The
Curse
One of the huge
halogen lights had gone out, throwing one side of the chamber into darkness. It
was an old darkness, full of dust and silence. On each side the cold stone
sarcophagi crouched, waiting.
There’d been a
sound. There’d definitely been a sound, soft but distinct. It wouldn’t have
been anyone else from the dig; they wouldn’t come near the place after dark.
They were cautious enough in the day, because of the curse. Grey didn’t believe
in curses. It was superstitious nonsense, but it was all he’d been hearing
since they’d discovered the tomb three days ago.
It was huge,
clearly man made and ancient, lined with niches containing bones. In the center
were three rows of sarcophagi, with five stone coffins in each.
He was
particularly fascinated by one particular sarcophagus, the one in the center of
the middle row, and it was to this he headed, not knowing why.
There was
something tantalisingly beautiful about the serene face carved into the stone
lid, and the jewel bright paintings that chased themselves around the four
sides. They were so realistic they almost seemed to be alive; tiny figures
moving, weaving in an endless dance around the stone figure who lay so cold and
still on the lid.
It had been
impossible to tell whether the figure was supposed to be male or female. It’s
starkly beautiful features were strangely androgynous, and the others had taken
to calling it ‘Princess.” Grey wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t say why, but he had
a strong feeling that the carved figure was male, and that was why he lingered
there after the others had gone, running his fingers over the bumps and curves
of the beautiful face and long hair in its intricate plaits.
He was longing to
open the sarcophagus, to see the body that lay within. It was an irrational desire,
an almost unnatural one, especially as he’d begun to dream and the dreams were
taking a distinctly uncomfortable turn… considering the person, whoever it was,
was long dead.
With a slight
smile, forgetting about the sound he’d heard, if he’d heard anything at all, he
ran his hand over the sleeping face.
“Grey.”
Snatching his hand
away, he looked round. There was no one there. “Who’s there? Who is it?”
“Grey,” came the
whisper again, and he whirled, this time towards the exit. This was getting too
creepy.
“Do not leave me,
Grey. Staaaay with me.”
“What? Who… Who
are you?”
Squinting into the
darkness he could make out a very pale blue light and what seemed to be a
figure moving within. Swallowing, he moved back.
“Do not flee me
Grey. Stay with me. Touch me. I know you want to touch me. I’ve felt your
fingers on my face.”
“What? No.”
Shaking his head, he backed away, his eyes on the figure who’d drifted forward
as he spoke. “Stay away from me.”
The figure stopped
moving, seeming to float in the mist, dreamlike and… Ah fuck, of course. It was
a dream. He’d been having them every night. This was the clearest though. It
explained how he’d suddenly found himself in the chamber with no memory of
having got there. Relief made him weak and he closed his eyes, rubbing them.
“Grey.” Cursing,
he stiffened at the sound of his name whispered in his ear as long, pale arms
encircled him from behind. “Do not fear me,” the voice whispered, from cool
lips that punctuated the words with kisses to his earlobe and down his neck. He
felt his body relax and, when the long, cold fingers stroke his naked chest and
belly, he didn’t pause to wonder how he had become so.
“Beautiful,
human,” the voice purred, while a tongue began to explore the shell of his ear,
nipping gently on the outer rim.
“What do you…” His
words were cut off by the fingers that tugged at his pubic hair, attracting his
attention before they started their exploration of his shaft, which was already
beginning to stand to attention.
With a deep moan,
he relaxed back and rolled his head to find the kiss that was so deep and so
intense he felt as if it was drawing the soul from his body. As one of the
phantom’s hands continued to stroke his cock, the other encircled his throat
and he had a fleeting moment of panic. However, it didn’t squeeze, it merely
tilted back his head for deeper penetration.
The eager lips and
dexterous tongue eagerly swallowed his moans as the hand speeded up and a cool
thumb smeared pre cum over his swollen head. Grey gulped, almost choking as the
nail was drawn across the slit and then gently probed it. It felt as if the
nail was elongating, crawling slowly down inside his cock. The sensation was
strange, uncomfortable but fuck, it turned him on. It turned him on so much
that, before he could say or do anything, the first waves of a powerful orgasm
overtook him and all he could do was grab on to the strong arms that encircled
him and hold on for dear life as he was swept away.
When he opened his
eyes, he was lying in his sleeping bag, shivering and sweating, the inside of
the bag sticky with cum. Quickly he struggled out of the sleeping bag and put
on his underpants. He hurried to the chamber and looked around, but nothing was
out of place. Both lights were working and everything was brightly lit. Making
his way quickly to ‘his’ tomb, he examined it closely. Nothing had changed. He
smiled, still twitching slightly from the orgasm, and let his fingers run over
the cold stone. Damn, I’m even having wet
dreams about you, he thought before he turned and went back to bed.
As he let the tarpaulin fall behind him, to
close out the night, a breath of air stirred within the empty tomb. If Grey had
turned back, had taken one more look at the cold stone face he had stared at for so long, he may well have run screaming
into the night… because the eyes were open.
After going back
to bed Grey tossed restlessly in uneasy dreams until, sometime later, he woke
suddenly to see a shadow walk past, between the brightness of the moon and the
wall of his tent, showing clearly through the thin material. Then he heard
music and shivered. It was high and sweet and haunting, sounding something like
pan pipes but less breathy and more flutelike.
For a moment he
lay frozen, his heart hammering in his chest. What the hell…? Memories of the
earlier dream still lingered, making him feel strange and on edge. He sat up
and listened. There was certainly music coming from somewhere and he was pretty
sure that no one was playing it on an MP3 or iPod. Someone was actually playing
an instrument.
Intrigued, he
climbed out of his sleeping bag and pulled on a pair of jeans. Outside, the
night was cold and clear. The moon hung low and full, pendulous in a sky full
of stars. Grey had never seen so many stars. He lived in a city and light
pollution meant he saw very few, even when he looked, which wasn’t often.
Blinking, he
looked around. Something, a shadow of something huge, was looming on the
hillside, near the entrance of the tomb. It seemed as if this was where the
music was coming from and, indeed, as he crept closer, he saw the occasional
flash of moonlight hitting something metal. His heart thumping, he drew closer,
and the shadow transformed, not into some huge, misshapen beast, but a tall,
slender figure sitting on a rock, playing an oddly shaped flute.
As he moved
closer, Grey’s foot turned on a stone, sending more skittering away down the
slope he was climbing. The music
stopped, as the figure turned its head, two eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
Both froze for a moment, bound together by the silence, the moonlight, the
moment. Then the figure laughed softly and was gone.
Hearing the
footfalls race away down the hillside, Grey tried to head them off by skirting
the hillock, but, by the time he reached the other side, the figure had melted
into the shadows. Feeling strangely disconcerted, he went back to bed, to
dream, once again of a beautiful face, and lips no longer cold, hands no longer
still and stony.
The next day Grey
couldn’t settle to anything. He was skittish and short tempered and, by mid-afternoon, sick of the dig and everyone on it. Grabbing
a jacket and his wallet he stomped off towards the village and the local pub.
As he walked, he
felt his irritability calm and a strange shiver of excitement shot through him
as he thought of the strange musician. There had been something in that laugh,
soft as it was, that had reached out to him, and made him feel… alive.
After buying a
pint, he sat on a stool at the bar, passing pleasantries with some of the
locals he was coming to know. Feeling he was being watched, he turned and his
eyes caught someone sitting at a table near the window. The sun was shining
through, setting his pale gold hair on fire. It was beautiful hair, a sheet of
silk, almost silvery except where the sun warmed its tones slightly. Grey
barely noticed it. He was caught instead by the large, slanting eyes that
looked dark in the shadow of his face. They were staring at him and a smile
played around the full, pouting lips that held a promise that made him shiver.
The tip of a pink
tongue slid out from between the lips and licked them, then withdrew leaving
the bottom lip trapped to be slowly released, by the pearly white teeth that
remained visible through the slightly parted lips. Bringing up his glass, the
stranger lapped the moisture from its rim, all the while keeping his burning
eyes on, Grey. Tilting the glass he swallowed and Grey watched his adam’s apple
bob as the liquid slid down his throat.
Finding he was
holding his breath, Grey released it in a sigh, as the man laid down his empty
glass and slipped out of his seat. He gave Grey a blinding smile and flicked
his eyes towards the door as he exited through it.
“Who the hell was
that?” Grey gasped to the bartender, who looked in the direction Grey was
staring.
“Who?”
“That man… the one
who just left. He was sitting over there, by the window.”
“Didn’t notice,”
she said, turning away to take an empty glass from the bar. “’twern’t a
local, I don’t think.”
“Thanks,” Grey
said and quickly finished his pint.
He didn’t know why
he was so disappointed when he exited the pub and found the street outside
empty. Who was he fooling? As if someone like that would be interested in…
“Penny for them.”
He jumped and
turned as the man from the bar stepped out from the shadows at the side of the
pub, where he’d been lounging against the wall.
“Um… I… What?”
“Your thoughts,”
he said in a strong Irish accent. “A penny for them.”
“Oh. Right. I… I
was thinking…”
“What the hell
would someone like me be flirting with someone like you for?”
“Uh… well… If you
put it that way…yes.”
The man smiled and
sauntered over, with a cat-like grace. He was tall, taller than Grey by several
inches, but very slim. His hair, shining almost silver in the bright sunlight,
reached to his waist and swung gently as he walked, and those eyes… ah God
those eyes. They’d seemed dark in the shadow of the pub but, out here in the
sunshine, they were much lighter and more vibrant, a shade of deep violet he’d
never seen before. They were so beautiful he couldn’t tear his glance away from
them. The man smiled.
“I said… me name’s
Connaught.” He pronounced it Connor. “I’m pleased to meet ya. And ya can call
me Con.”
Grey realised,
suddenly that Con had been speaking to
him, and that his hand was held out between them. He noticed, as he took it,
that the nails were long and perfect and his skin cold, even in the sun’s heat.
“I… er… pleased to
meet you…er… Con. I… I’m Grey.”
“I know,” Con
said, smiling and giving him that smouldering look. “I’ve been watching you.”
“You have?”
“Yes. I’m not
going to lie, I like what I see and I want to see more.”
“More? More of
what?”
“More of you.” He
moved forward and ran his hands over Grey’s shoulders, while his hypnotic eyes,
held him immobile. Hardly breathing, Grey closed his eyes and let himself be
drawn forward by Con’s hand in the small of his back, jumping when cool lips
met his. He gasped, his lips parting and allowing Con’s tongue to slip past
them and penetrate him deeply. Groaning, he melted into Con’s arms, as those
neat, white teeth he’d seen earlier, nipped at his bottom lip, teasing and
tugging.
“Oh, God,” he
gasped.
“I can assure you your
God has nothing to do with this,” Con purred in his ear. “I want you, take me
somewhere.”
“I… there’s
nowhere… The camp will be crowded they’ll…”
Con was panting,
his face hungry and slightly scary. “Then, come.”
Taking him by the
hand, Con led Grey off the road and into the deep wood that bordered it. Sure
footed as a forest deer, Con drew him deeper and deeper into the wood, until he
was lost and getting scared. And then they burst into a clearing, bathed with
sunshine and filled with deep, green grass.
Without preface,
Con whirled and took Grey into his arms, kissing him deeply and fiercely. For a
moment Grey wondered what the hell he was doing, in the middle of a wood with a
stranger, but then he looked up into the deep violet eyes and all thoughts flew
from his mind like butterflies, rising from a flower bed.
Releasing his
mouth, Con trailed kisses down over his jaw to his ear and towards his throat.
Grey moaned and let his head fall to one side, to give Con better access. He
moaned more deeply, when cool hands tugged his tshirt from his jeans and slid
across the hot skin beneath.
“You smell so
good,” Con hissed in his ear and, although Grey thought it was a slightly
strange thing to say, the breath on his ear made him shudder.
It seemed as if
Con’s hands were everywhere, stroking, tugging, touching and, before he knew
it, Grey’s shirt was gone and so was Con’s. Pressed chest to chest, skin to
skin, their bodies moulded together and the evidence of their arousal swelled
between them. Grinding his hips, Con moaned deeply and his hands clawed at
Grey’s back. “It’s been so long, so long,” he moaned.
“What?”
“Lie with me,
Grey,” Con gasped, and Grey found himself sinking into the grass. He lay,
staring at the sun, immobilized with something close to shock, as Con licked
his chest, working his way towards already pebble hard nipples. Taking one
between his finger and thumb and rolling firmly, his teeth caught the other and
tugged, nipping gently. Grey yelped, his back arching sharply.
“Am I hurting
you?” Con gasped against his chest, the vibration of his words sending shivers
through him.
“A little, but
it’s good. Don’t stop.”
He felt Con smile
as his teeth caught his nipple again and tugged harder, making Grey whimper.
Releasing his other nub, Con’s hand moved down, running over his side, to slip
under the waistband of his jeans, running his fingers back and forth around it.
Grey whimpered again. “Please,” he
moaned, “Please.”
Without asking
what he meant, Con tugged at the button of Grey’s jeans, his fingers clumsy
with desire. In the end, Grey reached down and popped it himself, tugging down
the zip. Con stroked his stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers
to tease and tantalise, but not quite touch his pulsing cock, which was
throbbing with the desire to be freed from the confines of cloth.
“Do you want me,
Grey? Tell me; do you want me?”
“Oh God, yes,”
Grey gasped and Con laughed, a somehow familiar sound, as he slid upwards to
capture Grey’s lips, swallowing his moans, as the other hand moved downwards to
capture his cock, through the thin cotton of his underpants. Grey cried out,
raising his hips and Con gripped harder, probing him deeply with his tongue.
“Oh, God,” Grey
gasped “Please, please…”
“Please what,” Con
teased, the silk of his hair tickling Grey’s face and skin. Con lowered his
head again and kissed over Grey’s chest and downwards, pausing to circle his
navel, the tongue dipping in and making Grey squirm.
Following the dark
line of Grey’s treasure trail, Con whispered into his abdomen. “Lift your
hips.” When Grey complied, he tugged down the jeans and underpants, freeing his
cock to bounce up and slap Con on the cheek. Con laughed again, then moaned and
buried his nose deeply in the fur of Grey’s balls. “You smell so good,” he
groaned and began to tug at the loose skin with his teeth. Grey writhed and
lifted his hips, allowing Con to gently suck one of his balls into his mouth,
slowly circling it with his tongue. Grey
bucked and cried out.
Releasing him, Con
turned his attention to Grey’s thick shaft, licking his way up, with agonising
slowness, sucking and nipping and driving Grey half crazy. By the time he
reached the bulbous tip, it was weeping freely, thick pearls of pre cum for Con
to lap at. Con moaned, the vibration
causing more liquid to leak, and he abandoned all attempts at seduction to suck
hungrily.
“Con, if you keep…
I’m going to…”
Grey was almost
distraught when Con withdrew and felt cold as Con’s shadow fell across him, as
he stood.
“Don’t leave me,”
he cried and Con laughed, again the sound strangely familiar.
“Don’t worry, I
have no intention of that. You’re mine now.”
The words sent a
shiver down Grey’s back, but he didn’t care because now Con was naked, having
feverishly torn off his clothes, and his body was the most exquisite Grey had
ever seen. Pale as marble, slender but not skinny, well muscled in its way,
with a cock that stood proud from its nest of silver, thrusting upwards, the
phallus perfect in its aestheticism. God, he wanted to touch it. He reached out
his arms and Con sank into them, lying across him, his skin cool against Grey’s
heat. Groaning, he writhed, their movements synchronised until both were
sweating and moaning and straining.
“Oh God, Con… take
me… take me please.” Grey moaned.
“I already have,”
Con whispered, but the meaning was lost on Grey because, at that moment Con’s
body rose from him for the second time leaving him cold. This time he had no
opportunity to question because Com immediately began to tug off his shoes, and
then his jeans and then his underpants, leaving them both naked. Con knelt
panting between his knees, hot eyes scouring every inch of his body. Gray was
frozen by the moment and, breathing hard, he found himself growing drunk on the
amazing beauty that hovered over him.
There was a
moment, when the sun passed briefly behind a cloud, throwing Con suddenly into
shadow, when a thread of unease crawled in his belly. There was something
familiar… something frightening, about the predatory look in his eyes. But the
moment passed with the cloud and was forgotten when Con’s hands ran slowly up
his thighs, thumbs massaging the highly sensitive skin on the inside, just
below his balls.
Grey moaned and
arched his back as Con’s thumbs inched towards his balls with gut twisting
slowness and he squirmed uncomfortably, every inch of him straining towards
that touch.
Teasing him, with a grin, Con withdrew his hands and
began to let them rove over Grey’s hips and thighs. “Please… please…” Grey
moaned then bucked sharply as one hand dipped between his legs and one long
finger, sliding between his balls, penetrated him with no warning and no
preparation. There was no pain, not as such, a little discomfort maybe, as the
finger pressed deeper until it touched the bundle of nerves deep within that
drew a long, low moan from Grey’s throat. Closing his eyes he threw back his
head and raised his hips as Con slowly finger fucked him, first with one and
then two and then three fingers, penetrating more and more deeply, while his
other hand alternated between massaging his stomach and stroking his shaft.
All sense of
reality slipped away as his breathing quickened and he grew lightheaded with
desire, barely registering when Con slid his hand from him, leaving him feeling
empty and cold. He ran it along the underside of Grey’s thigh then lifted his
leg, to rest on his shoulder. Moving forward, pushing Grey’s knee back towards
his chest, Con pressed his cock against Grey’s hole.
“Are you ready?”
he asked.
“Yes.” Grey could
barely speak. He was feverish with anticipation, his fingers thrusting deep
into the soft, brown earth.
“Will you
surrender to me? Give yourself to me completely?”
“Yes.”
“Your heart? Your soul?” The last word was a breath and,
as Grey cried, “Yes,” Con penetrated him and thrust deeply.
Grey’s hips left
the ground and he screamed. Con laughed and grabbed Grey’s cock letting it
slide through his hands in the same rhythm as his thrusts. Grey threw his head
from side to side, fingers gripping the grass more firmly, tearing it out by
the roots.
It seemed almost
as if his mind had unhinged as it slipped into what surely must be delirium. As
he listened to Con’s moans, it seemed as if there was music, flute music, the
same haunting tune from the night before. And it seemed as if the grass had
disappeared from beneath him and he was lying on cold stone. And it seemed as
if the sun had disappeared, and the forest, and the sounds of life around him,
and all there was was space and coldness and harsh artificial lights. But even
that slipped away, as his body strained towards release and his mind was drawn
into the incredibly intense orgasm that was building in his belly.
“Grey, beautiful
Grey, beautiful foolish human… you are mine, mine… but, ah hell, despite
everything I’ve done to protect my heart, you’ve stolen it away. May the Gods
damn me for it, but I’m yours too.”
The words flowed
over him like a river of gold and were lost in Con’s scream of release, which
catapulted him over the edge into a blinding, gut ripping, ball breaking climax
that sent him spinning to the stars. As he flew he thought he heard Con’s
voice. “I release you, but if you want me, look for me at dawn and I will come.”
As Grey slowly
came down from his orgasm, as his breathing slowed and his senses returned, he
realised that something was very, very wrong. Where was the wood, where was the
grass, where was the sun and, more importantly, where was Con? He opened his
eyes to find that he was lying on the floor of the tomb, between two
sarcophagi. He was fully clothed, and entirely alone. Scrambling to his feet,
he looked down, in horror at the lid of the sarcophagus. His stomach twisted as
he realised why Con’s face had looked so familiar. Very different, animated
with life, and coloured by the incredible violet eyes, it was nevertheless the
same cold stone face he’d been looking at for three days. Now that he thought
about it, he recognised the laugh too, as that of the strange flautist of the
previous night.
What the hell was
going on? What had happened? Had he imagined it? Holding trembling hands in
front of his face he saw there was fresh, soft earth under his fingernails.
Leaving the tomb,
Grey found that it was early evening. The local help had left and most of the
boys had either gone to the pub or were sitting around their campfire,
drinking. They hailed Grey as he passed but, although he waved and smiled, he
ignored them, not wanting company just then.
Climbing up to the
crown of the hill beneath which the burial chamber lay, Grey lay down on the
grass and thought deeply. The course of his thoughts was one he would never
have imagined it could follow. Legend. Superstition. Fable. Faeries. Magic.
He’d believed in none of them but now… And what had Con meant? ‘You’re mine
now… will you give me your… soul?’ Oh God, what had he done? And yet… and yet…
‘I release you.’
Round and round
his thoughts went, until he was almost mad with them. And then…then a strange
calm fell over him. He remembered Con’s eyes, his touch, his skin, his smell
and he knew what he wanted. For the first time in his life he truly knew what
he wanted. He wanted to be cursed.
