The Tangled Webs of Love

Author's Note:

Thank you again for the votes and comments.

Things will be continuing from Merrin's perspective for a few chapters before returning to Sharyn's.

*****

The blonde beneath him cries out as Merrin thrusts home within her. He doesn't know her name, but then again, he doesn't really care to, either. Knowing her name would create a connection he's not looking for in this act. The summer solstice is around the corner and it brings his Fae blood more and more into aspect, sometimes driving him nearly mad with the need to give in to his darker, more sinful desires. It's not that he's an inconsiderate lover, but they both entered into this knowing that they would have some fantastic sex tonight and likely never meet again.

Cat-like eyes and pointed ears, the only indications of his heritage, are hidden now beneath the illusory magic that came with them. He doesn't bother to hide the oak tree tattoo on his chest that quite literally grew in along with some of his powers. She's too far gone to realize that it moves on its own as if blown by an invisible wind and since she'll never see it again, the fact that its current bright summer bloom will eventually fade to autumnal orange and red and thus through all the seasons isn't something she'll have the opportunity to notice. He doesn't smell like pumpkin pie yet, that will come later.

Now there is only him and tonight's beautiful distraction. A pleased groan is ripped from his throat as she thrusts her hips up to meet his as he drives into her again and she matches him, her nails digging into his firm shoulders as he sets a strong, steady pace designed to bring her to her peak at least once more before he finally allows himself release. It's the only way to prolong it enough, the only way to take the edge off.

His seemingly brown eyes watch her blue ones as they ebb and flow together. They've been at it for a couple of hours now and she's already getting that starry-eyed look that tells him this will have to be his last go lest she become attached. Not that it stops him from letting his arms slide forward until he's resting on his elbows, nuzzling his nose against the side of her neck as he lets his pace pick up, eliciting a soft moan every time he bottoms out in her tight sheath.

He smirks against that sensitive flesh as she mistakes him for God, her breath hitching in her throat as she climbs higher and higher, long since having lost count of how many orgasms she's had tonight in the hours since she brought the strange man home from the bar, but she has at least one more in her and it's building faster than she can process. Every time her eyes manage to focus on the beautiful man above her, her body just heats up more until they give up entirely, rolling up into her head with a deep, stuttering moan, her back arching up until as much of her as can be is pressed against his chest, fingers digging into the corded muscles along his back.

After a couple more thrusts, he arches away from her, freezing his motion completely buried in her tight channel, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he releases himself into yet another condom. Even Changelings have to worry about STDs and unwanted pregnancy, after all. In that brief moment, his glamors falter, revealing the truth of him, but neither of them are looking and by the time he's collapsed on top of her they're safely back in place: secret protected.

As breathing slows and their bodies begin to cool as the air conditioning evaporates the sheen of sweat brought on by the exercise, Merrin hoists himself back up and slowly disengages from her, "I should go."

Because that's what every woman wants to hear after mind-blowing half-drunk sex. She blinks a few times as she processes his words, then her face slowly morphs to a scowl, pleasure fleeting in the face of a brush off, "Go then."

There's a moment of pause where it seems he might actually feel guilty, but it passes as quickly as it came and he pushes the rest of the way up until he's standing at the foot of the bed. He's not actually posing, but it seems that way as he lingers there, oddly backlit by the light filtering in under the doorway so that his smooth hips and the curly hair of his pubes almost seeming to lift up his semi-flaccid penis. That part's always ready for more, but Merrin doesn't need another stalker, so he turns and stoops to retrieve his pants, finding her eyes glued to his rear when he tugs them up, "I know it's fantastic, but it's about to walk out the door, I'm sure you can find another."

"You don't have to go."

He looks back, brown eyes sliding over her sweet little body and well-proportioned breasts before settling back on her face, but not her eyes. He doesn't have to look her in the eyes to see that pleading, half-addicted look. He stuffs himself away and zips up his pants, just stuffing his underwear in a pocket, "Yeah... I think I do."

He pulls on his shirt, leaving the front open while he loops the tie over his shoulders. She starts to stand, perhaps to ask him to stay, but he doesn't give her the opportunity. He just turns, shoes in hand, and walks out the door.

He can hear her fumbling from the bed and across her floor as he makes his way calmly down the hallway, buttoning his shirt up as he goes and knowing he should have left earlier and not fucked her that last time. The worst part is that this close to the solstice, his body is already begging for more.

The walk home in the muggy heat is nothing the Summer Changeling is disused to. In fact, it's almost comfortable. Before he pledged himself to Summer, it was worse, but now? Now it's just heat. He doesn't bother to tie the tie, letting the ends flippty-flap in the breeze as he walks, which at least takes the edge off a touch, but only a touch.

As he pushes the door open to the house he shares with several friends, he's hoping that even at this late hour at least one of them might be awake, but the lights are out. He whispers a soft, "Hello?" but the place is well and truly dead. It's not really a surprise, like the other children of Summer are out seeking their own vices and there are only a few others in the house beyond that.

Through sheer force of willpower, he resists the urge to turn on all the lights or turn the TV up really loud. Harial, who owns the building, might not appreciate Merrin waking up his children, so Merrin settles for his other balming vice. The kitchen light isn't bright enough to wake others when he turns it on. Now that he's home, the energy that drove him through the streets has ebbed and he finds himself groping awkwardly at the top of the fridge until he pulls down a bottle of whiskey.

He considers a glass, but passes it by, moving to crash across the couch, taking a sip right from the bottle. The Jack may burn going down, but it's a good burn, returning him from starting to sober up to drunk. Drunk is better, things don't hurt when you're drunk. Maybe if he'd stayed... But he knows it wouldn't have worked out. Women and his sexual appetite don't mix well in the long run. He learned that one the hard way.