. "Alléynë...I...I cannot..." he whispered hotly against his ear. "You are...far too much..." He threw his head back then and whimpered slowly, emerald eyes still lidded. "I...I love you..." Søren said, as he gripped him hard, finally releasing.
Alléynë had a moment of vulnerability, in which all his own wild passion exploded around him in a burst of a yell of delighted release, then his fingers deepened their grip in Søren's hips, then he slumped back, trembling as he came off the climactic sensation, his heart pounding. His eyes remained open though, and upon his young slave, as he swathed him in his arms and a sense of warmth that soon faded. Around them, the incense drifted away. The candles snuffed out and slowly each of the vine-like candlesticks unraveled to dust, and then to nothing, plunging the room into darkness. As quickly as the dream had begun, it vanished and the Leanan pushed Søren from his body, rising from the rapidly cooling water as it began to vaporize.
Søren panted hard as he lay there in the tub, his lidded emerald eyes watching his master as he departed. He pushed himself to a sitting position and trembled slowly, "Alléynë..." he whispered, catching his wrist in his hand. "Please... do not leave." He brushed the damp hair away from his face and shivered just a little. "Stay..."
Alléynë stared down without expression at the hand that snatched his, and then grasped it in turn, pulling Søren out of the tub to drip a trail of water behind him as he tugged him toward the bed, and then slipped an arm under the halfblooded Fomorian’s knees, lifting the soldier as though he weighed little to lay him on the cushions atop dark velvet.
A noise slipped past Søren's lips as his lover took him into his arms. Perhaps Alléynë did feel something for him, if only a little bit. "Do I meet your approval now?" he asked, his fingers playing with a lock of the Leanan's hair.
The Leanan kissed him fully, softly in comparison to before. “You have met my approval this night. You may rest here,” he whispered against his lips. Then, without warning, he kissed him one last time, fingertips tracing softly along the half-Fomorian's cheek. Søren nodded and curled up in his master's blankets, making a noise as Alléynë kissed him suddenly. He trembled as suckled on his bottom lip... And all too quickly, Søren's master withdrew again and drifted fingertips across his eyelids. “Now... sleep.”
Søren nodded and let his eyes drift to a close, exhausted from such coupling.
The fair Leanan Sidhe’s lips turned in a shadow of a smile, as he twined his fingers through Søren's dark hair, and then brushed a kiss over his servant's forehead, his senses well and alive after the energy taken. It would last him some time unless he were to expend in the crafting of one solid object of art from his mind. Søren held much strength, much more than the soldier knew, and it had proved useful. Tonight he had managed to make something last nearly indefinitely, until he had been caught by the pleasures of passion and had shattered his own illusion.
There would be time. For tonight, he would roam, and seek a lover among the mortal. He would lay with him and speak with him. The bright soul would forget all of it, save the image of beauty.
His lips withdrew from the smooth plane of his servant's forehead, and a tendril of sentiment tugged at him for a moment. In a way, he was terribly fond of the fragile wallflower that was Søren. Perhaps he would render Søren in the mind of another.... or perhaps take a walk along the moors. Thinking on these things and gathering his finest fabrics around him, he departed.
Alléynë had left a foul taste in Morgan's mouth and the Sidhe wanted nothing more than to forget about him. He could not understand why Søren was so attached to him; perhaps it was because he was Leanan. There was something about the Leanan, which drew mortals, and even other Fae to them and Morgan was determined to find out what that was. "Hey! Morgan!" The Sidhe spun around and narrowed an eye at the figure heading towards him. "Care to share a drink with me? Perhaps grant me the honor of a tryst later?"
The redhead rolled his eye at the silver-headed Sidhe. "Adonis. I shall honor your request for a drink, but you can keep your hands to yourself."
“Morgan.” The voice rang clear and smooth, echoing off the hallway as the Tuathan noble Delbáeth closed the space between them. "Have you seen Alléynë?"
Morgan tipped his head up sharply, his crystal eye landing on the golden curls of the Tuathan general, Cian's cousin. A blush spread over his cheeks and his mind went blank for a moment. "Alléynë?" he asked, shaking his head a moment. "Yes, I did see him. He seduced Søren and took him to only Annwn knows where." He shivered a little as he knew he was being watched. "Why... are you looking for him, my lord?"
Delbáeth's eyes seemed to sparkle with mirth as he watch the faint blush that colored Morgan's face. “Ah...” His sigh was less patient than annoyed. “I need him to...” He hesitated, and then tipped his head. “How well is your watch of Balor?”
The name of the dreaded Fomorian hit Morgan like a kick to the stomach and he jerked a little in the opposite direction. "He is rallying for war." The redhead said, as he gripped his left arm tightly with his right hand. Balor and his brother Avoron had done such horrible things to him, from torture to rape and back again. But that was not what hurt most of all, what hurt more than anything was the fact that Cian seemed to care little about it at all.
As blood dripped down his arm to splash upon the ground, Morgan came back to his senses. "He and his brother do the deeds that they do to see if they can succeed in making Cian squirm. When he does not, it only angers them more."
Delbáeth's attention shifted, his eyes shifting dark blue from their pale seriousness to a milder color. His hand reached out to lay upon Morgan's shoulder. “I see...” It was a gentle touch, perhaps one of very few that the redhead had received in his time. He had been there on the battlefield the day that the valiant warrior had lost his eye. Even those of the higher immortals, to whom the Sidhe were children, could not heal the wounds inflicted on his body. “Then Alléynë does not lie?” His tongue lilted the words as he withdrew his hand.
"I know not what Alléynë has told Cian or Fionn for that matter. I only know that he is rallying for war, along with his brother. They want Tir Na NOg and they want Cian to suffer, if only because they wish it." He trembled a little, the lock of his red hair falling back over his useless eye. "I trust Alléynë not, for he has his own motives, though what they are I cannot say." Morgan wrenched away from Delbáeth then, not of his own accord and sucked in a breath through his teeth, gripping his back with his hand. He trembled slowly, his knees nearly giving out. It hurt, Annwn did it hurt, and it only hurt in front of the Tuatha. He knew why though, he knew. Morgan coughed hard. "Hurts..."
Delbáeth backed away, instinct drawing him forward, but understanding giving Morgan merciful space though his brow furrowed. “Thank thee Morgan...” He said softer, and cast a glance over Adonis, and then the general backed away. Cian did not particularly care. The personal pains of the Sidhe were not the concern of the higher folk as was their safety and overall well-being. Still, Morgan's plight deserved some compassion.
Morgan panted heavily as the burning pain slowly ebbed away and he turned about to face the Tuatha before him and finally their gazes met. The marred flesh and missing pieces vanished for but a moment and a shock of two very blue crystal eyes peered deep into the depths Delbáeth's soul. He trembled a little as he pulled himself to his feet, autumn red hair licking at his thighs. "I think..." he started, "I am all right."
Delbáeth's face paled, as he met the blue gaze... that bored into him, shining like a gleaming light of recognition from the sense of something stronger, far stronger than the Sidhe. A familiarity that rung around him as he too stared into the soul past the marred body that was its prison. He is Tuatha!
Morgan took a long breath and shook his head, the image vanishing before Cian's cousin as quickly as it had come. "Mmm...I am sorry to have troubled you, my lord..." The redhead said, "I shall take my leave..."
“Wait.” Delbáeth's hand reached toward Morgan's arm to catch his wrist lightly, with steps closer. Blue eyes met blue again, intent, seeking and searching, to catch sight of what he saw again. The scars melted away to a fair likeness of nobility unmistakable. “Who are you?” He spoke under his breath
"What do you mean?" Morgan asked softly. "You know who I am, my lord." Though that was not the answer that Delbáeth heard from the lips of the Fae before him. I am Nemainé, son of the Morrigan and Alessandré the Fair. It seemed that Morgan knew not who he was or what he was rather, only his soul knew that and it had been waiting for ages for someone to ask the right question.
The golden-haired Tuathan general drew a breath, a shiver of realization inching its way along his spine with a soil of the words somehow in his mind. The sense. Nemainé... the lost child... However, one glance toward Adonis shattered the moment enough for him to conceal his surprise. “Yes... Go about your way my son.” His hand was loathe to part from the arm of his kinsman, but nevertheless he withdrew. “You have done well...”