As one of the #CMCon17 featured bloggers, I get to have a little fun with a few of the fabulous authors who will be hitting the beach for Coastal Magic 2018 by showcasing their many stories. We had so much fun with last year’s At the Beach feature, that we’re doing it again.
Sliding away from Suriel’s warmth was a hardship, Harry wouldn’t lie. One of the hardest things about living in Mendocino from the very beginning was the morning cold, especially during the winter.
But too many years of habit had worried its way into Harry’s bones, and he felt the pull at his heart again.
He rolled away carefully, then, while still under the covers turned cat, and slithered out from between the comforter and the mattress, lighter than a man and less noticeable.
He dressed quietly—had, in fact, stashed his clothes on the couch the night before, after Suriel had fallen asleep, on the pretense of using the bathroom. Jeans, thick sweater, hat, scarf, gloves. He used to go in a T-shirt and shorts, even in the winter, thinking that the pain of the chafing cold just validated the pain in his heart—but he’d stopped that sort of nonsense when Suriel fell.
Suriel’s fall, just to be with the likes of Harry, had consisted of real pain. Suriel would bear the marks of his shorn wings for the rest of a long life.
Even with the extra layers, Harry stepped beyond the meadow where his and Suriel’s little house nestled and quickly changed cat again so he could be lower than the wind. He trotted quickly through the tall grasses, ignoring the lure of moles, voles, and gophers, tempting him to hunt. Instead he let the wind press his whisker’s back and drank in the smell of yarrow and salt. His heart always warmed in the presence of the sea.
He made his way toward the cliffs and then picked his steps parallel to the shoreline until the cliff became a hill and he could run down it. The waves crashed and frothed, deadly to him in this size, and he ran along the surf line, flirting with the potential of getting his paws wet.
For the first time in forever, he realized he was having fun here.
He wasn’t missing his lover—his lover was back in their home, in their bed. He wasn’t frantic to stave off heartache—his heart was full. The waves weren’t echoing his consuming loneliness, they were playing with him.
If he’d been a human, he would have laughed aloud.
Instead, he sat down on his haunches and stuck his paw in the froth of the last high wave. Still cold, still unpleasant, but not deadly.
He batted it again.
He stood and started nosing at the little creatures burrowing back under the sand, so absorbed that he didn’t see the freak behemoth pulsing in from the great beyond until Suriel’s sharp, “Harry look out!” penetrated his meditation.
He scrambled backwards but too late, and the wave rose up around his shoulders even as he swam desperately for shore.
He could have turned human—he knew that. At any moment he could have stood in knee-deep water and that would have been the end of it. But as his feline body burned off copious amounts of energy, heating him from within he knew instinctively that the minute he turned into a soaking wet, pissed off man, the cold would shrink his balls right up.
Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit—he kept swimming, almost there… almost there…
A pair of long-fingered hands plucked him out of the brine and brought him up against a magnificent sweater-covered chest.
Harry was so pissed off he hissed.
“It was your own fault you know,” Suriel chuckled, tucking him in even tighter. Harry shivered, more than grateful for Suriel’s warmth. Suriel swung his long red-gold hair over his shoulder so it covered Harry too, and Harry burrowed in, smelling Suriel and cedar shampoo and wet wool.
“What did you think you were doing?”
The cold was so all-consuming, Harry couldn’t even summon telepathy. He gave a piteous meow and glared balefire at his beloved and appealed mutely for Suriel to take them home.
Suriel did, leaving Harry to turn man and strip his wet things in the mudroom before climbing into the shower to oh, please God, warm up.
His teeth had just quit chattering when Suriel slid into the water behind him and wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders.
“That was stupid,” Suriel murmured, and Harry gave a short bark of laughter.
“You’re telling me. I forgot how ruthless the sea can be.”
“Mmm…” Suriel rubbed his lips along the outer shell of Harry’s tingling ear. “Why did you do that?”
“Forget or go out there at all?” Harry asked, closing his eyes and sinking into Suriel’s arms, all resistance gone with the chills that had racked him.
“I went out because… because it was my brooding place and I missed it,” Harry told him, losing his grumpiness as Suriel began to soap his chest. Making love had become a brand-new thing with Suriel, and Suriel had a special fondness for warm showers.
Suriel’s hands moved lower and Harry’s melt against his body got a little… stiffer.
Harry swallowed and shifted his backside against Suriel’s frontside, distracted and aroused when Suriel responded the same way.
“Hm what?” Harry asked with some difficulty.
“I had not thought you’d miss a place where you were so unhappy,” Suriel said thoughtfully. Harry ground up against him until he grunted, his breath puffing Harry’s ear, because damned if Harry was going to have this conversation revving up for sex without Suriel being in some pain himself.
“I was happy,” Harry breathed, thrusting into Suriel’s hand. “I was brooding, not grieving—brooding implies hope!”
“Mmm…” Suriel pushed Harry forward, hands against the wall, and prodded his thighs until he spread his legs. “I hadn’t thought of that. I thought brooding implied brooding.”
Harry gasped as Suriel’s fingers breached him, the pleasure and stretch setting his body to trembling before he could even catch his breath.
“We can’t have sex in here,” he groaned. “I’m too short and soap makes lousy… oh…”
Suriel’s hand came into view with an appropriate lubricant, and then he whirled Harry around, claiming his mouth hard and hot, stroking Harry’s erection with his slippery fist.
“Brooding place?” Suriel demanded while Harry thrust against him. “Sex place? I’m done with places, Harry. You’re my place!”
With that he wrapped his hands under Harry’s thighs and lifted him up, thrusting into him before Harry had time to link his ankles behind Suriel’s back.
“Ah…” Oh, Harry’s angel lover filled him, wide and long, a slow, stretching glide into Harry’s body, deeper than words or thought, and Harry was as lost in Suriel’s sex as he had been lost in that wave.
Suriel backed him against the shower, surging inside, retreating, holding him by the thighs and fucking him hard while Harry clutched his shoulders and gibbered, crying out with every thrust.
“Suriel… oh God—“
“Not God!” Suriel shouted. “Not God! Not sorrow! Me!”
“Suriel!” Harry gasped.
“You’re here!” Harry echoed. “You’re here!”
“And you’re happy!” Suriel’s voice cracked then, and he shuddered, burying his face in the hollow of Harry’s shoulder. His come scalded, warming Harry from the inside out, and Harry understood then, Suriel’s fear, his pain, that his sacrifice of wings, of blood, had not been enough to heal Harry’s heart.
“So happy,” Harry whispered, shuddering his own climax between them. “So happy. Suriel, my angel, you make me so happy.”
“Are you sure?” Suriel asked, sounding lost and sad.
“Yes I’m sure!” Harry laughed hoarsely. “That’s why the damn wave caught me. I… I’d forgotten, you see? How much I loved the ocean. I got distracted, playing with it.”
Suriel laughed then, his body shaking against Harry’s even as he softened and Harry lowered his feet to the ground. The water ran cold and Harry reached to turn it off—but neither of them moved from their embrace.
“Happy?” Suriel whispered, making sure.
“So happy I’m giddy with it,” Harry whispered back.
Suriel pulled away and pouted then, the water clinging to his pointed features, his red-gold hair slicked back from his face. “Well maybe next time take me to the beach with you!” he reprimanded. “I might like to play in the waves as a cat as well.”
Harry smiled then, and traced his lips with his fingertips. “Sure, Suriel. Sure. But not today. I’m getting cold again. I need you to warm me some more.”
Suriel’s lush mouth curved up into a smile, and he kissed Harry, a beginning kiss, a kiss with much more loving ahead of them, and not just this day.
But this day would be pretty memorable all on its own.
Meet Amy Lane!
Amy Lane has two kids in college, two gradeschoolers in soccer, two cats, and two Chi-who-whats at large. She lives in a crumbling crapmansion with most of the children and a bemused spouse. She also has too damned much yarn, a penchant for action adventure movies, and a need to know that somewhere in all the pain is a story of Wuv, Twu Wuv, which she continues to believe in to this day! She writes fantasy, urban fantasy, and m/m romance–and if you accidentally make eye contact, she’ll bore you to tears with why those three genres go together. She’ll also tell you that sacrifices, large and small, are worth the urge to write.
Want to purchase Amy’s novels?
Vulnerable (Little Goddess #1)
Green’s Hill Werewolves, Vol. 1
The Green’s Hill Novellas
Manny Get Your Guy
Candy Man (Candy Man #1)
Fish Out of Water (Fish Out of Water #1)
Bitter Moon Saga
Winter Ball (Winter Ball #1)
The Virgin Manny
The Deep of the Sound
Don’t miss your chance to meet over 50 fabulous urban fantasy, paranormal, and romance authors at Coastal Magic next February! This super casual book-lover weekend happens on Daytona Beach, and gives everyone the chance to hang out with fellow readers and amazing storytellers.
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