dvrkbloomwrites

[dvrkbloomwrites]

Mysteries of the Moonlit Marsh

Author: Vesper Lucien

          The very moment he opens his eyes as he wakes in the middle of the night, Bucky knows that something is wrong. There’s a heaviness in his stomach that tells him he’s been riddled with stones of worry. There’s a sense of urgency to his actions as he gets up and dresses quicker than he ever has before. The wings that rest just beneath his skin writhe anxiously, ready to be released, to aid him in flight. The winds pick up outside his bedroom window, they drown out the sounds of life from the rest of his kin as they, too, ready themselves for a night amongst their kind. A time he usually would be present for, but this night he will have to miss. His heart beats frantically as the call on that disturbing wind wreaks havoc on his ears.

          The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole.

          Such a strange mantra has been plaguing him ever since he was but a fledgling learning to make friends and how to fly. The murmurings dance around him as he wrenches his bedroom door open to flee down the halls of the apartment, if it could be called that. His building looks more like a couple of duplexes have been pushed together instead of the Brownstones where they used to live before his sisters were born. Now they live in a small town on the outskirts of Rockland County that is surrounded on all sides by Fox Forest. Most nights he can hear the fast moving currents of Sweetwater River just below the whispers that sing in his ear. Their taunting song propels him ever forward now, urging him to just get to Steve. There is only one reason he ever feels like this. It always happens when his best friend is extremely sick. They were just together yesterday too, hanging out like boys do, waiting for the summer to roll in and heat up everything it touches. Making it unbearable to wear much more than shorts and a t-shirt.

          “Ma!” Bucky knows he shouldn’t be yelling across apartment but he can’t be bothered to worry about manners now. He’s already rushing out of the front door as he calls back over his shoulder. “Ma, I’m goin’ to see Stevie!”

          The priest’s low-pitched tones are like barely there wisps in Steve’s ears. He can recognize that the man is speaking to him but everything else is muffled, as if he is underwater. The ache in him is bone deep, it seems to radiate from the center of his very being and outward. His back, his chest, his stomach and legs, nothing escapes the pain. Not even his fingertips. He tries to open his eyes but even that is difficult. He can barely scent the priest and the man is standing pretty close to him. He can’t even smell his own mother right now. He remembers her scent though, it usually brings him comfort when he’s feeling antsy and unsettled by being in his own skin. It’s a testament to her nature as a beta. The memories of her releasing the calming aromas of lavender and a hint of eucalyptus make a brief smile grace his lips for but a moment.

          “Almighty God, Holy King, You are a river flowing in a desert and the shadow of a great rock in a sun-scorched land.”

          Steve’s breath hitches as some of what the priest standing over him is saying seeps into his ears. He’s heard these words before, back during that fateful winter of ’28 when he almost didn’t make it. The fever had set into the bedrock of his entire body then, complicating his arrhythmia and his asthma. He remembers the look on Bucky’s face when he saw him that day. The tremble of that bottom lip alone made him want to fight to live even though it was so hard. He feels the same sentiments as his past self in this moment. He’s eighteen now, he never really thought that he would make it this far. To be honest, there was something about Bucky that always made him want to do more than merely survive. Bucky makes him feel like he can do anything. Hell, that he could even fly if he put his mind to it. He wishes he could just tell his best friend how he really feels… but he knows he’ll be yearning for that for however long he has left.

          A brisk chill is creeping into his veins now, it slows his blood to a crawl. He hopes Bucky stays away this time instead of sprinting down the streets to see him as he usually does when he gets like this. The boy has an uncanny sense of knowing when things aren’t quite as they should be. A broken sigh makes his body shudder then. He hopes Bucky will be okay without him, he has to be.

          Bucky races down the street toward Steve’s place. It’s a clear night, no clouds are in sight. His heart thumps wildly against his ribs within the gentle embrace of  his chest. The feeling of those stones in his belly continues to grow, threatening to climb up his throat and settle there until the nausea makes him vomit his worries onto the ground. The winds continue to blow gusts through his hair, messing it up even more than it already is. The bite of the air is cold against his skin, it smells crisp and fresh because of the water in the river nearby. It seemingly takes plugs out of his cheeks as he runs. His feet slap rhythmically on the pavement as he continues his sprint. The moon has settled into the sky already, it shines down on him as he runs until he reaches Steve’s building at last. It’s another one of those oddly shaped tenements but he can’t be bothered to contemplate all of that right now.

          He’s takes the steps two at a time to get to the top floor where Steve lives with his mother. Bucky never understood much of how he and his kin are different to Steve. He just knows that his friend has always smelled good, like the first breeze that blows through town at the beginning of summer. Oppressing and hot to others, but comforting to Bucky. It caressed his skin in a way that always made his wings shift, it made him want to reveal everything about it him to Steve. It smelled like oranges and clove, so intriguing he could have tasted it in the air. The scent of illness poisons the air now though, stripping Steve of that sharp citrus and the spice of those cloves, when he opens the front door. It’s always unlocked for him, he has never questioned that before. He doesn’t even think about it now. The scent of salt cuts through the noxious odor of death making him snap up, looking directly at Sarah. The tears he smells leave tracks on her cheeks. Just seeing her shake her head makes his own expression crumble like rocks underfoot. This— this is something out of his worst nightmares, an image conjured from his greatest fear.

          “No.”

          The word slips from his lips, a mere whisper being carried out on the wind because he left the door wide open. It mixes with the breeze from the open window not far from where Steve is lying down. The fresh air does little to cushion the blow that mortality comes for all that aren’t like him and his kin. He sees a man of the cloth standing over Steve, his Stevie, resting on that old lumpy couch they both loved to hate, and a hand comes up to cover his mouth. He just barely keeps the sob inside his chest, although it begs to be released like his wings. He can’t even speak when the priest nods to him and Sarah before leaving them with their mounting grief. There’s no way this is right. There’s no way he can let this stand.

          His wings, delicate in some places, sharp in others, unfurl from his skin. They gleam in the overhead lights in the living room. He rushes forward, spurred on by the burning behind his eyes. Bucky scoops his friend up, grunting at Steve’s settling weight, and takes off. He jumps through the window, catching that same wind and riding the song that is still taunting him. His wings straighten out before flexing as the currents move with him, like they are supporting his endeavor to right what he believes is a most egregious wrong.

          The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole.

          Bucky’s wings beat frantically against his back as he zips through the air above Fox Forest. The air isn’t thin but he knows he has to hurry. He can feel the tremors wreaking havoc on Steve’s body as he carries him. He feels heavier now. The tears falling from his own eyes are angry, but they get cast off his face with the wind. He has a mission and he can’t falter. The moment he does, he loses his best friend and that just isn’t acceptable. Bucky can’t even imagine a life without him, to do so would be cruel and he refuses to put his heart through that.

          “Bucky?” Steve’s voice is raspy, thick with the sickness that is slowly evolving into something beastly, something horrible. Something that itches to take the most beautiful person he has ever known away. It makes his tears come that much faster. “Where are you taking me?”

          He sniffles harshly. “Someplace special. Don’t worry, Stevie. You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay, you’ll see.”

          “Are those wings?” His voice sounds small but so awed, and enamored in Bucky’s ears. “I must be close then, if I’m really seeing this.”

          “Hush, Stevie. Save your strength.”

          The crisp, cool, air seems to get stronger and infused with something old the closer he gets toward his final destination. The moisture from Sweetwater River rises up to greet him as he crosses over it and into a different, deeper wood. Bucky knows this particular forest has always had a life of its own. The knowledge has been instilled deep into his bones by his mamochka, his babushka, and his bună on his tati’s side. His wings flutter shakily as he comes to the wetlands in the very heart of the wood. The birch and ash trees release a breath when Bucky lands, his feet slipping into murky waters. He rolls his shoulders, his wings shivering before settling back beneath his skin. He can feel eyes on them, watching, waiting. The waters are shallow here and now but all he has to do is wait but a moment. For the moon to reach its highest, for the light to shine just right. The wood welcomes him, yes, but he knows that it’s imperative for him to be careful here.

          As if summoned by his heart’s deepest desire, a beam of light streams down into the marsh. The waters bubble, it’s not quite cold but it isn’t warm in here either. The wind picks up, goosebumps pepper his skin. Steve’s eyes pop open as he shifts in Bucky’s arms then.

          “What’s happening?”

          He sets Steve down, the water rising up to their waists now. It churns in the moonlight, the bubbles popping ominously. “You have to drink.”

          “What? Bucky, I don’t understand.”

          Bucky’s heart drops at the sudden whoosh of the wind through the marsh. The all encompassing silence that follows roars in his ears. His heart races, his hand snaps out to cover Steve’s mouth but the damage is already done. He should have explained, he should have thought this through, but Steve has already said his name out loud.

          “Shit,” he whispers. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

          “Stevie.” His voice is low as he moves in close, gathering the bubbling water and cupping it in his hands. “Please, you have to drink. It’s the only way.”

          “I’m really dying this time, aren’t I.”

          Bucky can’t bear to answer, he can only lift his voice in gentle supplication. “Please.”

          Whatever is was that Steve sees in his eyes just then must have been enough because not a second later, he places his lips on Bucky’s skin. He shivers at the sensation of Steve drinking from his hands. His lips are cold, colder than the water, and that makes the tears start falling from his eyes again. He had been so close to losing Steve, he just can’t get over that.

          When Steve’s slurps begin to slow, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple holds Bucky’s attention, hypnotizes him. The second Steve stops and looks up at him through those pretty lashes, the pit in his stomach finally settles. After what feels like hours and hours of worry, he is finally satisfied. He got his boy here, he did what he was called to do. Now, he just has to wait.

          “I wish I had more time,” Steve says. “To thank you for bringing me here, for showing me who you really are. I know I don’t deserve all of this, Buck, but I’ll try to be worthy of all your efforts in the next life.”

          “Steve, wait—

          The sensation of those cold lips meeting his for the first time stuns him so much that he can barely move. The shock of an even colder hand gripping the back of his neck with a sudden burst of strength makes the smallest keen slip from his throat. He can barely react properly beyond wrapping his arms around his boy before Steve pulls away.

          The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole.

          That mantra coils wickedly in his ears. The resulting smile that pulls at Steve’s lips is a sad one.

          “Yesterday was the last time I saw the sun,” he says bringing a frigid, bitterly freezing, hand to Bucky’s cheek. “I’m glad I got the chance to see it with you.”

          The moment the words leave Steve’s lips, they seem to crack open widely. His eyes widen when a firefly crawls out of Steve’s mouth. A second later, Steve is wrenched from his grasp. Or rather, he is torn from Steve’s. The trees come to life in a way that haunts him. Branches curl around his lithe frame, yanking him backward until his back slams up against the bark of the trunk. It seems to scratch his skin through his clothes. A horrible choking sound followed by a painful crack rips through the air like a shot from a long gun, the ones they used in the war his tati fought in. The branches keeping him manacled in place have a mind of their own, they grab hold of his chin and force him to watch.

          The forest has a way of speaking without words but he can still hear them. He knows what they’re saying. He just doesn’t understand what they mean.

          The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole. Watch and see, this is what your insolence has wrought.

          Tears blur his vision but somehow he can still see clearly. Steve’s scream of pain pierces his heart. His body is changing, his bones are cracking in places and in directions that should never be possible. His muscles are melting into the marsh until he’s not even skin, barely bone. Horns protrude from Steve’s skull then. A staff of bark from another time, another place seems to materialize from thin air into what’s left of Steve’s bony hand. The other rises slowly, and points directly at him. It’s the eyes, or lack thereof that frighten him the most. Flames blaze in those sockets, holding him in place. They seem to sear his skin, melting his flesh to the bark he’s leaning on.

          A life stolen, you will pay the price. He will yearn, you will burn, and I will always be watching you. I will never let you go. You both will always be mine.

          Cruel, wicked, laughter assaults his ears as the branches suddenly disappear from his body. He falls onto his knees into the marshlands. The water levels are back to where they are supposed to be. His vision is plagued by ice and snow, by bright, painful lights, and the sound of trains racing across tracks. His mind’s eye sees a massive plane and murky waters. Through it all, the branches of the forest bleed into the images like threads of fate. He has claimed them both for his own and there is nothing Bucky can do to stop it.

          “Bucky?” A familiar voice calls out to him. That voice is a beacon, it makes his heart clench at the sound. His consciousness is wading back to the present. Through the murky waters of his mind into the marshlands where he is currently kneeling. “You okay, pal?”

          He looks up and a startled yell bursts forth from his throat.

          “Me?! Steve, I thought— I thought you were dead!”

          Steve is alive and… he’s big. Big like an eighteen year old is supposed to be, healthy and robust. A chirp erupts from Bucky’s chest at the sight. Then the scent hits him, hard, and the chirps keep coming. There’s this sound emerging from all around him, it’s base-like and cavernous. A rumbling so deep it could have come from beneath the very marsh he is kneeling in. Cloves and nutmeg cut down the middle of the aromas of the wood with oranges and heavy rain. This scent never smelled so potent before. Bucky shivers and not from the temperature keeping the air around them bitter and cold. It’s the sensation of Steve’s hand on his skin that makes him react this way, it makes his ass feel unnaturally loose and moist. He doesn’t understand what’s happening but he’s positive it has nothing to do with the marshlands and their perilous waters.

        “Buck, what’s going on? ‘Cuz I think I was?” He watches Steve’s lips move as those big hands help him to stand upright. His legs tremble though, like a fawn still stumbling its way into the world. His lips try to move but the sounds come out slurred in his efforts to respond. His vision swims at the sound of Steve’s voice. The first time he heard it drop, he had to spend many a night bathing with ice chips. Now, that bigger drop hits him like a punch to the gut. It’s like he can’t control the way his pants are getting tighter and tighter. “How the hell am I alive?”

          When he looks into Steve’s eyes, they’re completely black. Blue irises so icy that they pierce through the darkness, they glow like they are set aflame. The back of his pants feel drenched now and that rumbling comes back again. He realizes it’s coming from Steve.

          Slowly, he feels himself being pushed until his back hits the trunk of a tree again. This time, the only thing keeping him stuck there is the strength of Steve’s arms. They wrap around him, pressing him tightly to Steve’s body, before one hand is dipping into his soiled pants to squeeze at his curves rhythmically.

          “Steve?” He questions, shivers of fear and mounting desire wreaking havoc on his lithe frame. “Shouldn’t we talk about this first?”

          A growl is the only response he gets, Steve has gone nonverbal somehow. He tries to break free but Steve’s other hand catches his arm. Nails sharper than normal dig into his skin making him hiss with the whistle tones in the air. His blood drips like sprinkling rain as it falls into the waters of the marsh. The energy in the air changes then, a charge seems to infuse it with a tension that can be cut only with a dagger blessed by he who rules over this wood. Out of the corner of his eye, that bony, horned, figure slinks through the trees. At the same time, he keens at feeling the pads one of Steve’s clawed fingers rubbing up against his hole. He can feel himself quiver like his wings do when that finger finally sinks inside. In and out it goes, caressing him sweetly with a sharp, roughened edge that makes his walls contract uncontrollably. He knows he’s got to be bleeding there now. The sound of his own voice crying out in the forest is loud, it makes the rumbling from Steve’s chest that much louder too. He can feel it through their chests, they’re standing so close there isn’t an ounce of space between them.

          The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole.

          He finally understands what the mantra means, he finally knows the identity of the voice that has whispered to him for so many years. It’s a prophecy. He has always been meant to end up right here in the clutches of his best friend, in the clutches of an entity who will never forget what he has done. He can feel the weight of the being’s gaze bearing down on him. All of a sudden, everything else becomes so startling clear that he clenches abruptly on Steve’s fingers. Steve who has been steadily increasing the number of digits that are currently pushing inside of him, claiming him. Steve’s death, a transformation taken without permission, his own blood spilling into the waters. Names being whispered where they should not. All of it has the hallmarks of a sacrifice ready to be made. The price he is to pay for all of this is higher than the blood and slick that leaks from him.

          He stares into Steve’s eyes before lowering his own in submission. The grin with sharp teeth pulling at Steve’s lips is the last thing he can truly comprehend before he is roughly turned to face in the opposite direction. The last thing he feels is something large, blunt, and hot forcing its way inside him. His clothes have been ripped from him and he doesn’t even remember when. Steve’s own warm and now naked flesh presses up against his back. The forest collectively awakens then, shaking their wooden limbs. The trees dance with the music only they can hear in the moonlight that feels heavier than it should on Bucky’s skin. The foliage, the water, even the mushrooms take on a sentience at the compulsion of he who Bucky struck a bargain with. Everything breathes with life, everything moves to the beat of the dark and enchanting wood. Even the deer, who have come to watch the spectacle of him being taken, bob and weave with the forest’s entrapping song.

          Steve takes such command of his body, he is filled with heat that is almost too much for him to handle. The ache of his hole being used hurts, yes. The tearing of his flesh burns, definitely, but he welcomes the pain with a feral grin of his own as he faces the spirit composed completely of horn and bone. He wants to scream out loud, he wants to howl, he wants to dance. He has been set free in a way, free to just take what he is given, to feel it, to own it. The tree he has been using for leverage wraps its spindly limbs around them, they’ve been caught in a snare that will never forget and will never let go.

          The only way for the moon to save the sun is to freely give of itself, to allow the sun to devour it whole.

[dvrkbloomwrites]

In the Dark, I Like to Read His Mind (but I’m Frightened of the Things I Might Find)

Author: Vesper Lucien

Chapter 2: The Weight of Unslumbering Desolation

          Steven lies supine on the bed of goose feathers, watching the prince sleep on his chest. The boy looks so peaceful and sweet despite the dried trails from his tears marring the supple, porcelain skin on his cheeks. He recalls how beautiful the boy in his arms looked at that spectacle of a mortal wedding reception he attended earlier that afternoon. He’s even more exquisite with that fucked out look about him that lingers even whilst fast asleep. He traces a finger against the divot in the boy’s chin. A small smile pulls at Steven’s lips when the pretty creature in his arms lets out a restless huff, the warm air blowing across his face. The boy begins to squirm then, moving his body so that Steven can feel the telltale wetness gathering at the apex of pliant thighs as it drips onto his own groin. He wonders what has his new mate so worked up. The quiet mewls falling from spit-slicked lips make Steven gently press his own lips against them. He groans. The boy tastes so sweet. He has to have him. Steven trails his hand down the prince’s spine and on until he kneads his fingers in and around that puffy rim. The mewls get somewhat louder then. That makes Steven’s blood heat, makes his cocks harden.

          He’s absolutely going to ruin this boy for anyone else. Just knowing that makes his grip on the prince’s thighs tighten. He parts them, eager to dip back into the folds that gripped him like a vice when he first took the boy for his own. He pushes those lithe thighs apart, spreading them as he uses his immense strength to hold the boy. The sight of his own spend, tinged pink, greets him as it seeps out of the boy’s cunt. His little asshole is even gaping now, winking at Steven as it tries in vain to close. A little blood drips onto the bed from there. Perhaps he might’ve taken the boy a little too roughly the first time. It matters little, now that he can feel the boy’s heartbeat next to his own. He fully intends to take him again and again.

          Using one hand, he runs the blunt heads of his cocks against the boy’s lower lips. He slides them back and forth between those slippery folds. Suddenly the urge to press both of them inside that wet cunt takes hold of him. The thought makes him wrap a possessive hand around the back of the prince’s neck, breathing in deeply to take control of his senses. Maybe he’ll revisit that deep seated desire at a later time when he’s properly trained the boy to take him at all times. Aligning himself perfectly with both of those pretty holes, he slides in again. The boy lets loose a whimper but Steven presses on, thrusting gently as his new mate sleeps. He’s enchanted by the beauty that has been bestowed upon the prince. He’s taken by the way the boy’s lips go slack, the way a slight crease appears between thick brows. His gaze drifts down to where their bodies are joined. He watches, transfixed by the slick that coats him. The boy is still so tight. Innocence has always been his weakness but this boy takes the proverbial cake. The prince’s continued whimpers play on a loop in Steven’s ears, a wanton aria of depravity as he thrusts deeply, repeatedly, into the tight, wet, warmth that lures him in, unable to let go.

          “You like that, little one?” Steven murmurs the sentiment in the boy’s ears, hoping his influence will make it inside of his dreams. “A gift, such beauty as yours, has got to be shared. Don’t you think?”

          The answering mewl slipping into his ears encourages him to completely roll over and onto his knees, spreading the boy’s thighs wide open. Steven laps at the ring of teeth marks defiling the yielding, heated skin of the prince’s flesh as he continues to deflower this precious creature.

          “Are you gonna let me have you, sweet boy?” Steven chuckles in the prince’s ear, the poor beauty is still lost to the world. “No? I think I’ll have you anyway.”

          Bucky is lured gradually into wakefulness by the throbbing of his manhood, by the pulsing, heat that moves within him. The positively mournful whines coming from his own throat are what urge his eyes to open blearily. The deeper groans he hears from above him are what rouse him fully from his slumber. That and the sensation of his pussy and asshole being brutalized yet again by this brute of a man that is moving rhythmically on top of him. He recognizes the blonde tresses that curl around pointed ears, he squeezes his eyes shut again in hopes everything that has happened is all a nightmare. The heaviness of the sorrow in his chest wars with the mounting lust that steadily builds deep within his womb. It’s starting to feel good, it scares him. It terrifies him how much he is beginning to crave the thick cocks that slide in an out of him. There’s just something about the way his spots are being hit continuously that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head, that make full blown moans start to fall from his lips.

          “Please, sir.” His voice comes out breathless as tears slip from his eyes. The pleasure and the pain increase inside of him. “Please hurry. Wasn’t the first time enough? Did you have to take me while I was asleep too?”

          “Couldn’t help it, sweetheart.” The man huffs as if he’s holding himself back. The scarlet of those scleras piercing him, pinning him to where he lies on the bed.

          The brute’s weight traps him in place, it’s impossible for him to move. More tears race down his cheeks and his heart picks up. He can feel the sheer strength in the thrusts that feel like they’re forcing him open even wider.

          A scream crawls up his throat when the man stops abruptly only to force both cocks into his cunt. Bucky knows he’ll tear, it’s obvious at this point. Power crackles at his fingertips, he can feel it burning beneath his flesh like a swirling, living thing but for some reason he can’t do anything with it. He has been truly and sufficiently robbed of his agency. He understands his place now, it’s beneath men that would see him reduced to only a plaything to take pleasure from. The realization leeches all the energy he has, losing the strength the fight. The action makes his body go pliant allowing those red hot cocks to force their way completely inside his cunt.

          “You’re mine now, little prince. Nothing can take you away from me.”

          All of a sudden, a piercing tone rings out. It’s high pitched, almost like a wail, but much more haunting. It makes bumps pepper his skin. The sound pulls on his gut, the sparks in his palms race to the surface of his skin then. He feels this compulsion to rage against the body on top of him. The sound disrupts his equilibrium even though he’s already lying on his back within the embrace of the goose feathers that haven’t done much to comfort him during this ordeal. It makes the brute inside of him pause and pull out roughly. Bucky yelps, the stinging sensation brings his awareness back enough to watch his first visitor, at the king’s decree, walk toward the door of his quarters. He barely has a chance to cover his body because in the next second, someone else walks into the room.

          “It’s time, brother.”

          The man who speaks then is almost the same height as the brute who took his precious places first, he has the same pointed ears too. His skin reminds Bucky of the earth while his scleras also appear to be dipped in blood. Both of the men seem to be of the same rank but the shade of the newcomer’s tunic is different. Now that he thinks about it, they wear colors that Bucky isn’t familiar with. He snaps his legs closed, hissing at the soreness, and moves on the mattress until his back hits the frame at the head of the bed.

          “I can hear it, do you think she’d give me a hard time if I don’t come back?”

          “Steven, she’d behead us both and I’d rather keep mine. Thank you. Is that him?"

          Bucky doesn’t understand their conversation but he keeps his legs firmly closed as Steven comes closer, holding his night gown and a large cloak that he forgot he owns.

          “Yes, it’s him, Sammy.”

          “You know I hate when you call me that.”

          Steven chuckles before pushing the night gown toward Bucky. “Put this on now and be silent.” He wants to slap the man before him, that urge to defy a given order rises within him. He opens his mouth to speak when a mighty crash shakes his room.

          “Shit, time to go.”

          In a flurry of activity, Steven dresses Bucky quickly before shuffling him toward the door. He fights Steven but his energy wanes. He can hear the clash of metal against metal right outside his bedroom. The sound of flesh meeting flesh, the telltale evidence of someone getting beaten, makes tremors race up and down his arms. He doesn’t understand what’s happening but the soreness in his body causes him to limp. He’s caught off guard when Steven sweeps him into those strong arms and carries him like the bride he is out of his bedroom and into the fray. How in the world has a battle broken out so quickly?

          Warriors with masks adorning their faces and tunics like Sammy’s are sprinting through his home, leaving destruction in their wake. Steven flips up the hood on his cloak and presses Bucky’s face into his neck. He doesn’t understand the gesture of protection. If anything, Bucky needs protection from him but the stench of death is curling in his nose now. He realizes that he’s being kidnapped and against all the sense he has, Bucky burrows into Steven’s arms. The last thing he sees as the three of them exit his home, is one of Lord Broq’s men being ripped out of a broken window at the landing that stands above his own.

          Steven thought he would have more time alone with the boy before the call of the wild lured him back. He raced toward the band of warriors posted in the center of the town. Normally, he would join in on the chaos and madness that reigns during a hunt but today he understands and heeds the call of duty. It is his own mother that beckons him now.

Previous Chapter | Chapter 3: Coming Soon...

[dvrkbloomwrites]

In the Dark, I Like to Read His Mind (but I’m Frightened of the Things I Might Find)

Author: Vesper Lucien

Chapter 1: A Duty to the Crown

          Bucky shivers as he sits alone on his bed in his transparent night gown. This is the last night he is allowed to spend in his own room let alone his own home. After tonight, he will officially move into Strikeshore, his new husband’s manor on the southern tip of Drakestone. Lord Broq Rumlow is a brutish man, one Bucky isn’t ready to be shackled to for the rest of his life. Alas the ceremonies went off without a hitch. He was trussed up in the finest fabrics and garments that complemented his wedding dress down to the individual stitches. The reception was lively even until King Alecsander strode in to impart his blessing on the new couple. Of course, Bucky understands now that the gift is moreso to the benefit of the nobility that serve the king. When the words droit du seigneur fell from the monarch’s lips, Bucky’s thoughts shattered. Truthfully, he can recall the cheers from the highborn male guests as they jeered and jested with Broq, as they made their plans at his expense. He remembers the cold feeling that crept up his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the realization that his wedding night was to be given to a horde of brutes instead of just the one he married.

          A knock on his bedroom door startles him from his reverie. He steels himself before going to undo the latch, he knows to let whoever it is inside. It is the law. Still, ice grips at his heart as knowledge of his fate truly settles in. Bucky is different. He dreams of flying high in the sky, of delicate wings the color of silver and scarlet protruding from his back, of black tendrils of energy jumping between his fingertips. Those same sparks that live between his palms come out to play at night, keeping him company, protecting him from those that would seek to do him harm. He knows he isn’t of this plane. He has known this his whole life, but no one else has discovered his secret.

          He finally opens the door to a large man with blond hair that curls around somewhat pointed ears. The man wears a mask over his face that covers most of the porcelain flesh beneath it. In the dim light from the lanterns, Bucky sees brilliant, piercing, irises that glow like the skies. He also sees the deep sanguine of the man’s sclera, it wars with that blue hue as if fighting for dominance. The man cuts a broad figure standing before Bucky with his elaborate tunic, pants, and sturdy looking boots. The man closes the door, the sound of the latch locking back into place makes Bucky’s eyes sting. Tears fall from his eyes as the man stalks toward him.

          He is surprised at the warm fingers that caress his skin. He does nothing as the man removes his night gown. The cool breeze making bumps pepper his flesh, causing his nipples to harden. He knows what’s coming and that fear from earlier begins to take root again, it won’t be long before his secret is uncovered. It won’t be scars from missing wings that the man will find, but something much more damning. Something that will see his life even more upended than it already is and send him straight to the brothels on the northern tip of Drakestone.

          A rustling noise brings his attention back to the present as the man reaches inside the satchel at his waist. He watches as the man produces a peculiar plant with purple blooms that makes something niggle at the back of his thoughts. He has seen it before.

          “This will make it easier for you,” the man says before squeezing the petals into his face.

          Bucky sputters as light purple dust plumes before him, rushing into his nose, seemingly sticking onto his skin. Almost immediately, he feels his blood heat. His breaths speed up to match the increasing tempo of his heartbeat. To his utter horror, his cock begins to rise. A wetness he isn’t a stranger to begins to accumulate in and around his taint, he can smell the sweetness as it begins to waft from his skin. Bucky can only hope that the man will find it in himself to bring about his pleasure as well. Perhaps the extra slick can be played off if he’s already messy with his own release.

          “Turn around.”

          “Please,” he whispers as the tears well in his eyes. “May I lay on my back for you instead?”

          The man merely squints before turning Bucky around himself. “You are not to question me, little one.”

          All too soon he feels a hand on the back of his neck guiding him gently onto the bed, pushing him down so that his chest rests on the bedding. Tears fall from his eyes even faster now, he feels so exposed with his ass presented in the man’s face. It’s only a matter of time now.

          “Hmm, what’s this pretty little thing?” The man jeers. “Think I wouldn’t find out what you’re hiding?

          Bucky whimpers at the feeling of warm flesh caressing his thighs, spreading them wide to expose his most precious place. The lips that were hidden behind his cock and balls were now fully on display. His whimpers get louder as a finger dips inside of him, gathering wetness as it massages deeper and deeper. He squeals when the man brushes up against something he could only reach in desperate attempts to race toward the crescendo of his own pleasure. His squeals become mewls as the man adds another finger and presses right up against that spot. The bedding beneath him quickly becomes drenched in his own slick as he bucks against the hand.

          “Please, I—

          “Hush little prince, I’ll take care of you.”

          The little prince flies over his head as he feels another hand caress the globes of his ass, spreading them wide. Something wet drags from his cunt to his asshole causing a long, drawn out moan to slip from his lips. Bucky knows he shouldn’t be enjoying this, but he is. It feels like the man is devouring him whole, sucking his soul out of his holes like Bucky was the last person in the realm. Sparks of scarlet and tendrils of pitch smoke jump across his fingertips as he clenches the bedding, trying to hold on for dear life. His nerves are on fire, it feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest as the tension in his lower belly rises. His cock is so hard, he just knows that it’s purple from the lack of attention.

          The man does something absolutely filthy with his lips that sends Bucky careening over the edge. His jaw drops in a silent gasp, scarlet energy plays on a loop behind his closed eyes. His thighs tremble as he slumps into the mess he made on the bed. He can’t hold himself up anymore. He whimpers as the man dips a few fingers into his cunt before slathering the extra wetness up to his asshole. Bucky is out of it and doesn’t understand what it means. He assumed that once the nobles found out that he has a pussy between his legs that it would take precedence over his ass.

          The sound of the man slicking himself up causes him to clench down on nothing. It is the sensation of two blood-hot cockheads kissing both his entrances that make him shoot up onto his knees.

          “What is that!” Bucky’s breath is knocked out of him as the man forces himself inside.

          A shock of what feels like serrated blades lances through him. The pain intensifies as he scrambles for the bedpost, the sheets, his pillows, anything to anchor him as his holes are torn in two. A grunt from behind is his only warning before the man rams his cocks in completely. Bucky positively howls, languishing in pain. The man drapes over his back, weighing him down. He can feel the heat of the man’s hips resting on his ass, balls slapping his own. His dick had started to harden initially but now it has completely gone soft. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

          Bucky curses King Alecsander for making that royal decree, for gifting his body to this man who has taken him wholly, leaving no crevice deep within untouched. He curses Broq Rumlow for making his intentions for his hand known and starting this whole mess. He curses the man currently balls deep in his holes for taking his virginity and obliterating his high hopes for a loving first time. He places a hand over his mouth before he bites his lips bloody as the man finally moves.

          It’s brutal.

          He does his best to keep quiet as his holes are used for someone else’s pleasure. Tears slip furiously down his cheeks as the knowledge that he is in for the longest of nights settles into his veins.

          He yelps in surprise when the man hits that same spot that assured his release the first time, only it feels more powerful now. Almost as if it’s coming from more than one place.

          “Did I find them, little prince?” The man’s taunts pierce his heart more than the initial pain of being taken did. “Did I find your spots?”

          Bucky wails as the man aims for both of them, using his cocks as the weapons they are to force his pleasure.

          “You’re mine now, little prince.” The man yanks him up by his hair, forcing his back into an arch before plunging sharp teeth into his neck.

          Bucky can’t even find the strength to scream as those fangs seem to just keep going, elongating more even as they’re already locked into his flesh. He can only take it when the man takes his cock in his hand, stroking him hard and fast. He can only obey when come is murmured almost lovingly into his ear. His release rips almost painfully through him and the phantom sensation of a faint heartbeat right next to his own sends his body into overdrive.

          As if in a trance, he wrenches the man’s right wrist to his lips and pierces the tender flesh there with his own elongating teeth. The blood that rushes into his mouth calms his instincts down, the groan from behind him settles his heartbeat. The sensation of warmth flooding his holes does nothing but make his hindbrain purr in contentment. The bloodied wrist falls from his lips and his body settles into a haze of orgasmic bliss.

          His eyes fall closed but a thought sends a flash of anxiety through his blood. This man isn’t a man at all, the mark on his neck and the heartbeat next to his own make that abundantly clear. That should not be possible unless he and the man are the same, unless they’re both not human. Exhaustion takes Bucky then, sending him to the place he visits in his dreams. To the place where he flies in the skies with wings of scarlet and silver, only this time there is another with him holding his hand. A creature with powerful wings of blackened blue and silver hues, crackling scarlet scleras and irises that sing hymns of the highest ocean tides.

Chapter 2: The Weight of Unslumbering Desolation

[dvrkbloomwrites]

The Taste of Blood and Wine

Author: Vesper Lucien

Chapter 1: A Road Paved in Uncertainty

          The potent scent of petrichor from the heavy rain still resonates in Bucky’s nose as he slides back into the warmth radiating all throughout the town car. The leather seats welcome him with open arms as the driver shuts the door behind him. A sigh rushes from his chest and into the open air around him. He takes his messenger bag off and stretches. Rotating his arms back and forth to get the circulation going, making sure to release the tension around the scarring on his left side. Flexing his left hand a bit, he pulls at the tips of his fingers before easing the glove off of his black and gold hand. What a day, what a long day. Deciding to splurge on a higher grade of transportation today was definitely the best choice considering the continuous pitter patter of the raindrops racing down the rear passenger windows. Loosening his tie, he sinks into the backseat. The town car pulls away from the curb, leaving the large, imposing, A.I.M. Tech office building in the rearview mirror. The sun is completely hidden behind dark grey clouds. Brisk winds beat up against the exterior, they make the windows rattle slightly as the driver smoothly joins the flow of the city traffic. He watches the hustle and bustle that is the city of Manhattan, it eventually fades to the background while the interview he just had, one of many, plays over and over in his thoughts.

        It feels like another failed interview the way his heart is trying its level best to make a new home in his stomach. He remembers the look on the interviewer’s face when he was asked what his mate thinks about him looking for work. The pitying look that caused the interviewer’s lips to purse when he said he didn’t have one, as if he isn’t already aware of what society thinks of an unmated omega at his age, still makes his nostrils flare with indignation. To have the status of his nonexistent love life practically thrown in his face during his efforts to secure a job in his field make him wonder if he should even put in more applications. Three interviews in one day is one too many, he can’t even fully process the others with the most recent one taking up space in his thoughts. He honestly didn’t even want to apply to the Research and Development Department at A.I.M. Tech. He only did it because his former professor at Shieldra University, Dr. Alexander Pierce, suggested the company to him. The old man droned on and on about how the company is part of a massive tech conglomerate, that just an entry level position there is leagues better than any other technology company in the business. Bucky knows the man is just trying to fill up the quota of base pay workers by making it sound like he will be doing something great. He truly wants to help people with his biomedical engineering degrees. He didn’t wring all the benefits out of his G.I. Bill for nothing. He just would rather not have to deal with people like Pierce anymore. There was something about the old beta that made his skin crawl while he was in grad school. Not to mention his other professors, Dr. Zola and Mr. Whitehall, just being around them made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Rather than dwell on the past and that little to be desired interview, he focuses back on the transparent glass shielding him from the elements.

          The pitter patter of the droplets against the window catches his attention again. The sounds of the traffic mix with the rainfall, transforming the day-to-day dissonance of the city into a pleasant melody. That hustle and bustle comes back to the forefront of this thoughts just enough to send him into a sort of haze. He watches as the rain drops race across his window. One droplet in particular holds his gaze, he bets with the cosmos that his will reign supreme against all the others. When it does, a gentle smile pulls at the supple flesh that make up his lips. His eyes flutter closed, he can feel the exhaustion creeping into his body like a slow-acting poison. The honk of a horn to his immediate right jerks him out of his daze rather abruptly. A wrinkle forms between his brows, his lips purse into a small pout, at the disturbance. For all intents and purposes he’s fully conscious, his awareness is heightened now in a way that makes that haze feel like a fleeting memory. So much for a light nap.

          Pulling out a book from his messenger bag, he takes in the aged spine. It’s riddled with creases and warm from being pressed up against the inside lining. The title, Over the River and Through the Woods, is written in beautiful script. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought his father wrote it. He was always adamant that excellent penmanship was one of the tools in which would make him a man befitting a place within House Barnes. A chuckle slips from Bucky’s lips at the thought because who refers to their own family as a house like that anyway? George was an eccentric man, but he still looks back fondly on the memories the two of them shared.

          Opening the book, the warring scents of aged parchment and dry flowers waft into his nose. He had almost forgotten about the rose he left inside as a bookmark the day before. It’s a familiar aroma, one that reminds him of time spent with his mother in the front yard of their cottage back in Siberia. His eyes focus onto the words on the page while the rain drip drops on the windows, the hood of the car, and the doors. He’s fully immersed by the time the town car comes to a slow, full stop.

          “Mr. Barnes,” a voice calls out from the driver’s seat. “We’ve arrived at your destination.”

          Bucky looks up from the world of faeries and lost princes and returns to the land of reality. His apartment building seems to loom ominously with the grey rainclouds in the background. He quirks his lips at the building, the blinds shielding his neighbors from the outside world blink back at him as if challenging him to make his next move.

          “Thank you, Coulson. You’ve been a joy to ride with today even if I wasn’t up for much conversation.”

          Bucky gathers his belongings, carefully replacing his rose into the book, before stowing it into his messenger bag. The rainfall is still ever-present but lighter here in Brooklyn than it was in the city. Jogging toward the front door of the Brownstone, a peculiar package catches his attention. It’s white, a stark contrast to the brick of the steps it lays on. His name is written on the surface. His full name, James Buchanan Stanescu Barnes. That’s odd, though. Stanescu is his mother’s maiden name and she’s been dead for years… both his parents have.

Chapter 2: Coming Soon…

[dvrkbloomwrites]

All You Do is Tell Me Lies (I Can’t Really Be Surprised Anymore)

Author: Vesper Lucien

Chapter 1: All You Do is Tell Me Lies

BREAKING NEWS

          — This just in, a string of poisonings in Manhattan have been officially categorized as murders by the FBI, Darcy?

          — That’s right, Jimmy. According to the Special Agent in Charge, Isobel Castille, these murders originated in Brooklyn before crossing over into Manhattan and even the Bronx. Now that these egregious acts against U.S. citizens has breached state lines, the FBI have officially taken the case.

          — These are poisonings, Darcy. Care to tell us a little more?

          — This poison is dangerous. This news broadcast will serve as an official announcement, with permission from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, that any contact with this substance is fatal at its most potent. Experts say that there are traces of hyoscyamine, which is in the same family as nightshade, in this toxin. Even supervised use of this drug can lead to addiction. Continued exposure or a lethal amount of this poison as a whole, is deadly.

          — The FBI have also made it a point not to share the identities of the victims to the public.

          — That’s correct, Jimmy. Which means we all must be vigilant. If you have careers in chemical plants, medical centers or any other facility that knowledge of the proper protocol to handling hazardous substances is necessary, share what you know with your families and friends until the CDC puts out their own Public Safety Announcement. The health officers will have everything explicitly explained for our knowledge and safety moving forward.

          — I believe that’s all we have for breaking news today, Darcy. Let’s turn it over to Dr. Jane Foster and guest astrophysicist, Erik Selvig, for the Weather Report. There’s been some interesting reports of sink holes appearing in New Jersey that they have to share with us that could effect the rest of the Eastern Seaboard. Especially with figures like Captain Rogers, the Hulk, and Thor coming out of the woodwork ten years ago. Jane?

          Bucky blinks blearily at the television. He left it on accidentally when he drifted off the sleep a few hours ago. The mention of the CDC, murder, and poison go in one ear and out the other, he’s so tired. He had a hard day with his therapist earlier and he’s still reeling from some revelations that came up in discussion with Dr. Raynor. He fumbles around in the sheets for the remote, letting a triumphant grin momentarily sneak its way across his features. With a click off the button on the top right corner of the remote, he shuts the television completely off and turns over in the bed. Usually he can’t stand sleeping in silence, hence why he always leaves some type of appliance on. This time, though, he’s positively wiped out. He’ll deal with the news and the rest of the world when he’s ready to be part of it.

          The odor of sweat and too many warring perfumes compels Bucky to open one of the windows in the dance studio. It’s an odd place for a small dojo, but he makes it work. The girls always come ready to learn and with a willingness to hone in their skills. He delights in being an instructor. Getting to train the widows before they go out in the wild world gave him a sense of peace, that maybe he was making up for not being able to go out there himself. His last mission as a member of an elite task force left him with more than just the scars on his left arm. There were too many surgeries on his rotator cuff than he cares to think about, he ended up having the scarring covered with tattoos. Black and red roses adorn his shoulder and sprawl across the left side of his chest. It was too bad that he couldn’t get the same treatment for his arm. Ink doesn’t penetrate titanium like it does flesh. He’s no artist himself but maybe he could get it painted one day. Just as he finally gets the window open, footsteps on the linoleum catch his attention.

          “You know, some girls get their right split first.” Bucky turns at the sound of the head widow’s voice. “Others get their left first.”

          He crosses his arms over his chest, watching as the widow lets herself drop into a Chinese split.

          “Then there are the superior girls who get their middle first,” she challenges Bucky with a mischievous glint in her green eyes. “Which one are you?”

          He waits a beat before rolling his eyes and sweeping his left leg out, gracefully descending until he hits the floor. He sits comfortably, his legs forming a perfect 180 degree angle. The widow smirks at him and he smirks right back as they both lean over to rest on their elbows.

          “I guess we can both be superior,” she sighs before perking up. “Wow, we haven’t talked like this in years.”

          “High school cheer was a very long time ago, Nat.” He chuckles, while settling in, it feels good to stretch like this. “So, what do you want?”

          “I can’t visit one of my oldest friends?” She asks, fluttering her lashes.

          “Oh now I know you want something.”

          “Alright, alright, you got me.” She blows air between them, making her lips flap comically. “The industry is being threatened, the top executives want to see the party responsible ruined.”

          “Okay… I’ll bite. What do you want?” He queries.

          “How would you feel about being one of my girls for the night?”

          Bucky barks out a startled laugh. “Is this because I’m—

          “No,” she cuts him off. “But that will only help you if you choose to accept.”

          “Be a black widow for a night, huh.” Bucky narrows his eyes and wiggles his metal fingers at her. “What about the arm? Pretty sure it would be off putting for the client.”

          “I wouldn’t worry too hard about that.”

          That gets his attention, his curiosity piques.“Who’s the target?”

          “The CFO of Stark Industries.”

          “Steve Rogers?!” His eyes grow big, his voices rises in pitch and incredulity. “You mean the same Steve Rogers that fought in World War Two, crashed a plane into the Atlantic, got defrosted ten years ago, helped defeat the aliens right outside when they came pouring outta that asshole in the sky, and then decided to set the shield aside and break into tech with Tony Stark of all fuckin’ people??”

          “Mhmm,” she hums in agreement. “Rumor has it he’s the Black Widow Killer, which is bad for business. You know how we operate, Bucky, the industry doesn’t play when it comes to its escort agencies.”

          “I know, I know, but the jokes just write themselves these days. Black Widow Killer? Seriously?” Bucky lets out another laugh then, louder this time. “You really think a national icon is a serial killer?”

          “Stranger things have happened as you just mentioned. I didn’t believe it either until I sent one of mine to service him,” she deadpans. “Weeks later, she was dead, poisoned. Just like all the other escorts from competing agencies that service Stark Industries.”

          He takes a deep breath. “What makes you think it’s Rogers?”

          “Call it female intuition.”

          He rolls his eyes again at her antics.

          “My contact at the FBI told me they found carpet fibers on all the bodies that NYPD couldn’t trace.”

          “The FBI?” He questions. “Well, now I’m really intrigued. Who’s your source?”

          “Bucky, you know secrets are expensive. You don’t have the capital to buy them off me.”

          He rolls his eyes, a rueful chuckle slipping from his lips. “Whatever, back to the case then. Now that the FBI is involved, what can you tell me?”

          “The case went to them after Valentina, since she doesn’t live here in New York. She was one of my Jersey girls, remember?”

          “Yeah, I remember.” Bucky rubs his hand over his chin in contemplation. “She was the best in Atlantic City let Yelena tell it. Was Rogers even in Jersey for the timeline to make some semblance of sense?”

          “Well, the FBI were able to connect the carpet fibers to SI and Stark Tower is the only place to source very specific rugs and other upholstery,” she says. “However, it’s the poison that connects Valentina to the other girls in this case.”

          “But was Rogers in Jersey at point of contact?”

          “Well, no, but—

          “Then how do you know it’s him?” He asks.

          “Look, each escort that serviced him specifically are the ones that died. My contact confirmed it.”

          “Okay okay, so not just female intuition,” Bucky chuckles drily, the joke falling flat between them with the subject matter hitting them both. “You know, I think I might remember something about this on the news, but they didn’t mention the Black Widow Killer as a name.”

          “This is why I need you to go instead of the other girls,” she poses, not really paying attention to what he just said. “You’ll catch him off guard enough to maybe shake some things loose.”

          “Alright, alright, fine, I’ll do it.” He pushes back to sit up right in his Chinese split. “But I deserve a raise after this.”

          “You come back in 100% health, you absolutely will.”

          “And if it’s not Rogers?” Bucky asks.

          “Then you get your first client.” Her grin turns downright lecherous then. “And laid very well might I add. The stories Valentina told me about him before she passed… if they’re true, you’ll have an amazing time.”

          “Are you sure this is a good idea, Nat?” He asks, suddenly worried. “I mean, when I got captured… what if… never mind.”

          “No, what is it?”

          What begins to feel like the sensation of small pebbles filling his stomach, gives him pause, makes him hesitate for a moment. “Nothing really, just— just a weird feeling. Haven’t been on a mission since— since the accident.” He rubs his neck, a self-deprecating chuckle slipping from this lips.

          “If you really aren’t feeling up to it—

          “No, I can do it.” He says, cutting Natasha off. “I won’t let Val’s death, or the others, be in vain.”

          Bucky bounces his legs before drawing them in front of him to shake out the split. All the while, he still can’t help but wonder if he’s making the right choice. That mission going wrong changed quite a bit about him. He went in as the Winter Soldier, a feared assassin, with the Black Widow, Falcon, and Hawkeye at his six. They were more of a family than a team, really. Still, he came out of that incident with more than he bargained for. What’s more, he knows exactly what this new mission will entail. He’ll have to entertain the whims of a man who he had been crushing on ever since his first U.S. History class in high school. He’ll have to spread his legs. Before the accident, he would have been excited, he knew his way around the block. He would have no problem rocking the good captain’s world, he would have turned that man every which way but loose. The captain would have been eating out the palm of his hand with just the use of his talented mouth. Now though, his confidence is somewhat shaken. How is he supposed to manage this when the impossible had been made possible with illegal experimentation and all manner of body altering substances. How is he supposed to seduce a man in order to persuade him into spilling his deepest secrets when he’s been practically made virginal again. Perhaps his faux innocence will be a turn on, working to his advantage. He’s the goddamn Winter Soldier, he can handle this.

          “Hey, why don’t we go get some lunch. We can try that shawarma spot Clint won't shut up about.” Natasha suggests, causing him to look her way. She’s graceful in the way she rises from the linoleum. “You’re lookin’ a little worse for wear. Did you even eat breakfast before coming in today, Yasha?”

          At the mention of a meal, Bucky’s stomach makes its own desires known grumbling like it had never seen food before.

          “Yeah, that sounds great actually.” He grabs his water bottle and his bag. “I did eat before I left but lately, I’ve been having to add snacks in between lunch and dinner. Keeping up with therapy stresses me out though, so food is my go to.”

          He’s busy closing up the studio room where his little dojo is located while Nat waits for him, he misses the pensive glaze that mars her features for but a moment.

          Bucky fidgets in the sleek, black, town car as he rides in the backseat. He can see wisps of blond, spiked ends peaking out from under the driver’s hat through the half risen partition. The evening sun highlights the driver’s hair through the tinted window he has cracked to allow the fresh air to cool his heated skin. By all accounts, he should be cold with the outfit Nat through at him after their lunch date. Under a black trench coat, he’s wearing a tight, white, blouse with a red necktie. The short, navy skirt that barely covers his ass, only just hides the lacy panties that are doing their level best to ride up into some uncomfortable areas. He has zero clue how women do this. Maybe he just isn’t wearing a pair that would work for his figure. The thought makes his cheeks heat up even more. Desperate for anything else to think about, he watches the scenery that passes him by.

          The lights on Park Avenue illuminate the block, almost as if it’s somehow in tune with Bucky’s own body. It’s like he’s been set to vibrate with a remote he has no control of. The anticipation is making his blood bubble just beneath the surface of his flesh. Unconsciously, he’s excited to meet Steve Rogers. Who wouldn’t be? In any other situation, he would be pulling out all the stops… but he has a job to do, so the pressure is on. He’s doing his best to let that faux innocence sink in, to settle in his bones. He’s got to ramp it up, let that persona become a significant part of himself as smooth jazz plays lowly in the town car.

          The vehicle descends into an underground parking structure. Bucky takes a deep breath to settle himself. When the car comes to a full stop, the driver comes around to open his door.

          “Here, take this.”

          “A lollipop,” Bucky scoffs, taking the sucker and reading the label. Black Cherry Lemonade. “Really, Clint?”

          “I heard he likes the flavor,” Clint says with a shrug. “Good luck, man.”

          Shaking his head, Bucky takes the candy and tears the wrapper. He sticks it in his mouth and strides toward the door where a no-nonsense woman with a high, strawberry blonde, ponytail is waiting for him. His white thigh high socks gleam in the fluorescent lights at the door, popping against his ruby red keds. He looks like a naughty little school girl with his own brunet tresses twisted into a fishtail and he knows it, the sucker is the literal cherry on top. It tastes good too. Swirling it around with his tongue, he savors the flavor.

          “Welcome Winter, right this way,” the woman says. Her smile is warm if a little exasperated, as if she’s more than used to the antics of the executives working in the tower. She walks with him as they travel down a long, dimly lit hallway. The solid gold panelling on the elevator reeks of luxury. “Would you like me to take your coat?”

          He pauses for a beat but ultimately decides the charade should begin as soon as possible. “Yes, thank you…”

          “You can call me Pepper.” She smiles while accepting his coat. “You’ll take this elevator down to sub level three and use the door at the end of the hall, office ten.”

          With a graceful flourish, she tosses the trench coat over her shoulder before taking out a black card with an interesting symbol emblazoned on it from her pant suit pocket. It appears to be two, gold-tinted, snakes chasing each other into a never ending infinity sign, while devouring each other’s tails. An intriguing portrayal of ouroboros. A chill washes over his skin then, he’s almost positive that he has seen that symbol before. He can’t place where though, so he shakes the notion off and the warmth returns to his flesh. He watches as Pepper uses the card to call the elevator and hears the air releasing as the doors slide open.

          “Mr. Rogers will see you now.”

          Bucky tries not to let the shiver show but it is difficult. Anticipation and dread war for control in his belly, his skin doesn’t know whether it wants to be hot or cold. He steps in to the elevator and folds his hands in front of him. He lifts a hand to wave to Pepper as the doors close, but a hint of orange in her eyes catches him off guard. Her irises seem to glow. He looks up to see the lights inside the elevator are a muted orange. He shakes his head with a rueful chuckle and presses the button labeled S3.

          As the elevator makes its descent, he can’t help but feel slightly unsettled. He’s not cold per se, but his blood isn’t exactly brimming with anticipation anymore, making his skin feel somewhat clammy. He studies his reflection in the almost transparent gold of the metal transporting him down and into the sub levels of Stark Tower. His figure is shapely, his curves enhanced by the feminine way in which he’s dressed. The white blouse hugging his broad chest is a long sleeve, it hides his metal arm to an extent. His prosthetic hand gleams in the dim, orangey, light. He fiddles with the ruby, red, tie before smoothing the white shirt into his navy blue skirt. The whole get up isn’t lost on him. Red, white, and blue? He just about rolls his eyes, sending a mental bitch slap to Natasha. What is she playing at anyway? And the sucker? He sighs, taking it out of his mouth. A little bit of saliva coats his lips. He watches himself lick them. Alright maybe he can see why Natasha asked him to do this mission. The whole aesthetic is working for him. Maybe he really can have a bit of fun with this. A low ding rings out in the space before the elevator comes to a smooth halt. He pops the lollipop back between his lips and steps out into the hallway.

          The corridor isn’t very long, Bucky takes about ten steps and he’s standing right in front of the office’s onyx door with the number 10 staining it in muted gold. He knocks once, twice, three times, before he hears a deep voice, raspy from disuse speak.

          “Enter.”

          Enter? Who the hell does this man think he is? Bucky opens the door and crosses the threshold into the office. The inside of the room is bathed in shades of red with silver and black accents, the linoleum shines in the artificial lights. There are floor to ceiling glass windows that display the horizon as it bleeds the colors of the heavens with the setting sun across the large window panes. It must be something Stark invented, it’s a nice touch.

          “Don’t be shy, sweetheart.” Bucky’s head snaps up at the sound of that voice.

          Steve Rogers, former Captain America, and current CFO of Stark Industries cuts an intimidating figure from behind his large, Oakwood, desk. The top three buttons on the starched, white, shirt he wears are open, exposing a hairy chest. Bucky’s mouth is suddenly dry regardless of the sucker dangling between his lips. He finds himself licking them, he’s parched, like he hasn’t experienced the sensation of cool water sliding down his throat before. A wetness begins to pool between his thighs, a blush tints his cheeks cherry red. He can see the smirk pulling at Rogers’ full, pink, lips. He curses under his breath at his own reaction, as if he’s succumbing to some love at first sight spell, more like lust at first sight. Bucky scoffs at his own thoughts but he still feels his skin heat at the piercing blue gaze that studies him where he stands. The dark brown beard that covers the bottom half of the captain’s face is peppered with the lightest of blond streaks, it makes him look experienced beyond his physical years. In truth, the man still looks pretty much like he did in the pictures from Bucky’s history books. If not for the very slight appearance of crow’s feet around the eyes, he would have mistaken Steve Rogers for a thirty-year-old man.

          “Come here, sweetheart.” He hears it more than sees it when Rogers pushes away from his desk, the sound of wheels rolling across the floor sneak their way into his ears. The man’s tone is light, it rises above those wheels, but there’s something in the pitch of it that makes strings in the back of Bucky’s mind try but fail to connect. He strides over until he’s standing in between Rogers’ open legs. A single pat to those massive thighs by Rogers’ own meat paw of a right hand is all the permission he needs to plant himself onto that sturdy lap.

          “You listen well, you’re gonna be so good for me. I can tell,” Rogers whispers in his ears as if he’s telling Bucky a secret. He feels it when those hands rub up and down his sides. The heat of his blush intensifies when the former captain kisses his cheek. His thoughts whirl within him, crowing in delight, when he doesn’t immediately turn into a puddle at the man’s feet. Rogers’ voice is of the stuff that turns his dreams into wet ones. If he’s not careful, he will get off right in this man’s lap. But something tells him that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. “You’re a pretty one, wanna tell me your name?”

          “Winter.”

Chapter 2: Coming Soon...

[dvrkbloomwrites]

Ain’t Good for Me, It’s a Drug (Ain’t Good for Me but I’m Dying for Some)

Author: Vesper Lucien

          He should have seen this coming. He noticed the distinct spicy scent of the alpha following him across the continent, always chasing him and never too far behind. He thinks he knows what the alpha wants, it was written plainly on that beautifully bruised face as they fought on the helicarrier. He knows that the alpha wants him to remember their past, their connection, what they mean to each other. It’s difficult to reconcile with that, how someone can know him so well when he has barely grasped at the straws of his own name. James Buchanan Barnes - designation Alpha - a sergeant in World War Two, best friend to Captain America, Steven Grant Rogers - designation Alpha. He knows what the museum exhibit says. What he doesn’t yet know is what his own heart says. Well, he knows some things but they have nothing to do with his heart and more to do with the dick that rests between his thighs. The damn thing won’t let him get a moments reprieve. It wakes him up at night, all hard, as if begging for attention. He never had to deal with that before he broke through decades worth of programming. His memories are sparse at best but sometimes he does get images pushing their way into his thoughts. Sometimes those images come with feelings, others don’t. The ones with Steve in them, leave him feeling all sorts of things. Sometimes when he dreams, he swears he can feel the phantom sensation of lips pressed against his own, of hands bruising his hips as something hard and hot pistons in and out of his asshole. The sensations always fade away when he wakes up, leaving him with a sense of bereft-ness that threatens to swallow him whole.

          He really should have seen this coming. That alpha’s scent fills his nose as he walks into the kitchen of the apartment he’s been staying in. The alpha, Steve, is kneeling and using the wall to support his weight. James’ heart clenches at the sight, it reminds him of a young blond that used to fight every winter to survive. He rushes over to kneel before the other alpha when it hits him. The cloying aroma of cinnamon and cloves. It’s a familiar scent and something knocks loose in the back of his mind, but those memories are still foggy at best.

          “Bucky.”

          The other alpha latches onto him. The scent infiltrates his nose as he tries to keep both of them steady. It’s difficult though. The aroma seems to seeps his into pores, polluting his bloodstream as if he has been given an injection. A haze settles over his vision, rendering everything in shades of pale pinks and reds. His skin heats up, warmth pools in his lower belly. His eyes begin to water, going half lidded as he tries to get the other alpha’s attention.

          “Steve, you— you’re in rut.”

          “Need you, Buck.”

          A small, sad sound erupts from the back of his throat. “I’m not him, Steve. I can’t give you whatever he used to—

          A surprised squeal, that James will vehemently deny, slips from his lips as Steve carries him into his own room and tosses him onto the bed. Before he can even register what just happened, Steve is tugging his pajama pants down. He’s at a loss. He truly doesn’t understand what Steve thinks he’ll accomplish here. James is an alpha through and through, there’s a knot at the base of his dick that swells when he’s worked up enough. There’s nothing he can offer an alpha in rut.

          A wisp of an image plays in his mind’s eye. Vaguely he can see himself kneeling before Steve but the hair is wrong. His hair is shorter and Steve cuts an intimidating figure in his memory. He can feel the slightest touch of a hand on the back of his neck, pressing in on his scent glands. He shudders in the memory, the action reflected in the present as he reacts to Steve’s rut scent. It’s almost overpowering now.

          “My Bucky, need my Bucky.” Steve’s voice sounds like gravel has been poured down his throat.

          He watches as the other alpha furiously rips the shirt off his own back. A series of broken chirps fall from his lips at the sight. James covers his mouth in surprise, he doesn’t think he’s ever made a sound like that before. Only omegas and pups can do that. He kneels up in the bed before slowly easing over to the edge. Steve is distracted and he is still the damn Winter Soldier, he can make it out of this apartment before the other alpha knows he’s gone. He could fight but that would bring unnecessary attention to him, so he doesn’t. He inches toward the still open door. He’s naked but so focused on his goal, he doesn’t notice that Steve is completely naked as well, and advancing on him. He’s almost through the door when Steve lifts him bodily into the air and carries him back to the bed.

          Saliva trickles into Steve’s fully grown beard from his bared mouth. Steve’s fangs are elongating right before his eyes. The other alpha’s pupils are blown wide open and the growl that bursts free sends ice down James’ spine. A plaintive whine slips uncontrollably from his lips, he shocks his own self into silence. His eyes grow wide as he slaps a hand over his mouth again. Steve is going feral and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. His heart begins to beat frantically within the confines of his ribcage, his flesh palm grows clammy. His metal hand clenches hard in reflex, the whirring from his arm ominous in the silence between them. He doesn’t understand why he’s reacting this way to an alpha in rut, a feral alpha in rut.

          “My sweet ‘mega, love you so much.”

          The momentary smoothness of the alpha’s voice before it settles back into that gravelly pitch runs through him, makes him shiver but not as if left out in the cold. Warmth trickles down his spine then and curls around his heart, his body still almost frozen in place. It’s like he has just been given a command but that’s impossible, he has no handlers. What is this? He can barely move beyond the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. He’s wary to look Steve in the eye, almost afraid of what he might see in those blown pools. But wait, did Steve just call him an omega?

          “Steve?” The alpha in question flips him over onto his stomach instead of replying. A warm hand presses against his scent glands. The pink and red haze comes back bringing with it a peculiar heat that fills his veins that reminds him of the rare ruts he endured ever since he got free. His body relaxes under Steve's touch. It’s when those hands pull him up and onto his knees that he realizes what’s going on. “Steve! I’m not an omega, I can’t help you like this!”

          That hand at his neck squeezes against his glands again, he quiets down. The warmth floods his senses, flashes of color light up behind his eyes. The barely there clink of metal on metal is his only warning before his left arm is jerking toward one of the bed posts. He tries to yank it back but there’s a cuff holding his arm hostage. His metal limb isn’t responding to him. None of his flesh and blood limbs are either. He can barely jerk his hips away from the hands spreading his cheeks apart, exposing him to the elements. He whimpers at the cool breeze he feels on his hole.

          “Relax, ‘mega, this is the only way.”

          “Wait Steve,” he slurs. “What do you mean?”

          The words are barely out of his mouth before a blunt, hot head is forcing its way into his hole. His eyes widen then. The sensation sends adrenaline coursing through his veins. With a burst of energy, he yanks his metal arm hard and cries in relief when the cuff breaks. The sound of the metal twisting grates on his ears. He tries to buck Steve off of him but the alpha’s hands are clamped around his waist, his grip is too tight on James’ flesh. He tries once more but all that does is help Steve ease his way inside. James chokes on what little air is making its way into his nose when one hand makes its way back onto his glands. The resulting squeeze sends James’ vision into a pink haze once more and it’s all Steve needs to ram his cock all the way inside.

          James mouth drops open but no sounds slip from his lips. It’s like he can’t breathe because he can practically feel Steve all the way in his throat. It’s not a pleasant feeling. There’s a searing ache that keeps building as his hole is torn open. Nothing could have prepared him for this. The burn intensifies as Steve’s thrusts become rougher. A whine finally rips from his throat and they don’t stop, they keep falling from his lips. James doesn’t understand how he got here, he never saw this coming. He never would have dreamed that the man who was the catalyst of his torture ending becoming a giver a pain.

          “Please.” His plea falls on deaf ears. Either that or Steve just doesn’t care to listen anymore. James can hear him muttering filth but does his level best to tune everything out. It’s difficult, the pain in his backside continues as his hole is brutally taken. It’s when the feeling of something white-hot catching on his rim garners his attention that James finally understands what’s going to happen. He begins his struggle anew as Steve’s knot continues to expand. He cries out when Steve leans over him, licking at his neck.

          There is no warning before an excruciating ache lances through him from both ends. Steve’s knot seems to completely obliterate any tightness that could have been left, he feels so open. He can’t clench his hole. The rush of heat as Steve spills inside of him gives way to stings as semen seeps into the tears in his flesh. The needle-like intrusions in his neck sharpen until teeth pierce deeply into his mating gland. Unable to handle the compounding sensations as they continue to build, James’ vision goes black.

          Bucky wakes slowly. The scent of sex heavy in the room as he stretches. He hisses at the tenderness in his neck and his ass. Reaching up, he feels the marks on his neck and his eyes widen almost comically. He shifts in the bed and whimpers immediately. His ass hurts. He doesn’t even dare feel around there. Looking over to the side, he sees Steve standing by an open window. Stevie?

          “Stevie, what— what’s goin’ on?” He asks, shifting onto his side. “Why does it feel like I’ve been rode hard and put away wet?”

          “Buck?” Bucky’s brows furrow when he fully takes Steve in when the man faces him. The alpha is naked, there’s blood drying on his lips, and his cock is hard. “Sorry, Sweetheart, but I’ve got to finish this.”

          “Finish what?” Although the pain in his ass and the sinking feeling in his belly already tell him what happened. Something is seriously wrong here. He’s weak and can barely move as it is. He’s alarmed when Steve climbs onto the bed and settles behind him, between his thighs. “No, wait Steve—”

          His protests are cut off by the sharp keen that tears from his throat as Steve spreads his cheeks wide. He can feel everything. Steve is manipulating his flesh, digging his hands into his skin. His ass is on fire, it feels like one giant bruise. Tears fill his eyes before falling onto his cheeks as Steve positions him on his knees. He can’t do anything but take it when Steve pushes his cock into his sloppy hole.

          Memories of him in a similar position fill his thoughts. He and Steve had walked a ways from the Howlies. Things had gotten heated between them and before he knew it, he was taking Steve’s cock like he was an omega in heat. That was so much better than this. At least then, Steve had made it good for him. He doesn’t understand how Steve has fallen so far, how Steve could take him like this. How Steve could bitch him.

          A particularly brutal thrust reminds him of exactly how this happened. Steve was feral when he first took him. Now? He doesn’t really care to find out. He just closes his eyes and hopes for it to be over soon.

          Bucky sits in a rocking chair on the cabin porch holding a baby in his arms. The pup is a perfect mixture of him and Steve, dark hair with a divot in their chin. The shade of their blue eyes an exact mirror to his alpha’s.

          A shift in the wind brings with it Steve’s scent as his alpha drives up the hill toward their little corner of the universe. They had a rough start, sure, but he would never go changing anything. He is home now, safe and sound.

[dvrkbloomwrites]

A Whisper of Want

Author: Vesper Lucien

          Bucky knows he’s being watched the moment he steps into the ballroom where the Donor Appreciation Banquet is taking place. He knows how important it is for him to make a good impression on the attendees, if Headmistress Fontaine is to be believed. Ever since the beginning of the fall semester of his third year at The Institute, she had been stressing how much of an excellent opportunity volunteering at this banquet would be. He scoffs at the thought while the savory aromas from the hors d’oeuvres on his serving tray swirl into his nose. He would much rather be spending his winter break doing other things, he ponders as he flits between the donors, offering his wares while he goes. The headmistress had said volunteering was optional but he knew that the opposite was true the moment she made the announcement. So here he is, dressed in attire way too formal to be meant for a waiter, following orders.

          Just as the last of the deviled quail eggs and tea sandwiches vanished from his serving plate and into the mouths of the greedy elite, the sight of a brilliant, pearlescent cyan haze caught his eye. Intrigued, Bucky follows it. He has never seen an essence so bright before. Usually, he is able to pay no mind to the blandness surrounding humans but his focus has been pulled so completely on this one, he can’t but wonder about the owner of it. Auras of that hue aren’t common in New York. At least, not around any of the parts that he’s familiar with.

          “Welcome, everyone, to this year’s Donor Appreciation Banquet!” The headmistress’ voice rings out in the ballroom, it makes Bucky hustle to take his place in line with the other third year volunteers. “Please, take your seats and our servers will be right with you.”

          Bucky’s breath catches in his throat when the owner of that luminous aura walks right by him. He grips the empty tray at his side tightly. Bright blond tufts of hair war with a dark brown undercut, piercing irises the color of the sky, a strong bearded jaw, broad shoulders, and a tiny waist. The man is built like a brick shit-house, truly a sight to behold, with a full bottom lip that beckons his teeth and thighs thick enough to break Bucky in half. Not only is the owner of that aura probably one of the most handsome men he has ever laid eyes on, Bucky knows they’re kin. Distant, and not in any way that truly counts, but a connection is there nonetheless. Bucky knows that he himself isn’t human, the wings that unfurl from his back when the moon is at its highest, the blue blood that runs through his veins, the uncontrollable magic that bursts free whenever he’s stressed… he’s fae. At least, that’s what the research he’s done over the years told him. There are still a great many things he doesn’t quite understand about the world he finds himself a part of but has no clue of how to truly enter. Yet he still knows the blond man isn’t all that human either, is he fae too? Bucky’s sense of smell is sharper than most but he can only catch the wisps of copper, rust, and slightly floral. A peculiar scent that clashes with the brightness of that beautiful blue aura and those matching piercing eyes. He wonders what type of fae smells of blood and flowers.

          In a different setting, Bucky would have approached the man but this is not the time or place. It is clear that the mystery man is a donor, though. Perhaps, if Bucky were to make an impression on him that exceeded his expectations, there would be a chance that the two of them will meet again in the spring.

Previous Fic | Next in the Series: Coming Soon...

[dvrkbloomwrites]

The Taste, the Touch

Author: Vesper Lucien

          The sounds of classical music coming from the main ballroom inside of The Institute puts Steve somewhat at ease. Although he’s accustomed to attending events such as these, the presence of pretentious donors has always set his teeth on edge. Due to his station, he is expected to make appearances at the courts but finds the task tedious without someone on his arm to cherish and spoil. A small smile does pull at his lips though as he finally steps inside the massive space. He sees round tables draped in fine off white linens for table cloths with bold, scarlet flower arrangements gracing the center of each. Gold plated Chiavari chairs match the setting places at the tables, and he can guess that there are heavy placards with each guest’s name written in elegant script.

          Weaving his way through the tables to find his own, an intriguing scent catches his attention. It’s almost sweet and has an underlying note of drying moss. He turns slowly, taking in the other attendees, as he tries to parse out where exactly such an aroma is coming from. A tall brunet passes by him then and the scent becomes almost sickly sweet. Underneath that, though, Steve can tell that there is more. He tries to follow the young man but yet another scent seems to block him in his path. It’s the scent of copper, dried flowers, and fallen snow.

          “The pickings sure do seem slim this year, don’t they?”

          A wry smile graces his lips at the accented voice, it belongs to a woman he’s known for quite some time now. Turning to face her, he steps into her outstretched arm and receives her embrace. “I assure you that I haven’t the faintest idea of what you mean, Peggy.”

          “Come now, Steven, don’t play coy with me. We’ve known each other for at least a century now,” she whispers in his ear. “You don’t have to hide from me. Besides, it would be good of you to finally find what you’ve been searching for.”

          He chuckles. “And you believe that here is where I’ll find it.”

          “Why not, darling? Don’t you already feel the eyes on us?”

          Having eyes on him is something Steve has grown used to over the years, but he can acknowledge that the gaze he feels on his back is weighted somehow. He can’t help but wonder if the owner of this gaze and that intriguing scent from earlier, are one and the same. He can’t resist the urge to turn and find out. What he finds is the hustling and bustling of the Institute’s students in their server uniforms as they flit in and about the ballroom. They all smell mundane, their blood calls to him a little but nothing he can’t manage. That gaze is still following him though, that scent still clings to his nose, and yet he cannot manage to catch the beguiling creature it belongs to.

          “Welcome, everyone, to this year’s Donor Appreciation Banquet!” Yet another voice Steve is familiar with rings out in the ballroom. The infamous Contessa, and headmistress of this boarding school, brings everyone to attention and sadly draws that curious gaze away from him. “We are honored to host you all this evening. Please, take your seats and our servers will be right with you.”

          “Come, darling, our seats are at the same table.”

          A derisive chuckle slips through his lips because of course, he and Peggy would be seated together. Despite the fact that they look nothing alike, the Contessa has somehow managed to suss out that the two of them are somehow connected to one another and not by marriage.

          By the time Steve is sitting comfortably at his assigned spot, that scent from earlier fills his nose again. That sickly sweet aroma is now mellowed but delightful like caramelized sugar, and rounded off with hints of dried flowers. He subtly searches for the owner of that scent, the common denominator between it and that of Peggy’s is staggering to say the least. There hasn’t been another vampire in New York for at least five years. He breathes in slowly, the scent washes over him like gentle rainfall. It’s then that he realizes something else about the scent that he hadn’t noticed under the dryness of those telltale blooms. There’s just a trace of sandalwood, an aroma that is normally found in the blood of his winged kin. Perhaps the owner isn’t a vampire at all. Steve’s breath catches in his throat when he finally sees brunet hair as a young man passes out menus to all the guests seated at his table. He realizes then that the owner of that scent is no mere young man, but a beautiful boy.

          Steve watches as the boy’s cheeks bloom scarlet under his attentions, he wonders how far that blush would travel once he gets his hands on that supple porcelain skin. He wonders what it would be like to nibble at the nape of the boy’s neck, listening to the sweet mewls that are bound to slip from spit slick lips as he trails his tongue across youthful flesh. He wonders what it would feel like to devour the boy whole. Such thoughts cause his trousers to tighten as he watches the boy service their table. Clearing his throat, a secretive smile graces his lips as he turns his gaze to Peggy. To his utter surprise, he watches as his dear cousin turns her gaze onto a fiery red head. Perhaps the pickings this year weren’t slim at all, how fortuitous for them both. A pleased chuckle slips through his lips at the notion. What began as a tiresome chore of an event has become something increasingly more enticing by the minute. He has got to figure out a way to get the boy alone.

        “I see you found your little one, Steven.” Peggy’s voice flits into his ears like a ballerina across a stage.

        “I believe I have.”

Next in the Series: A Whisper of Want