Don't Read in the Closet: Volume Four (80 page)

hand, he held the beast’s broken claw.

As the monster drew him nearer, Cato gathered all his strength. He

closed his eyes and whispered Silvanus’ name. Then he pulled back

his arm and pitched the broken steel claw as hard as he could into the

mouth of the Holocaust Machine.

The beast made a gagging sound. Cato opened his eyes and caught

a glimpse of the claw where it was lodged in the back of the

Machine’s throat. The beast retched again, and began shaking its

great, spiky head back and forth. The crowd whistled and stamped its

feet, calling for blood.

The beast could not dislodge the claw. It began to shimmy from

side to side, and bits of its rusted carcass dropped into the dust of the

arena. Now the crowed booed and threw rotted fruit at Cato where he

dangled above their heads, but nothing they did could touch him now.

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The Machine was disintegrating, but it was too late to matter to

Cato. Even before the great claw began to spasm, squeezing him tight

and mashing his insides to pulp, the flow of blood from his wound had

slowed to a trickle, and his vision had grayed out to nothing. The

cacophony of violence and carnage faded, and he felt himself

falling…falling…

…and landing with a thud at the foot of the same cottonwood tree.

This time, he did not waste precious moments on exploration, but

listened for some sound that might alert him to Silvanus’ presence. He

was rewarded with a plaintive melody carried on the breeze.

In a clearing some thousand yards away, Cato found Silvanus. His

lover was playing the pipes, and bringing forth from them a tune so

sweetly melancholy that Cato had to stop listen. Before Silvanus was

finished, tears ran freely down Cato’s face.

“What do you call that song?” he asked as he stepped into the

clearing.

Silvanus dropped his pipes and stared at him in amazement. “The

Satyr’s Lament,” he replied. He slowly rose to his feet.

They face each other for several long moments. Then, with a

movement far too quick for the human eye to track, Silvanus tackled

Cato to the soft, damp earth and began raining down kisses upon his

laughing face.

From there, things progressed quickly. Without asking for

permission, Silvanus stripped away Cato’s kilt to find him hard and

ready. Silvanus matched him in hardness, and beat him handily in

size, and through his haze of arousal, Cato began to worry. He was a

virgin, after all — the monks had insured it by keeping close watch on

their captives — and however tenderly Silvanus treated him, the sheer

length and girth of his cock would likely split Cato in two.

Which was why, when Silvanus straddled him and began to

prepare himself with his own saliva-moistened fingers, Cato could

only gape at him and enjoy the show.

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Silvanus groaned when he lowered himself on Cato’s cock,

moving slowly and with great care, as if Cato were something fragile

and precious. For his part, Cato could only beat the ground next him

with an open fist and mutter filthy curses interspersed with nonsense

words of lust and affection. Silvanus correctly interpreted this to be a

positive response, and proceeded to melt Cato’s mind with an

especially devious and breathtaking swivel of his hips.

Frustrated with the slow pace, Cato bent his knees and drew in his

feet to gain as much leverage as possible, arched his back, and thrust

up just as Silvanus dropped down. This time, Silvanus’ green eyes

rolled up into his head, and he keened like a hurricane wind.

From there, only the slap of sweat-sticky skin and the sound of

their panted breaths filled the air around them. Cato reached for

Silvanus’ cock. At the first brush of his fingers, Silvanus cried out and

spasmed, coming in white ropes across Cato’s chest. He ground down

against Cato, his channel seizing and holding him tight.

Cato’s heart hitched within his ribcage. His skin erupted in a wash

of sparks, until every last inch of him sizzled with pleasure. Silvanus

bent forward and kissed him. The heady taste of his mouth — like

everything green and lush and sweet — pushed Cato over the edge,

and he shuddered and bucked his way through the most intense

orgasm of his life.

And he blacked out.

When he woke, he found himself lying naked on the grass, his

head cradled in Silvanus’ lap. The satyr was playing his pipes again.

This time, the tune was far more sprightly.

“You lied to me,” Cato said, looking up into those green,
green

eyes. “Never do it again.”

Silvanus set the pipes aside and tangled his fingers in Cato’s hair.

“Never,” he replied.

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“Because I’ve heard about this free will thing, and if I’m not

mistaken, I can walk out of here and into a different version of

paradise at any time.”

Silvanus looked pained, but he nodded. “I will never give you

cause.”

“See that you don’t,” Cato said, and shifted to a more comfortable

position — one that put his mouth in better contact with Silvanus

newly awakened cock.

Some time later, they gazed at each other again through the blue

mists of twilight.

“Am I really your human pet?” Cato asked. “That strange man

said I was.”

Silvanus bit his lip. “That strange man is Prince Hades, ruler of

the Underworld. Pray we never have cause to encounter him again. He

does not care to be bested by the likes of a human.”

“Whatever. You didn’t answer my question.”

Silvanus gave him a sideways glance. “You have been a hunter,

and a monk, and a gladiator, and fodder for a war machine, all in the

space of one short lifetime. Do you believe for a moment that I would

treat you as a mere plaything?”

Cato nuzzled Silvanus’ balls. “But you’re going to make me walk

around naked, aren’t you, Nature Boy?”

“Oh, yes. Every hour of every day.”

Cato laughed sleepily. “Works for me.”

Then he curled up in the lap of his satyr and drifted off into a

dreamless, perfect rest.

THE END

Author bio:
I spend a lot of time staring out windows at the

changeable upstate New York weather and talking to people who

aren’t in the room, and sometimes aren’t even people.

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 485

My husband and children are mostly okay with it; the beagle’s not

so sure.

I like small towns and sad music.

I love full moons and anything that makes me laugh.

I can be found at
http://selahmarch.com
or

http://twitter.com/selah_march

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 486

Michele L. Montgomery – TEARS FROM ABOVE (Angels/Light D/S)*

Genre:
paranormal romance

Tags:
light D/S, angels, angst, love, drama,

Dear Author,

light BDSM

I’m not a huge fan of the

Words:
19,345

fantasy genre, especially

anything with angels is a no-

TEARS FROM ABOVE

no, but maybe you could

change that?

by Michele L. Montgomery

This boy is, obviously, an

Glossary of terms:

angel. He’s looking out

from a window somewhere

Gagda—The Ascended

in heaven. He’s alone and

Nèamh—The Celestial

miserable, because he did

the unthinkable and gave in

Ifreann—The Underworld

to the advances of another

angel. The two angels fell in

Domhan—Earth

love with each other, and

Feitheoir—Supervisors

that was when things went

wrong.

Druantia—Teacher

His lover got punished; he

Abrafo—Law Enforcement

was tossed out of heaven,

because even though

Dluthchara—Friend

sometimes an angel can give

their wings when they fall in

Mider—The Fallen

love with a human, it can’t

Diabhal—demon

happen with other angels.

Those are the rules in

heaven.

Living in the planes above the planets was

The angel in the picture

wonders, if it would be

the only way of life Devon and Anson had ever

worth to ask for a

known. Though they each were conceived in

permission to go down to

different realms, neither was born as humans

look for his love, because all

are born. Instead, they were created on a wish

his lover’s memories would

have been wiped when he

made by their Supreme Fathers, Gagda and

was de-winged.

Mider.

The worst part? Once an

For every wish there is an answer. For

angel asks to go down to

live as a human, there’s no

every positive, there is a negative. For every

way he can ever return to

heaven, not until he dies. He

may keep his memories, but

Don’t Read in the Closet – volume four 487

good, there is an evil. For every heaven there is

what would he do if he

couldn’t find his lover or if

a hell.

the lover wouldn’t want him

The kingdom of Nèamh was a covenant

in his new life.

between Gagda and those children who had met

[PHOTO: Half in shadow,

with an untimely death because of their sexual

the dark-haired angel gazes

intently up and away.

orientation. Gagda had created several realms

Sunlight catches the fine cut

for His lost children: the throwaways, the

of his naked muscled chest,

unwanted, the scorned, and the misunderstood.

the tattooed stars on his hip,

Within those realms, He placed his favored

the thorny design on his

shoulder. Shadows lie on the

Angels to guide, to teach, to love those lost

soft white feathers of his

souls.

wings, as he slides his white

pants open.]

Gagda loved all his children; He provided

And my dear author, please

for them and promised them an eternity of