Five stories of paranormal love between the most unlikely partners
This is the fourth peep at the stories in this anthology. On the eve of the final battle between good and evil one angel and one demon would rather make love than war
The first post that gives you a taste of "That's Where He Died" can be found Here The Second, Dance With Me is here Lone Wolf here and Son of Angels here
This is the fifth and final story, which I would like to share with you in its entirety. Please bear with me as these are not the final edited stories and are still slightly rough around the edges
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.
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.
“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.”
“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.
“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?”
“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.