12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

S o working in a bookshop would, seemingly, make you well-read and knowledgeable.

And usually that was true. I wasn't a mental giant, but I read a lot and was considered fairly intelligent by several of my professors and my grandfather. So why then was it that I'd not read up on how to handle being banged like a drum before I found myself in a hotel room with the guy that made my heart skip beats? And where would one find that information in a second-hand bookstore? Sure, we had old copies of The Joy of Sex and tons of romance novels with bare-chested manly men clutching swoony ladies wearing bustles. I'd discovered a lot by paging through Dr. Ruth's books as a kid. One of my discoveries was that I wasn't a big fan of the feminine bits. Man bits were much more arousing. Yes, there was the internet, which helped a lot but also had its obvious pitfalls for a young queer kid trying to sort himself out.

But why, amid all the written information that I'd stuffed into my head over the years had I not found a book telling you, in clear terms, how not to look like a bumbling virgin when you fell into bed with the man of your dreams? Some help was needed. None was coming, though.

I stood beside the massive bed as Phil peeled off his shirt and tossed it to a padded office chair tucked under a standard hotel desk. I studied his body as he bared it, and when he was down to his briefs, I began to choke up. His chest and legs were covered with fine gold hairs. A darker line of gold led my eyes downward. His cock was thick and stiff, barely contained by his underwear. Why did it look so much bigger tonight? Why was the room suddenly smaller? The dull tan and green color-coordinated bedding, drapes, and carpeting seemed to have shrunk since we'd first burst in giddy from the Lions win. Now? Well, now it felt like a child's playhouse.

"Arch, are you going to get sick or something?" he asked, walking to me over the piles of denim and socks. He rubbed my biceps. "Did you eat too much crap at the game?"

"No, I only had a ginger ale and a few of Kirby's nachos." He tipped his head, a lock of yellow falling over his brow, his bright blue eyes soft yet concerned. "She said the cheese was too tangy, but it really wasn't."

"Are you sure you're okay?" I nodded, my lower lip between my teeth. "Arch, you know that we don't have to do anything sexual tonight if you're not ready."

"I am! I am, I just…" I exhaled so strongly that he blinked at the wind in his face. "Sorry. I am ready, and I want to be with you. I'm just…okay, so I'm not exactly skilled in certain areas of life."

"Are you trying to tell me that you're a virgin?"

God, how embarrassing. "I am and I know that it's lame to be a sophomore in college and not have ever—"

His lips pressed to mine, softly, so softly. "I kind of figured that out already, and I think that makes you even hotter."

I stared up at him, dumbstruck. "Really?"

"Really." He ran a finger along my cheek. "We'll move at your speed, okay? First off, I'm on PrEP and my last check was clear."

"Okay, yeah, that's good. I've never been with anyone so…"

"But I did bring condoms if you'd like to use them." He cupped my face, rough fingers curling under my jaw, thumb resting on my cheekbone. I gazed into his eyes. Much of the anxiety began to fade away as he smiled down at me.

"No, I think it's okay," I whispered before going to my toes to plaster my mouth over his. Kissing I knew how to do. We'd kissed a lot over the past few weeks. I carded my fingers into his hair, then slid my tongue into his mouth. This felt good. Stupendously good. And it took the pressure off of talking about my inexperience. Phil cradled my head, moving it left or right so he could get deeper into the kiss. Soon I was rocking into him, my prick fat and needy.

"God, I could kiss you forever," he panted when we came up for air. "Can I take your clothes off?" I bobbed my head, eager to get back to the kissing. He eased my brand new Phil Kestrel jersey over my head, followed by the sweater under that, and then the tee under the sweater. "You dressed for the cold."

"I did," I replied, touching his chest now that my arms were free from my tops. I ran a finger around a pink nipple and oohed at how hard it got. "Can I kiss it?"

"Please. I love having my nipples played with." Feeling suddenly brazen, I gave the hulk a shove. Of course my push wasn't hard enough to send him teetering backward, arms windmilling until he hit the big queen bed with a grunt, but he played it well, the goof. I laughed at his antics. Then I jumped his sexy ass bones. Literally. I leaped on the bed, landing on his meaty thighs, and then captured his mouth in a sloppy kiss. My tongue searched his molars. He slid his hands into the back of my jeans. I wiggled down onto his erection, pushing my stiff dick into his, and was rewarded with a snarl. He grabbed my ass cheeks, the snap on my Levi's popping to make room for his large paws.

"I love kissing you," I panted into his mouth before nipping at his lower lip. He rolled his hips, cock rubbed cock, and I saw stars. And planets. And maybe a black hole. "I need more of you on my tongue."

"I'm all yours," he purred like a leopard, his fingers resting on the cleft of my ass.

Talk about being given free access to the world's most beautiful gay playland. I licked a wet stripe from his whiskery jaw, shivering at the abrasion of the new beard on my tastebuds. My hunger made me bold and aggressive, and he seemed to be loving it. I sucked a mark on his neck, bit down on his shoulder, and then secured my lips over one ruddy nipple and then the other. Phil came undone. His breathing ratcheted up as his hands slid free from my jeans. I tugged on a turgid tip and licked it before blowing on it. The tight bud stiffened even more. Moving back and forth, I soon had him nearly senseless.

"Arch…god…good…I can't…so good," he huffed while I swept my tongue downward, following that glorious golden trail to the band of his briefs. Emboldened, I nuzzled at his shaft, letting the growing wet spot rest on my cheek as I breathed him in. "Shit…if you blow me…"

"I want to blow you," I said and turned my head to drop a kiss on his cock still hidden behind a thin barrier of cotton. His hips jerked, his fingers slid into the bedding to ball the blasé coverlet, and he gave me a slight nod. Cheeks rosy, pupils blown, lips puffy, nipples red and wet, I couldn't believe this man was here in bed. With me. And that I was turning him on so well.

"I'll come fast," he warned me. I nodded in understanding, then inched the band of his dark green briefs down to expose his cockhead. It was slick, leaking as I eyed it. I ran my tongue over the slit, brazenly, and he moaned low and long. He tasted salty and bitter. I needed more. Wild with desire, I pulled down his underwear to expose his dick. It stood proud. The root was hidden in a tangle of amber curls. I'd never sucked a dick before or had anyone suck mine, and so now that I was nose to penis, I had a real moment of utter terror. "Hey," he whispered. I glanced up to see him looking down at me, bolstered on his elbows, his eyes heavy-lidded with passion. "You cannot do it wrong, so stop worrying. I love everything you do to me. Even when we're just holding hands or you're kissing that spot under my ear, it turns me on."

I wanted to say something to thank him, but that seemed trite. "I don't want to disappoint you."

"Never going to happen." He ran his hand over my hair and blessed me with a smile that melted away my fear like a beam of sun erasing the frost on a leaded window.

My lips moved over the head, my tongue darting out to gather the precum before I went down on him. It was a miserable blowjob, I was sure. I gagged, coughed, and sputtered. I had too firm a hold on the base of his dick. Or so I assumed. Phil, it seemed, was in his glory. His elbows had splayed as had his legs, so I was now wedged between his thighs, working him mouth and fist, and he was whining in pleasure.

"Close…" He eased me off his dick, his fingers in my hair, and pulled me up over him as if I weighed little to nothing. "God that was…so good." He kissed me hard, hand to the back of my nape, his tongue curling over and around mine as if he wished to lift his tang from my tastebuds. "You have too many clothes on."

I did. That was a fact. My dick was so hard, my balls so heavy, that my jeans felt like a garrot. His lips were hard to leave, but I did, just for a moment, so we could peel me out of my clothes. Naked, I now sat atop him, his balls snug under the band of his briefs, his fat cock sitting beside my thinner one. I stared down at our pricks, at his girth, and felt a little nervousness returning.

"I'd like you to fuck me," Phil confessed, yanking my attention from our dicks to his flushed face.

"Seriously?" I placed my hands on his pecs, the soft curls tickling my palms.

"Yeah, I mean…if you're down for that?"

"I…sure," I croaked, my brain scrambling to rewrite the script I assumed we would follow. Me tiny, him big, me bottom, him top. That was the gay porn dynamic, at least in the clips that I'd seen online. "I, uhm…"

He rubbed my shoulder, his touch smooth and soft for such a big guy. "Any time you feel like you're not enjoying it, just say so." I bobbed my head. Things got a little surreal for a moment after that. We found some lube and a towel, and then Phil spread himself out on the bed, on hands and knees. I stood in front of the drapes, closed now, dick flaccid until he reached between his legs to fondle his balls. My cock perked up instantly. "So, we need some lube."

I scurried over the bed, lube in hand, and managed to not only coat his fingers and tight pink hole but most of the coverlet. Fat lot of good that towel had done. "Nice, oh that's nice." He eased two fingers into his ass. My balls drew up. Kneeling behind him, the taste of him still on my tongue, I watched as he worked himself open. "You want to help?" His voice was raspy now, hot, wildly erotic. Words failed me, so I just touched the furled opening and pressed my pointer finger beside his two digits. His moan filled the room. My cock jumped. "Shit, yeah…I love that. More, give me one more, Arch." So I did.

"I want to fuck you," I blurted out, my whole being now centered on sliding into his ass.

"I want that too," he replied, easing his fingers and mine out. He wiped them on the towel under him before arching his back, his spine bowing, his tight hole slippery and ready for me. "Lube your cock."

With shaking hands, I coated my dick until lube was dripping from it, and then, on pure instinct, I nestled up behind him. "Good, yeah, oh, Arch, your cock is going to feel so good inside me. Go ahead. Give it to me."

He buried his face in a large fluffy pillow. Unsure of just how to go about it other than poking my ween in like a dumb bunny, I grabbed my cock at the base and rubbed the head over his opening. His ass cheeks tensed as he mumbled into the pillow. I put a hand on his lower back as I played, teasing his hole by pushing in just a bit, then easing out, my sight never straying. Phil then grew impatient. He slammed back on my cock with a grunt. I gasped as his hot channel enveloped me. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Did anything on the planet feel as good as this?

"Oh shit," I managed to say as he turned his head to draw in shaky breaths. "Are you okay?" I rubbed at the divot above the crack of his ass. "I'm not sure how to be a good top."

"Fuck me now, fuck me hard."

Oh okay. I could do that. I pulled out and rocked back in. He tightened around me. The universe narrowed down to the slip and slide of my cock in his beefy ass. There was no going back now. The speed increased, the bed rocked into the wall, and Phil talked throughout. Saying things that made me pound into him with wild abandon. Things like how his ass loved my cock, how he wanted me to go deeper, how his ass was made for my dick. The man was a chatterbox, no matter where he was or what he was doing. I fucking loved it. Every filthy comment went right to my balls. I came in a burst of white light and rockets. The jolt started at the base of my spine. Phil cried out as I filled him. He shuddered a second later, his muscles contracting, his ass grasping my cock as he came.

I fell over his back, winded, unable to think properly or even at all. Every nerve was lighting up like a Christmas tree as my lungs worked to draw in air. The aroma of man and sex filled every breath. Phil slowly sank into the bed, me on his back like a soggy saddle until his belly rested on the bedding.

I went to ease out of him. He moaned at the loss. I kissed the nape of his neck instead of moving just now. He sighed. My lips moved over his shoulders, back to his ear, and then down to leave another love mark on tender pale flesh.

"You are a great top," he said as I nibbled along the shell of his ear. I preened like a peacock inside. "Did you like it?"

"I loved it so much," I earnestly replied, my now soft cock slipping free. I moved to lie beside him. He rolled to his side. "That was so not what I thought would happen, but I am so glad it did. I loved it. I mean I totally loved it!"

"Mm, a natural born pitcher," he teased, inching closer until our bellies rubbed. He kissed me gently, trailing a finger down my biceps until his fingers could mesh with mine. "Are you disappointed that I didn't fuck you? I will, gladly, any time, but I love to bottom."

"No, I'm…actually kind of relieved." I touched his chest where his heart thumped along steadily. "I was starting to sweat how your massive schlong would fit in my skinny ass."

He snuggled in close, pinning my hand to his heart, as he draped a heavy arm over me. "If you want to try it sometime, we can play with some toys to help ease you into it. And my dick isn't that big. Just proportional. Oh crap. I have to clean up." He pecked me on the nose then got up with haste, pulling the towel between his legs like a sumo wrestler as he waddled into the bathroom. I chuckled at the sight, then left the warmth of the bed to join him in the bath. We jumped into the shower, a large one that easily held us. Phil lathered my hair and then soaped me up. I did the same for him. We kissed and touched, falling out of the shower and back into bed.

"I wish we had some snacks," Phil said as we got settled, his broad chest pillowing my head, my leg tossed over his. "I should have eaten more at the after party downstairs in the bar, but I was too nervous about what might happen between us tonight."

"I was nervous too and barely ate anything."

"Dude, we can't have that. Let's call for room service!" My stomach rumbled at the thought of food, so we put an order in for some late night goodies. Burgers, fries, and a six-pack of raspberry-flavored water. As we waited, we lazed in bed, whispering as lovers do, and enjoyed the warmth of each other's nude skin. I touched him all over, his knees, his nose, his armpits. He was a vast landscape of masculinity that I wanted to explore endlessly. The touches came with kisses, and soon we were rutting against each other, seeking release in the grind of cock on cock. The soft knock on the door drove a shiv into one hot frot session. Phil sprang up, threw the covers over me, and bounced around, trying to get his pants back on. Peeking over the covers, I snickered at the one-legged dance to the door.

He paid for the feast, carrying the trays in and presenting one to me with a grand bow worthy of the most refined footman. I hurried to sit up, the covers puddling in my lap.

"Your late-night snack, my lord," he said and jumped into the bed, making me bounce into the air while trying to balance my tray. "Oops, sorry." He pecked my bare shoulder. "Man, I am starving. Sacking quarterbacks makes me hungry."

"Watching you sack quarterbacks makes me hungry," I said, removing the plastic lid covering my burger and fries. The food smelled amazing. Phil popped open a can of fizzy fruity water and passed it to me. We tucked in, as Reg would say. Phil devoured his two cheeseburgers in the time it took me to eat my one. We lingered over the fries, dipping them in ketchup before feeding them to each other. "This is so nice. I like this."

Phil offered me a fry. I opened my mouth, and he dropped the fry into it, then kissed my ketchup-coated lips.

"I like you so much, Arch, like so very much ." He used his thumb to clear the condiment from my lower lip. "And that's why I'm going to say this to you." Uh-oh. What was he about to drop on me? If he was going to tell me that my topping skills were dismal and he needed a bigger man to satisfy him, I'd—"I'm worried about the lake lady."

"Oh well, I've been doing some reading and…"

The pained look on his face stalled me flat. "Arch, I have a bad feeling, and not in my head like you get but in my gut." He licked the ketchup off his thumb, his sight never leaving mine. "This witch in the lake thing is bad. I mean, Lake Killikee? Kill. A. Kee. Your name and a death word are in the same sentence!"

His expression was so tight with worry that I didn't have the heart to mention that Killikee was spelled with an I and not an A between Kill and Kee. The man was stressed, and rightly so. I was too, if I were being honest. I was shaking in my boots. But…

I shifted my tray aside so I could wriggle around to face him. "I love that you're concerned about me, and yeah, I know, it's creepy AF, but when I close my eyes to sleep, I can see those people, those kids, and I can't not go out to see what's actually happening there."

"We should call the cops," he argued while eyeing a crispy brown fry before tossing it aside.

"The sheriff has investigated. They said the missing men probably just left town as there was no sign of foul play. There are no bodies or any evidence."

"Shit, shit, shit. I don't like it, Arch. Why is this witch doing this?"

I took his hand in mine, holding it and squeezing it. The heater kicked on, rustling the paper napkins on our trays.

"Well, if we assume Reggie was speaking the truth and we have to assume he was because he was as worried as you are, then we have to run with the scenario that she's after the souls, the power of the everlasting spark that each living being carries inside of them. The reading I've been doing on malevolent water spirits has helped. For instance, we know this is not a water ghost. Those spirits tend to be murdered or have committed suicide, and while Aradia was murdered, the MO is different. According to that old book I showed you earlier, water ghosts are unable to complete the reincarnation process and so the person they drown they swap being the death ghost with and that new spirit then haunts the water."

"I am so creeped out I may never go swimming again," Phil confessed.

"My grandfather feels the same. I found something interesting in the section about banshees." His blue eyes grew round as hubcaps. "That's not as bad as it sounds. Hold on." I kissed his hands and freed them so I could dart across the room to get my backpack. The slim tome sat softly in my hand as if it were made to rest in my palm. Toting it with respect, I shimmied back over and under the covers to sit facing Phil. The pages fell open with a soft rustle. "This book is something special."

"It likes you," he whispered, and I nodded. Yeah, I got that vibe too. It was a little unsettling if I were being honest, but under that niggle of unease I did feel as if this skinny tome was somehow a part of me, which made no sense, but what in my world did? Other than me and Phil. That made all the sense in the world.

"So, there is a small section on European water spirits. Selkies and the like, and of course banshees, are mentioned because they're such a large part of Celtic legends. The usual stuff is listed, including how to ward off ghosts, but there is a tiny addendum to the explanations of what creates a banshee that I found extremely interesting."

"How do you ward them off?" He leaned up to gaze at the book on my lap.

"Well, it's not them in particular. There's a belief in China that wearing a bracelet made from dried juniper berries will keep ghosts at bay. They're called ghost beads."

"We need to get Grampy on the search for dried juniper berries."

"He's already on it."

He looked at me. "I love your grandpa so much."

"Me too. So, anyway, a banshee can come into being in several ways."

"I thought banshees were old wailing women in Scotland. They cry and are keen to let people know someone is going to die."

"Well, yes, that's the lore, but Aradia feels different. This line here," I tapped a column of old characters running top to bottom, "is what grabbed me. It reads that a banshee may be formed by a multitude of spirits joining together. This might be what is going on with Aradia. Her anger has grown over the centuries, and it's pulled energy in from living beings, which matches with what Reg said about the humans who come in contact with it being turned to dust."

"Dust? When did he say this? Why is this the first time I'm hearing about it?" Fear elevated his voice.

Well, damn. "The night after we spoke with the Schmidts, he expressed some concerns about the rumors he'd heard." Phil's terrified blank face made me edgy. "Not that there are any substantiated claims about the whole sucking energy out of all things it touches and leaving a pile of ashes. That sounds more like some vampire lore to me."

"No, no, Arch, no." He wagged a long finger at me. "That sounds like what probably happened. This banshee—"

"We've not determined the kind of phantomry it is precisely. I tend to think we're looking at a dona d'aigua, a woman of the water, originally a Catalan mythos, but since Aradia Flores was from Spain that would fit."

"How do you know she was from Spain?"

"Monique. She volunteers at the library and did some digging into old microfiche for me. Seems a local guy, Herman Lowman, had written a whole series of articles about the ghosts of Liverswell back in the 40s. He tracked Aradia back to her roots in Albarracin, Spain."

"Wow, you've been super busy."

"Yeah, sort of. Pity I wasn't working on stuff for my classes." I shrugged. "Anyway, the tales are limited in my book, but they do touch on one telling that says a woman of the water can turn into a blackbird." I rubbed at my eyebrow. "It doesn't say if they are malicious entities or not, but any spirit that lingers in hate for hundreds of years can certainly turn evil. If she can turn into a bird, what's to say she can't siphon energy from a specter or a human and use that energy to change them into blackbirds? That would explain why no bodies have been found. And do you remember the calls we heard in that area?" He nodded. "I did some fast checking online. And that song belongs to the Eurasian blackbird."

"Pretend I don't know a lot about birds."

God he was so cute. "Well, I don't either, but blackbirds in this area don't sound like the Eurasian birds. We have grackles and red-wing blackbirds, and you know what they sound like. That song we heard was not any of those. Can you guess where you can find Eurasian blackbirds?"

"Europe?"

"Yeah, and Spain is in Europe." My eyes lingered on the pages of my mystery book. "What do you think?"

I looked up from the ancient Chinese to see a man caught in the grip of incredible worry.

"I think this is utterly dangerous."

"It could be yeah," I softly concurred. He stared into my eyes for the longest time. "I totally get it if you want to back out. You didn't sign up for this."

"I signed up for everything Archimedes Kee. Everything . From Mandarin lessons to redcoats in the bookstore to kissing and loving, and sure, chasing down ghosts. And that means everything. I'm not going to let you face down some crabby bird water lady alone."

"You're truly something special, Phil Kestrel." I tossed my arms around his neck and plastered my mouth to his. Firstly, because he was sweet and brave and sexy. Secondly, because if my tongue was tangled with his, I couldn't blurt out that I'd fallen in love with him.