16. Deimos

Chapter 16

Deimos

Fuck, what the fuck.

I couldn’t catch my breath, sweat dripping down my spine under my shirt. Every inch of my skin was tingling and popping like tiny champagne bubbles, my entire body singing , and when I looked inside myself, I found the well of my powers, which had still been low since I drained it in the battle at city hall, was a quarter full.

All from a brush of my fingers.

I hadn’t even meant to do it! Cameron was sick, and sure, sometimes I was a bit of an asshole, but seriously, as if I couldn’t wait for him to be better before I stole his powers. I wasn’t even sure how it’d happened.

Cameron’s power felt different than that of the shifters. Theirs had an earthy quality to it, and it came with a similar aftertaste in the back of my throat, like I’d swallowed muddy water. I’d accepted it as a part of the process, a small price to pay. But Cameron’s… it was like liquid sunshine, sweet and intoxicating. I felt drunk off that tiny sip .

I stumbled into my office, rebounding off the doorframe and knocking into my desk. I was seeing double, and I rounded the desk and dropped into my chair, clutching at my chest. It felt like my heart was trying to punch straight through my sternum. I knew it wasn’t enough to go after Loki, not by a long shot, but it made me realize that I’d underestimated exactly how much pure energy was coursing through Cameron’s body. It was no wonder he was feeling sick. He was mortal, and even as a nearly impervious god, I found this influx hard to manage. It was probably burning through him faster than his cells could repair.

He isn’t my problem , I reminded myself sharply, in a useless attempt at staying on track. He’s just my brother’s stupid sidekick, a tool, a means to an end. He’s nothing more than a fucking snack.

I gave my head a hard shake, trying to clear my jumbled thought. I needed to stay focused on my original plan—payback. Loki stole Gorgias from me, and for that he needed to pay, but when I tried to conjure my lover’s likeness in my mind, his eyes weren’t green like I knew them to be but a rich golden brown—Cameron’s eyes. My lover’s locks had been long and wavy, but all I saw was hair so short that it exposed the alluring curve of Cameron’s neck, his skin smooth and creamy, freckled from the sun, instead of the deeper tan that I knew my Gorgias’s was.

Growling, frustration burning at me, I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets until I saw starbursts. I needed to stay focused. Cameron was a handsome distraction, that was all.

And possibly getting sick in there all by himself.

Before I could register what I was doing, I found myself reaching for my computer’s power button. “I should probably still check on him,” I said out loud, justifying my action. “I wouldn’t want him to die before he can fulfill his purpose.” I laughed at my own joke, but it sounded flat and hollow.

I’d had a security camera installed in Cameron’s room because the idea of being able to watch him whenever I wanted had appealed to me. Like a real-life version of my wall of candid pictures of him. When I opened the camera app, however, I choked on my breath at the sight that greeted me.

“Ohhh, nooo,” I moaned, pushing my chair back as if I could somehow escape him, even as I reached for the mouse to zoom in. I couldn’t look away, enraptured by the image on my screen.

Cameron lay on the bed, legs spread wide, his back arched off the mattress in the most erotic pose I’d ever seen. His hand was shoved down the front of his sweats, jacking his cock like his life depended on it. I didn’t question how we’d gotten here, a full 180 from how sick he’d been mere minutes ago. There was no doubt in my mind that he’d reacted to the touch as much as I had.

“Sound, I need sound,” I panted as I frantically mashed the keyboard, looking to turn on the microphone, while simultaneously popping the button on my pants with my other hand to relieve the increasing pressure. I felt like I was going to blow my load in my pants if I didn’t hurry.

I finally found the right button and sound erupted from the speaker. “ Deimos! ” he moaned, his head thrown back against the pillow.

No, that couldn’t have been right. I was hearing things. He couldn’t possibly have called out for me while he masturbated. It was a pretty fantasy, though…

I leaned back in my chair and pulled out my rigid length with one hand, slicking my other palm with spit. “Show me what you got, sidekick,” I growled, wrapping my fist around my girth. I fucked up into my hand, trying to time my thrusts to his pace, but I wanted it to last, and the way he was going, it would be over before it truly began.

“For the love of Dio, slow down ,” I begged, as if he could hear me. It was easy to believe, the way he was staring at the camera—straight at me. It felt personal, intimate, even through the screen. As if he knew I was watching, and he was putting on this show just for me.

It would be fair to say he was feeling better. His face was just as flushed as he was before, but now for an entirely different reason, and he was practically glowing with need. And the sounds he made! Fuuuuuck. Little whimpers and moans. He really was working up quite the sweat. His shirt was hiked up to his chin, his abs flexing as he arched and bucked. My eyes followed the path of dark hair leading down and disappearing into the waistband of his pants. I ached for him to inch those gray sweats just a little… bit… lower…

I held my breath as the smooth head of his dick played peek-a-boo, and it wasn’t until the pressure in my balls built up a head full of steam that I realized I still hadn’t taken a breath, the lack of oxygen increasing my pleasure ten-fold. My hands sparked with stolen power, sending a jolt down my shaft, and I groaned at the zing of pleasurable pain.

He had to be getting close, the way he was going. His breathing was a panting gasp, and his rhythm stuttered. I wished like hell I was in that room with him. I wanted to smell his musky slick, to lick the salt from his skin. Fuck, I wanted to drive my cock into his tight channel and feel the squeeze as he came.

Fit to burst, I grabbed my balls in my free hand and tugged them down and away from my body, prolonging the sweet torture. My eyes threatened to roll back into my skull, but I forced them to stay open. I didn’t want to miss Cameron’s climax.

The computer’s speakers didn’t do him justice. With a shout of triumph, he bucked his hips one last time and came, thick ropes of his jizz unspooling across his chest and stomach. Mm, I could almost taste it, and my mouth filled with saliva, thirsty beyond belief.

As much as I loved to drag this out, the heat and pressure had crested to an agonizing peak, and I couldn’t hold off any longer. With Cameron’s orgasm achieved, I gave myself permission to follow him over the edge. I released my balls and increased my pace. One, two, three more pumps of my fist, that was all it took. It wasn’t a sweet slick ass, but it would have to do—for now. With my eyes on Cameron’s sticky mess, his name on my lips, I let loose, and my cum arced all the way up to my shoulder.

Panting, I collapsed back in my chair, collecting myself. I felt broken in a way I’d never been taken down before. I looked down the length of my body, over my ruined shirt to where my cock was still hard, begging for a go at the real thing.

“Damn,” I grumbled, suddenly regretting my lack of planning. “I really liked this shirt.”

I peeled my shirt off, balled it up, and tossed it in the corner. My eyes drifted back to the screen where Cameron lay like a starfish on the bed, arms and legs reaching toward the four corners of the mattress. His body sated at last, he went limp, eyes at half-mast. He chuckled sleepily. “Did you like that?” he asked, and I froze, leaning toward the screen.

Surely he wasn’t talking to me…

Cameron turned his head and looked straight at the camera, but his sleepy smirk slowly collapsed as he sighed. “I’m such an idiot. Of course you’re not watching.” He rolled off the bed, heading for the partitioned bathroom to clean up.

I watched him disappear through the door with a mixture of conflicting emotions. He’d been hoping I was watching? Or maybe it was only in theory, a sexy fantasy, slumming it with the bad boy that got him hot. It didn’t change anything, I told myself, even as I felt the very real shift. I’d been picturing siphoning his power from him all this time, but now when I thought of the look of betrayal in his eyes, I felt a twisting stab right in my gut. It felt… human . Was this guilt ? Uuuugh, how awful! This must’ve been what my brother felt all the time. I decided I could’ve gone my whole life without feeling this. It sucked some serious monkey balls. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.

Could I live with myself if I did it anyway, then spent eternity remembering how devastated he was when I betrayed him? Well, yes, obviously, I was no saint, and it was totally worth it anyway, but what if I didn’t have to?

I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, deep in thought, as I wandered toward the kitchen, the cool, damp underground air kissing my bare chest. Which reminded me… “Zeek, the shirt on my office floor—wash it,” I called vaguely, assuming he would hear me.

And sure enough, down toward the back of my quarters, I heard him reply, “Yes, master, right away.” The little cretin really was handy to have around.

I paused in the kitchen doorway. It was time to make a very special dinner for my guest, one he couldn’t resist. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I hit dial and turned on the speaker, setting it on the counter while I began to assess what ingredients we had.

Phobos picked up before the first ring had even finished. “You owe me a new sofa,” he snarled. “The synthetic material went up like a Roman candle.”

I snorted. “That one was hideous, I was doing you a favor. You’re welcome. My suggestion? Stop with all the white décor. Don’t be afraid of a little color, make a statement.”

“I think you make enough statements for us all.” His sigh was so familiar, reminding me of all the times growing up together when I would try to push his buttons. He always seemed to have an infinite amount of patience, and instead of taking the bait, he always sighed just like that.

“Are you only calling to gloat or is there another reason for your call?” he asked with barely restrained anger.

“Yeah, just wondering if Cameron has any allergies.” I opened a container of yogurt and gave it a sniff. I couldn’t remember when Zeek bought it.

“Any allerg—wait! Did he have an allergic reaction to something? Is he okay?!”

“He’s fine,” I assured him, more than a little annoyed at how protective he was of Cameron. Did he really think I would let something happen to him? But then I remembered that I was about to happen to him, and I decided that maybe Phobos wasn’t so wrong in assuming the worst after all. “I just mean for food. Is he allergic to anything, any aversions? What’s his favorite meal?”

A beat of silence passed, in which I pulled out some spinach and a plastic clamshell of strawberries. “No allergies that I know of. Why?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

I blew out an exasperated sigh. “Because I want the man to be comfortable! So sue me!”

“What game are you playing at, Deimos? Is Cameron there? Can I speak with him?”

“Nope, I’m afraid he’s in the shower, cleaning himself up,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. Was it my fault if my brother misunderstood the meaning? “You never answered my question about his favorite meal. Phobos? Hello?”

A dial tone was his reply. “He hung up on me!” I sputtered. This whole Cameron situation had really gotten under his skin. I didn’t think I’d ever seen my twin so wound up about anything. I probably should’ve felt bad about putting him through this, but instead, all I felt was a perverse sense of amusement. He’d get over it. As soon as I was done with his sidekick, I’d hand him back to Phobos, no harm done.

The thought of giving up my new plaything pricked at me in an uncomfortable way I chose to ignore.

Without my brother’s input, I decided to make Cameron my favorite meal instead. A strawberry spinach salad with candied almonds to start, followed by a chicken curry, and a tub of chocolate peanut butter ice cream for dessert—with two spoons, one for each of us. And I topped it all off with a heavy dose of horse tranquilizers.

I was going to take Cameron’s powers one way or another—and one of those ways just happened to involve less of this awful human guilt.

Zeek watched me load up the tray of food, his short pudgy arms crossed over his barrel chest, his toadlike face scrunched in a scowl. “You’re feeding that to our guest?” he asked, heavy on the judgy tone.

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?” I narrowed my eyes, waiting for his reply. He’d never questioned me before, never talked back. Had he suddenly decided to grow a spine?

He shrugged. “Why would I? It’s not like he was nice to me or anything…” He shot one last parting glare at me over his shoulder on the way out of the room, but I felt his judgment long after he was gone.

I rubbed at my sternum. The post-orgasmic bliss was long gone, leaving only this hollow ache in my chest. I gritted my teeth, bracing my palms on the counter as I tried to settle my churning stomach. I just had to push through this little minor human-emotion inconvenience. Drug Cameron, steal his power, return him to my brother, kill Loki. The end.

Then at last my life could go back to normal.