Sequel to Perdition.

Saints were complicated beings that Xavier found – most oftentimes – very obnoxious and condescending. Even when they were asking him favors, they didn’t mind belittling him for being an Incubus.

“You’re going to Rhobren,” said Edgar, an Angel with tiny wings. The size of the wings showed their growth, though maturity was judged not by age but by their behavior. A halo was rewarded to those who reached their prime. After being in Edgar’s company for less than a few minutes, Xavier couldn’t help but think this particular Saint would never deserve one.

“I’m always on Rhobren.”

“I meant we need your help with some matters on Rhobren,” said Edgar, glaring up from his paperwork. “You’re going to help us with an overpopulation problem.”

Xavier stared at him in confusion, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. First he was summoned to Heaven a few days ago and told he would be in a lot of trouble if he didn’t show. (Admittedly, he had a record of simply not showing up when asked to come to Heaven and Hell, but that was only when his father was the one requesting his presence.) Now that he was there, the Angels were not just asking, but demanding his services!

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Boris sat at his assigned post, eyes fixed on the dark blue-green hills beyond the encampment. Out of boredom, his flask rotated in one hand between his fingers while the other rested protectively on the barrel of his rifle. There was something in the wilderness before him that wasn’t the enemy.

It could have been some sort of foe, but not one known to his fellow men residing in the makeshift barracks. If he said, “There’s a spirit in these hills,” how many of them would believe him? They’d laugh, maybe gasp, and he’d be marched to the nearest clergyman to spill a confession. There was no honest answer they were capable of accepting.

Back in his tent, Boris had pairs of pants to sew and rest to catch up on. His duty was to his post.

His mind was focused on the ghost.

He couldn’t detect its sex. He had trouble enough discovering its intent. Although Boris couldn’t see spirits, he could sense when they were around, and the closer they were, the more details he figured out. It was up to this entity to approach him. Boris wished one day he’d be able to see them.

This one was dancing – that was all Boris could think as it flickered in and out of his range. He knew better than to talk loudly or call out to it. The whole camp would be on alarm then.

“Where are you?” he murmured softly. Could ghosts hear sharper than humans? Boris doubted it; they’d once been human. But apparitions could do a good many things humans could not.

Like a child playing a game, the entity drew closer only to retract abruptly. Perhaps this spirit was that of someone young? Boris’ heart grew heavy to think it; he’d never recovered from any confrontation with a dead child. Their sexes were impossible to detect sometimes, especially the younger they were. To him, their auras were misshapen; their sex as identifiable to him as if he were peering at a human embryo.

This particular spirit may not have noticed him, either. It could have been a very happy entity who was really dancing. They might have been oblivious, residual. Boris could merely speculate.

The night continued on in such a way for the next two hours before someone came to relieve Boris of his post. It was too late, and he was too tired, so he abandoned the thought of tracking the apparition down. No sleep was easily found when he returned to his tent, kicked off his boots, and flung his worn body onto his cot. There wasn’t room on the narrow bed to toss and turn! All he could do was lie on his back despite the cramps and stare into the dark. He wondered how many times these encounters would occur, and how much longer before they interfered with his life in a permanent way.

With our chests touching, I could feel the rise and fall accompanying Basil’s rapid heartbeats. My ears were warm from his breath as he grunted. He applied more pressure against my torso, pinning me against the wall.

This show of dominance only made me hard.

My eyes rose to meet his gaze. One hand slinked down to my crotch only for him to smirk when he took note of the result of his actions.

“Satisfied?” I whispered lustily.

He shushed me with a kiss, his fingers tightening around the fabric at the shoulder of my shirt. My knees were trembling slightly not from fear but need. My skin was burning and my clothes were just an obstruction – extra heat against my warm skin.

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Summary/Warnings: Basil defends his position as Cassidy’s dom. Erotic spanking between two men described.

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My writing may sometimes contain adult themes.

Feedback - especially critique - is always appreciated!

Stories marked with * at the end of the title are posted!
Stories are also posted on my writing community at Livejournal.

My characters and stories do not necessarily reflect my viewpoints.

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Kahtte had a fever within a day of moving to Monticola. It was tough on Lester to keep one eye on Fiona while he tended to the unusually quiet little boy. Kahtte’s nights and days were restless, and he whimpered as he tossed in his little makeshift bed. His usual vigor was gone. When displeased, he didn’t have the energy to cry and scream, which seemed to pain Lester more than any shriek the child let loose when he was well.

Lester hadn’t had much time to clean. Other than a portion of the kitchen and the back bedroom, the rest of the main floor remained a wreck while Lester focused his attention on his son. He worried that something in the house might worsen Kahtte’s condition.

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The manager of the hotel in Nilo was waiting impatiently for Kahtte to stop screaming, and Lester was waiting a little more patiently on the toddler to stop writhing about in his arms. It was a chore keeping the boy’s blankets swaddled around him when he threw back his head and roared in a fitful rage. Lester had been using hats and blankets to obscure Kahtte’s human ears and Jakuman tattoo.

“I’m afraid we can’t take you if you can’t calm that child down,” said the manager. “We have other guests to consider.”

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The harsh winds chilled Lester’s exposed hands and face, while the woolen cloak he wore protected the rest of him. How he wished he still had gloves! He’d sold them in the last village; the fur-lined leather pair had fetched a nice price due to their quality and brand, and circumstances had left him with no other choice.

Lester glanced down at Fiona, who walked quietly beside him, her tiny hand in his much larger one.

A hood covered the thin, ginger strands of hair that had grown on top her head. To his relief, she was still wearing the mittens Lester’s mother had given her, though she liked to pull them off and make Lester put them back on her as a game.

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Nigel kept his eyes lowered to the stone floor of the hallway, leaning all his weight against the door as he turned the knob. He wouldn’t have lifted his sight if not for the gasp that reached his ears from inside the small storage room.

Leaning against the wall, Harlow blushed, her blonde hair wild around her face and strands catching in the stone crevices behind her. Her legs weren’t touching the floor, but rather, lifted and wrapped around the waist of Milo.

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Robin turned off her lights before she pulled in our drive so they didn’t shine into the windows of Basil’s room. Though she tried to make my entrance discreet, I knew my boyfriend would be aware of what time I came home. Not that I had a curfew, but going out clubbing in another town until late still brought about the wrath of a bitter lover.

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