Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 03

"Okay. Well, there has to be another way. She's not invincible is she?"

Yvette nearly laughed. Then realized there was no reason she couldn't, so long as she made it sound bitter. "She might as well be," she said. Was her voice, ordinarily so deep, sounding a little more normal? What a coincidence. "You know how old she is? I think she's been around for centuries." She knew better, of course. Now. But he didn't know that. And she figured it would make her sound more naive to say that.

Cahill frowned. And placed a sympathetic hand on her leg. About fucking time. "We'll think of something. Not an hour ago, Oberon and I thought we were alone."

And they still were.

"I bet you did too," he said, leaning closer.

Yvette nodded, and gave him her best puppy dog eyes.

"Do you have any idea if-"

Oh, fuck that. Yvette had waited long enough. The bait had been set in the trap. He'd moved towards taking it. Time to lure him in a little deeper, then snap her jaws shut.

Besides, she was legitimately horny. Not least because the bulge in his drawstring pants suggested he was hung like a fucking horse. If not bigger than Lance, then no smaller either. And she was willing to bet he had a few fairy tricks up his sleeve she'd never seen before.

His kiss was odd. Not at all like a mortal's. Far too enjoyable for that. But the exhilarating rush she felt whenever cold, Wintry lips pressed against hers wasn't there. His tongue was warm, warm, warm. All one note. As were the fingers that slid across her cheek and into her hair. But there was something more. A faint fire, not quite hot but definitely warm. She opened her eyes at one point, just for an instant, and saw a light silver nimbus surrounding them. Or at least their heads. And his hands. Wherever it touched her, she felt a pleasant tingle. Nothing too intense, but nothing to scoff at either.

Then she realized what it was. Fairy fire.

How fucking cute.

Yvette's first orgasm came before she'd quite finished lowering herself onto her back. It wasn't particularly intense. Nothing like the climax her mother had kissed her to earlier. But it boded well for the rest of the encounter.

Once they started going at it, Cahill's reluctance fell away. She found him cool and confident. Not controlling, like Lance, but hardly shy. He knew his way around a woman's body, and he knew how to put her needs ahead of hers without making that seem like a sign of insecurity. She was a musical instrument in the hands of a master performer. He made sweeter songs pass through her lips than Quincy ever had coaxed out of his fiddle. And her Libido sang along in perfect harmony. And, in time, Yvette realized that was more than mere metaphor. A beautiful melody filled her tower, making the ice walls vibrate softly. From whence it came, she couldn't have said, but she knew her fairy prince had something to do with it. And the light show that soon accompanied it.

Yes, she wanted him to speed things up a bit. To get real primal with her. His soft lips delivered only pleasure, never pain. It took a supreme act of will to keep from sprouting claws and shredding his back and shoulders while he lapped at her labia. But even if his preferred style was different from her own, he needed no more than five minutes to secure a place in her mental Hall of Fame. Right up there with Lance, and ahead of Zach. That felt wrong to admit, even if she was less and less sure that her brother was right for her now that she'd embraced Winter. But Cahill was just that good.

And those were just the thoughts she had while her skirt was bunched up around her hips and her champion feasted on her pussy. When he set about making love to the rest of her body, she doubled down on her assessments. Both that he was incredibly talented, better than the more similar of her brothers, and that he was painfully, offensively, unbearably patient. She needed to get him out of those pants and inside her. Needed his lips on hers, no matter how good they felt on nipples that otherwise seemed naked now that they were free of the piercings she'd had for years. Let his hands take up that task.

"Please," she panted.

What was that about springing a trap?

He looked up at her, his colorless eyes glowing. Damn, but he was handsome. Not beautiful. That was too effeminate, emasculating, a term. Maybe it suited Oberon, but not this one. He might be fey, but he was no fairy. He looked like the paragon of a Hollywood actor. Everything the best-looking mortal men aspired to, only better. His complexion would have been unremarkable in that world, and perhaps even his own, but by the standards of winter, he was positively dark. And she found she liked that, however much the fair skin of her brothers appealed to her. Yet he had a full head of glossy black hair, which was perfectly messy, blue eyes, though less intense in hue, and a sexy, scruffy little beard running along his jawline and then up to his lower lip. His torso was not as thickly matted with fur as Lance's or Zach's, but neither was he hairless like the pointy-eared Oberon.

Lance was better. In just about every way. But it wasn't fair to compare anyone to him. Save Daphne, who belonged to an entirely different category. Short of that, the man lying atop Yvette, tending to her nipples like they were a pair of clitori situated on her chest, with precisely the same effect, was as glorious as any she'd ever known.

Over and over again, she melted for him. The need to ascend the ladder, go up a rung in intensity, grew unbearable. In the best possible way. She refused to beg for it, though. Either out of pride or some lingering sense that she was performing a role. Instead, she dug her teeth into her lower lip, let her body writhe as much as it needed to without thrashing violently, and rode out one climax after another.

All the while feeding him precious energy he could use against her mother.

Not that she had enough self control to stop him. Or even feel too bad about it. The song he played on her body was too compelling.

To interrupt it partway through would leave her with an aching sense of frustration that might last for days. Weeks, even. The way she'd heard comp sci guys say they felt when someone opened a set of parentheses in gchat and never closed it.

A few more hands appeared, at long last. Mouths too. The tongues of fairy fire multiplied. Soon, every part of her body was in agony, so intense was the ecstasy. Yvette threw her head back, hard, mouth open in a frozen scream. Her muscles tensed, relaxed momentarily, then seized up again. She wasn't sure if she was caught in a monster orgasm or experiencing several dozen of them in rapid succession, but either way, the dam burst. Her Libido cracked open and its contents poured forth freely, filling Cahill up. And she didn't even care. She'd left her body and gazed down upon the mismatched lovers from above with detached curiosity.

Bliss.

That was all there was. In all of existence. Maybe some peace and serenity as well. But nothing else. No fear or pain, no longing for power or validation, and certainly no malice or deceit. In her or in him. In that moment, the world and all its inhabitants were pure.

But, then, there was that old saying about all good things.

As Yvette's consciousness settled in behind the controls once more, she remembered who she was and what she had planned for the hapless soul sharing her bed with her. And while his prowess had convinced her to hold off a little longer before showing her true colors, she'd spent too much time on her back. It was time for him to see what she could do.

Chains of ice shot up from the ground and wrapped themselves around Cahill's back and waist. They spun him around til he was facing up at the ceiling, then ensnared his wrists and ankles. Yvette pulled his pants away as though whipping a napkin off a dinner plate. His proud member, freed of its meager constrain, snapped to attention.

It was every bit as big as she'd hoped.

For a moment, all Yvette could do was stare at it. Not too long ago, she'd been half-afraid of penises. Absolutely convinced that she loved the attention men showed her when they thought she might play with them, but not too comfortable with the organs themselves. But at some point, she'd gone from ambivalent to comfortable to craving. And the glorious slab of meat starting at her now couldn't have been more impressive.

She really wanted to suck it. To show him how exquisite the interplay between warm and cold could be. But that would have to wait. Just then, she really needed to ride him.

"Oh!" he grunted as she took the better part of his monstrosity inside her at once. His hips jerked down into the mattress, as if he did her some sort of favor by denying her everything she needed. "Careful there. Lot to play with."

"Don't I know it," she said with a wicked grin.

"Hmm," Cahill replied. "You're not quite as innocent as you seem, are you?"

Fretting at her lower lip, Yvette shook her head.

Her champion laughed. If he suspected all that her response entailed, he didn't let it show. "You're not going to kill me, are you?" he asked in a tone that suggested he thought he was sharing a private joke with her. Because of course they both knew how ridiculous that was. That she'd never take a man's life.

With a pair of combat knives. While Lance watched.

Nope. Never.

Still, she decided that she could wait a while longer to truly reveal herself to him. Let him think she was a little kinky but still, deep down, a good girl. One who wanted to escape. So Yvette got a little rough with her fairy prince, but only a little.

The fur, claws, and tail she'd so recently come to consider vital extensions of herself made no appearance, and not once did she draw blood. When she bit him, she did so playfully. Her black nails left minor indentations in his skin, even a few red marks, but no more.

And she brought him plenty of pleasure to go with the pain. First with her womb, then later her mouth. The first time she licked him with a frosty tongue, Yvette made him squeal like a banshee. And when her cold lips, pink though they might be, left a light rim of frost on his foreskin, well, the poor guy nearly fainted. But she warmed him back up properly, and the stark contrast between that and the modest discomfort she'd made him suffer just a moment before made him appreciate the warmth all the more. He made such sweet sounds while she fellated him, his Libido moving steadily all the while towards a low boil.

Yvette was surprised by how much energy he had to offer. Each and every time he exploded---and Yvette saw to it that his orgasms were always explosive---he threw so much energy at her that she almost got swept away by it. As disappointed as her mother was in him for breaking so easily, as unimpressive as his performance against Oberon had been, she'd almost expected him to be weaker than Zach. But in many ways, including the size of his Libido, Cahill reminded her more of Lance.

That reminded her that her mother was on a whole different level than the rest of them. But it also made her think that Oberon wasn't quite as far below Lady Winter as everyone else. And that both intrigued her and gave her a sense of relief. She felt almost as though she'd dodged a bullet. At first, she'd been a little disappointed about having to name Cahill her champion. But as the hours fell away, she became more convinced that the other fey lord was out of her league. The one she had in her bed, she could have some fun with. Manipulate to her heart's content. But the other? He might not fall for her tricks. And even if he did, she might regret toying with him.

All the more reason to take her time with Cahill. To drag things out and savor the surprised look on his face when she betrayed him.

"That was amazing," he said, running his fingers through her black hair.

"Hmmmm?" Yvette asked in a throaty purr, pretending she'd not just lost herself in thought but actually dozed off. Which wasn't such a stretch, come to think of it. His chest made a surprisingly decent pillow, considering how hard it was. "What was?"

"Right," he said, laughing.

Yvette twirled her finger around the dense tuft of hair just below his navel. It was too bad his fur wasn't that thick all the way up to his collarbone. He was more than a little attractive, but with just a few improvements here and there, he could be even more amazing.

His smell, though, was perfect. She thought Zach smelled good. He had nothing on Cahill. The former had hint of the wild that made him seem more dangerous than he was, but all in all, his scent was crisp, clean, and cold. Reminiscent of mountain snow as much as the creatures that thrived in such an environment. The latter, however, was earthy and strong, somewhere between fragrant and pungent. If someone had described it to her, she'd have thought it unpleasant. But more so than anyone in Winter, he smelled alive. When his musk filled her nose, Yvette pictured vibrant forests teeming with life rather than a frozen wasteland. Knowing who he was and where he hailed from probably helped with that, but even so. She couldn't get the image out of her mind. And she found it strangely appealing.

And when she pictured a blizzard sweeping in and dropping several feet of snow on that idyllic forest, destroying vegetation and thereby starving whatever animals didn't freeze to death, the biggest smile spread across her face.

"You weren't too bad either," she said, letting her hand move a little further south. "Who would've thought Spring and Winter would go so well together?"

Cahill groaned softly as she began stroking his semi-erect penis. "Well, your heart's not really frozen yet. And with luck, we'll find a way to get you out of here before it is."

"You promise?" she asked, fighting back laughter.

"I do," he said. "And you should know we fey take promises very seriously."

That gave Yvette a bigger rush than any mere orgasm.

#

Nick was tempted to hang back and watch the two idiots get themselves killed. But he couldn't do that to Eric. Or, for that matter, Flori. He figured the odds of their desperate gambit paying off weren't very good, but neither were they quite bad enough for him to abandon the cause with a clear conscience. Especially considering what was at stake.

Still, his heart started beating faster and louder than ever before as soon as they arrived in the frozen palace. Going up against House Bravo, reckless as that had been, seemed like a good idea in comparison. At least that had only cost him his legs.

Heck, it hadn't even cost him that much, thanks to his incredible grandmother. Just consigned him to bed for longer than he'd have liked while they grew back.

Though, in fairness, he wasn't sure whether he was more afraid now than he'd been then because it was Daphne they were going up against or because his sister wasn't with him. Merciless and powerful as Lady Winter was reputed to be, he thought it might be the latter.

Without Vee, he was incomplete.

He'd have given anything to have her at his side rather than Eric, even if she wasn't quite as good with her telekinetic knives and throwing axes as He-Man was with that damn sword of his. And Nick really wished he had Vee to help keep his batteries charged.

But that was just how it was. And there was no time to dwell on it.

They moved quickly but without purpose. At least none that Nick could discern. If anything more than mere whim dictated which turns they made and which they did not, it was not apparent. But that was for the two heroes to sort out. He was just the backup.

He did his best to keep to the shadows, but that wasn't really working. The hallways were made of pure ice, and they reflected the distant sun brilliantly. Sure, he was still immaterial, but he'd not escape notice with so little darkness to hide in. And something told him the Bitch of Winter had her ways of inflicting pain even upon the incorporeal.

At least the other two would take the brunt of whatever she or her children dished out. The giant blonde Adonis, wielding his massive length of steel, and the snarling death-beast their suicidal leader had become, would naturally draw the eye a bit more than a slippery pool of shadow. Heck, he'd nearly lashed out at Frank himself after the guy had transformed. He'd figured the only wolves they'd run into here would be part of Daphne's brood.

Nick supposed it helped that his fur was dark. That should serve to distinguish him from the Winter wolves, all of whom seemed to favor coats white as snow.

Just as he was beginning to wonder if the palace had maybe been abandoned at some point, left to intimidate everyone despite its emptiness, just like Bentham's Panopticon, they ran into a trio of pale-skinned, black-haired, blue-eyed fuckers.

Two were female, one male. They'd had their arms looped through his. One woman wore a pair of black panties, a tight black bustier with white leopard print over the abdomen and cups, and matching heels. The other wore a black dominatrix suit that left little more than her blue lips and blue eyes exposed. The man wore leather pants and nothing else.

At least, that's how they appeared at first. Before they caught sight of Eric and Frank.

A moment later, the three of them were flanked by two massive white tigers with lengths of steel chain that ended in broad spearheads for tails. The beasts also had sharp antlers, which were also made of steel. The more scantily clad woman seemed to be in charge of those. The other grew two feet taller and acquired a pair of blue samurai swords. Her suit grew shinier still and Nick suspected it was no longer made of vinyl, or whatever the fuck it had been before, though it looked too flexible and lightweight to be metal.

The guy, however, didn't transform, conjure up any weapons, or anything. He just stood there, dumbfounded, mouth agape. Maybe he couldn't believe that the universe would cockblock him like that, just as he was about to land himself a threesome. Under different circumstances, Nick might almost have felt bad for him, even if his two ladies looked like they'd have delivered more pain than pleasure.

Instead, he decided to go straight for the weakest link.

Thanks to him, the fight was over before it began. Or would have been, if the others had reacted a little quicker. Eric had cut through a blue blade and split the torso it had so ineffectually protected in two before Nick had even rematerialized. And an upward slash of Frank's right paw had splattered one of the tiger's heads like an overripe pumpkin, while the other had bit down hard on his hind leg and run its tail through his abdomen.

But the woman who controlled the beasts noticed the hands Nick had clasped over her lover's wrists, as well as the semi-substantial tendril that had wrapped itself around his torso. And the additional shadows pouring down his throat and running up his nostrils.

"Stop!" she said, stretching a hand out to Nick.

Her remaining pet released Frank's leg and withdrew it's spear from his midsection. Unfortunately for it, Frank wasn't so inclined to observe the ceasefire. He tore the thing's head off and sent it rolling down the hall like a grisly bowling ball before healing his wounds.

Eric, on the other hand, was more reasonable. Or perhaps saw the value in taking two of Daphne's children hostage. After making sure the woman he'd nearly cut in half was actually dead, he readied his blade and put himself between Nick and the beastmistress.

"Don't hurt him," the woman said.

Frank hunched forward, claws extended, and growled at her, causing the ice to vibrate with a soft hum. Even doubled over, he was nearly her height. How she managed not to piss herself, daughter to the great and terrible Daphne or no, Nick wasn't sure. He was on the same fucking side as that thing and he nearly lost control of his bladder.