Page 82 of Darkness

“No. Kele and I never took that step. I think instinct held both of us back. Some small inkling of all not being as it should’ve been. Besides, bonds are like separate entities. If they don’t want to form, they won’t.” If they do, they’re insistent. Farren stared down at the fingers tangled together in his lap. Kele suggested their bonding several times, but the timing never seemed right. Now Farren had lost his chance forever. If they’d bonded, would he have ceased to exist when Kele disappeared? Who knew what really happened once someone left the plane of the living? Could they have been together forever, like some stories told?

After several moments, Morrisey turned away. “I’m sorry you lost your partner.”

Hadn’t Morrisey been through the same? Here, Farren focused only on his own loss. “And I’m sorry you lost yours. Both of them.”

Morrisey pursed his lips. “Yeah, me too.”

In a sudden flicker of clarity, Farren saw Morrisey as he might have been as a traveler from Domus. He’d not be working class. Oh, no. He’d be Magestra, or dare Farren think, Princeps.

The vision flicked and vanished, like catching a glimpse from the corner of his eye. The pull intensified, greater than anything Farren ever felt, a soul-deep longing emanating from his true self and not his borrowed form.

In his previous realm, Farren would approach. If the object of his desire felt the same, they’d know and could act on their feelings. Likely the reason he hadn’t bonded with Kele. They’d never experienced a wonderful, I-knew-from-the-moment-we-met magnetism.

Like Morrisey inspired.

Absurd! Morrisey wasn’t from Domus. Wasn’t a traveler. How could Farren possibly feel this way about someone not of his species? This wasn't the physical, fleeting human draw he'd grown used to for the last decade, an urge his host knew well.

No, this was something that shouldn't exist in this reality. It scared the hell out of Farren.

Morrisey met Farren’s too-intent gaze, raising a brow. “What?”

“What?” Farren recovered from his tumultuous thoughts. “Sorry. I spaced out there for a moment. Where were we?”

Morrisey lifted his beer bottle in a toast. “To lost loves.”

Farren mimicked the gesture with his wineglass, as ingrained memories said he should, mentally adding, And newfound ones.

Morrisey placed his beer on the coffee table and gently held Farren's face. “You have about two seconds to tell me to stop.”

Farren gulped, struggling to force words out. “Then what?”

“Then this.” Morrisey pressed his chapped lips to Farren’s. Morrisey tasted of beer, sorrow, and home.

Farren opened to him, welcoming the gesture. Flutters began in his stomach and deep in his groin. His cock stiffened.

Morrisey pulled back to speak, remaining close enough for his lips to brush Farren’s. "I gather you don't object."

Farren wove his fingers through the fine strands of Morrisey’s , holding him in place while continuing what Morrisey started. Morrisey parted his lips with a gasp, allowing Farren to take full advantage, caressing Morrisey’s tongue with his own.

There were so many reasons Farren should back away. None of those reasons outflanked the longing.

Morrisey enveloped Farren in a tight embrace, and damn if that didn't feel like the most perfect thing ever, even though the equivalent didn't exist in Domus.

For so long, Farren hung in limbo, trying to always do the right thing, not cast suspicions on his kind, show travelers the good in humans, and show the same to humans about travelers. He’d seen to his body’s needs at someone else’s place or in back alleys or dark corners of clubs. Once in a Toyota's backseat behind a convenience store.

He’d never brought lovers to his rooms, only partly because of the security clearance required to access the sublevels of the building.

None of that mattered as he untangled himself, took Morrisey’s hand, and led him into the bedroom, heart pounding with every footfall. Farren kissed Morrisey once again before stepping away and unbuttoning his shirt, button by button, sliding the soft fabric off with a shrug. He steadied his shaking hands enough to slowly, slowly unzip his pants while toeing off his loafers. How he wanted to rip off his clothes and drop to his knees before Morrisey. Better to avoid misunderstandings. Too many who knew of his secret nature forgot, seeing him as a normal human.

They later averted their eyes at his approach.

Farren wasn’t a normal human. The last thing he wanted was to feel Morrisey’s hands on his skin, kiss the mouth he’d hungered for, then later have Morrisey turn away, unable to deal with Farren’s otherness.

Reject him, or worse—hate him.

The pants joined the shirt on the floor. Farren stepped free of the jockstrap porn told him was sexier than boxers or briefs.

Morrisey whistled his appreciation. “Nice.”

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