No Enemy But Time (A Brandywine Investigations Universe Story) Page 2

  "Tease too long and we won't get too far with this," Zack whispered while Michael lapped at his slit.

  His fallen angel had apparently slid past verbal. All he got back was another growl. His hands were still gentle when he grasped the base of Zack's cock to hold it steady and retrieved the well-lubed sound. He raised his eyes, searching Zack's face.

  "I'm ready. Go. Please."

  Zack shivered as cold metal touched his slit. His stomach muscles clenched in anticipation as the first orb slid inside, the sensation odd and shivery, his cock instantly rock hard.

  "Rivers of night… yes…" Zack pulled against his restraints, fighting to keep still as Michael pushed the sound in slowly, one incredible orb at a time, invading his channel, sending waves of shuddering pleasure up his spine.

  "More?" Michael's voice was a rasping snarl.

  "Yes. Fuck, yes."

  At five orbs, Michael pulled the sound out by two and then pushed it back in, slowly—always slowly—too slow for Zack, but he clenched his back teeth and managed to hold back the whimper. When the rounded end finally hit his prostate, he hissed in an extremity of pleasure, legs splayed stiff and taut, toes curled.

  "Right there?" Michael pulled back and tapped his prostate again.

  "Yes! Oh… holy mother of… Michael!" Zack slammed his head back against the headboard several times. "It's too much. Pull it out, pull it out… I'm too close…"

  "No."

  The single word snapped Zack's eyes open. He found Michael staring at him, a strange, cold hunger in those bright blue eyes. "Michael, please. I have to come. It's not… there's no channel in this one… Michael?"

  He swallowed hard as he stared into eyes he had known for decades, suddenly gone flat and alien. His vision must have darkened, because he seemed to imagine a red tinge to them. Now the whimper escaped. "Michael, please. Please, love…"

  Michael twitched and blinked, his expression suddenly puzzled. He glanced down at his hand still holding the sound, back up at Zack's face, and he let out a little sound of dismay. With a firm hold on Zack's erection, he pulled the sound out, bump by sensual bump. Zack managed to hold out until the last three orbs before he came, his come chasing the sound up, shooting from him in pent-up geysers as he bellowed in relief and pained pleasure.

  "Zack?"

  A hand stroked his cheek. Pink clouds floated through his vision. He was lying flat. His hands unbound, his head in Michael's lap.

  "Zack, I'm so sorry. I… are you all right?"

  "What're you sorry for, sweetheart? That was amazing."

  "You asked… I didn't… I don't know what I was thinking."

  "Hey." Zack reached up to smooth back a curl of Michael's hair from his cheek, surprised at how his hand shook. "You pulled it in time. That was amazing. Intense."

  "Too much?"

  "Close. But not quite." He hated how shaken Michael looked, how pale and uncertain. So he'd had a true moment of dominance, so what? He couldn't let Michael dwell on it too much. "It was perfect. You're perfect, snookums."

  Michael ducked his head on a snicker. "Babycakes."

  "Schmoopykins."

  "Kitten pie."

  Zack smacked him with a pillow. "Butter butt."

  Now Michael was laughing and smacked him back. "My little crinoline."

  The pillow smacking turned into wrestling when Zack roared and rolled them both off the bed in a tangle of flailing limbs. In the ensuing tussle and grope session, Zack managed to pin Michael and suck him off with them both still giggling like idiots.

  He finally collapsed with his head on Michael's shoulder, both of them panting, sweat and semen drying on their skin.

  "I'm all right. You didn't hurt me." Zack almost asked, but are you sure you're all right? Michael looked so peaceful and content, though, he didn't want him going back to fretting. "Want to drive down to Rehoboth for dinner?"

  "Dogfish Head?"

  "Sure, if you want. Good food."

  "Good beer. On draught."

  "Sold." Zack grinned up at Michael and added, "Schmoopy muffin." He got a pillow in the face for getting the last word.

  Chapter Two

  The next morning, Zack was relieved to see Michael more himself, cheerfully slipping out of bed early to make coffee and breakfast, determined to join the bird count even if he wasn't quite awake. He seemed so much better than the previous day, more present and even-tempered as he went out to the garden to say good morning to his tree frog friend and to retrieve their bikes.

  Zack put the odd behavior from the day before down to isolation. They hadn't been terribly social over the winter, and Michael loved crowds, loved being around people and talking to new acquaintances. Aggression simply wasn't Michael, and the hints and stabs of it had obviously upset him, unbalanced him so badly. Good to see him catch himself.

  I have to remember. I can't keep him all to myself. It's not good for him.

  Michael chatted happily on the bike ride over and remained serene all day, running temporarily captured birds back to the weighing stations and helping Zack in the water. One of the volunteers had brought a cooler full of sandwiches for lunch, so they were tired but not starving as they biked home together. If Zack hadn't been so focused on getting home for a nap, he might have noticed the abrupt change in Michael's mood.

  "Share the shower with me?" Zack offered as he propped the bikes up against the shed.

  "You go ahead." Michael was staring toward the back of the garden, his voice flat and odd. "I need to check on something."

  Zack blinked, caught off guard by the chill tone, but he shrugged and went to wash off the sand and salt in the outside shower. He had just rinsed the sand from his hair when a shriek set his heart pounding.

  "Michael!" He flung the wooden shower door open, and raced into the garden without stopping for a towel, just in time to see Michael hurl a rock at a lesser blue heron standing at the edge of the wildflower bed. "Michael, what the hell are you doing?"

  Face a mask of rage, Michael leaned down to pick up another stone since the first had only clipped tail feathers.

  "Michael!" Zack lunged and tackled him before he could hurl his second missile. "What the fuck's wrong with you?"

  For a moment, Michael struggled wildly, squirming and kicking underneath Zack. He risked a quick glance at the heron, in case it was something other than a heron, maybe a shapeshifter or a demon of some sort. No. Just a plain little heron. With frog legs dangling from her beak. Aw, damn.

  "She killed him!" Michael roared, his angel's voice pitched to shatter granite. He flipped under Zack and renewed his struggles.

  "Shh, shh, I see it. She ate your friend." Zack finally got hold of both of Michael's wrists and pinned him flat. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But she's just doing what she was designed to do. Mama heron has to eat."

  Still trying to buck Zack off, Michael let out a frustrated sound full of hurt and betrayal. "You said he was rare!"

  "Rare for here. Michael, stop. Damn it, you know how it works, that nature isn't all Disney butterflies and fucking rainbows."

  "She ate my friend. She has to pay." At least Michael's voice had softened to a growl.

  "You don't need me to tell you it wasn't personal. You're not a kid. But you're acting out of anger and cruelty. Michael, look at me. This isn't like you."

  Michael turned his head to glare at Zack, an odd red tinge veining through the blue of his eyes. "Get off!"

  "No. Not until you calm the fuck down."

  Another enraged bellow, another desperate struggle, and this time Zack barely hung on. He was damn tired already. Finally, Michael collapsed against the abused grass, shoulders shaking.

  "C'mere." Zack relented and sat back, not caring one rat's ass if the neighbors saw him sitting buck naked in the yard. He pulled Michael up and held him tight, letting him sob. "I understand being angry. Just not… the best way to deal with it, right?"

  Michael's answer was incoherent mumbling against Zack's shoulder. At least he h
ad dropped the rock.

  "Worried about you, you know? Something hasn't been right the past couple days. Anything you need to tell me?"

  Michael shrugged, arms going around Zack's neck. "I feel… odd sometimes. These chills and weird spots."

  Yeah, me too. Wish I knew why. "Could you be sick? Are there, I dunno, angel viruses?"

  A muffled, hiccoughing chuckle came from Michael. "I've been asking myself the same thing."

  "Okay. Great. That's just great. How about you take it easy today and let me fuss over you? I'll call my cousins and see if they know."

  "Not Apollo. Please."

  Zack rolled his eyes. "Never. Stuck up, self-righteous twit. Hermes might have a clue. He knows weird shit."

  "Zack?"

  "Hmm?" Zack moved his arms gently to help Michael up.

  "You do know you're naked?"

  "Yeah, I figured giving Mrs. Pendleton a free show wouldn't be a bad thing. I don't think she has much fun anymore."

  Michael managed a snort, though he shivered in Zack's arms. "She can download porn like everyone else, then."

  * * * * *

  It wasn't a bad afternoon, as afternoons stuck in bed went. Zack fussed, maybe a little too much, trying to coax Michael into eating and then napping. The strange fit of anger had made him nauseous, though, and edgy. Dark red, arterial blood-red anger, it had descended over his vision like a noxious oil slick, thick and slippery, making his thoughts hard to chase and harder to pin down.

  He had acted without reason, without compassion, with… hate. Some of his fallen brethren spent their lives consumed with it. How did they live inside those choking, vile confines? Some part of him knew his reaction had been horrible, while a whispering, insidious voice at the back of his mind reminded him of the power coursing through him, the dark, inhibited strength. Michael shivered and burrowed deeper under the blankets, concentrating on Zack whistling in the kitchen.

  That's not me. It's never been me. I am fallen, but not one of the ones who changed. I'm still Michael. Zack's Michael. It was just a passing storm.

  * * * * *

  A storm stirred out on the bay. It reached fingers inland during the early afternoon, kicking up the wind and bringing the scent of restless waves. By the time Zack came back from the grocery store, dark clouds had obliterated the sky, shuttering the sun so midnight could visit early.

  He had no fear of storms. The lightning would never dare touch him, beloved nephew of Zeus. But tonight the storm brought something with it, something dark and strange. He shivered as he got out of his Jeep and hurried to move Michael's hanging columbine planters to the door. Movement out in the garden caught his eye, furtive, clinging to the shadows.

  "Michael?" Zack called, peering into the dark, squinting against the rising wind.

  The shape moved, too large for Michael, misshapen somehow. Wishing he had a weapon at hand or at least one of his Arcadian hounds, Zack stepped off the porch to meet it. Whatever this was, it wasn't getting past him into the house where Michael slept.

  "Who's there?" His voice cracked, not exactly the angry defiance he was going for.

  A laugh floated to him across the garden, eerily familiar and oh-so-wrong. "Really? Already you don't recognize me? Zagreus… Zagreus…"

  The figure stepped close enough for Zack to make out the humps at his shoulders. Wings. "Michael? But how—?"

  "No stupid questions, Zack." The being took three steps closer. The voice was a chill parody of Michael's, as if some horrible soul leech had sucked out all the music and warmth. "No. You used to listen to me without question. I was the protector. The guardian. The guide. One way or another, I will be again. I'm asking you, now, to come with me willingly. Love me as I am, no matter what, as you promised."

  "I… but what…"

  This dark version of Michael held up a hand to cut him off. Huge wings spread out behind him, inky black, leathery wings so different from the beautiful, shining, white feathers Michael had as an angel. "I am fallen because of you. Because of your kiss, your love. I am this—" The wings shot out to their full extension, claws flashing in the single light on the back porch "—because of you! One chance, Zagreus. I am no mewling angel, now, no lickspittle lover for you to order about. Come with me willingly. Help me build my domain as a god, or by all the rivers of the Underworld, I will come back some day and take you by force."

  Zack staggered back a step, icy hands around his heart. "Michael… whatever's happened, we'll fix it. We'll—"

  "No! I'm not some broken toy! I've—"

  "Zack!" Michael's voice, his familiar, soft voice, called from the house. "Who are you talking to out there?"

  The dark Michael jerked back as if slapped. He snarled, and beat his wings as he leapt from the ground, a barely discernible blot on the tumultuous clouds as he flew away. Zack turned and dashed to the house, knowing he was wild-eyed and maybe a little crazy looking, but he had to see Michael, his Michael.

  "Zack? Are you all right?" Michael's eyes searched his face and then the now-empty garden behind him. "Was that some sort of huge raptor?"

  Zack cupped his angel's face in both trembling hands, uncertain of what to say, of how much to say, completely baffled by what he had seen. "Michael, I thought… it was the strangest thing. I thought it looked like you. But you were inside. Safe inside." He pulled Michael into a fierce hug, breathing him in, stroking the hollow dimples where his wings had been. "I don't know what that was."

  "Did it hurt you? Are we safe?" For a moment, Michael was the guardian again, pushing Zack behind him into the house. "Zack?"

  "I think it's… gone for now. It was just very strange. It felt like it shouldn't have been here. Shouldn't have existed at all. That doesn't make any sense, I know…"

  "We'll lock the doors, just in case, and get your bow out of the closet. Did it say what it wanted?"

  Zack shuddered once more before turning to flip on all the outdoor floodlights. "Me."

  * * * * *

  Over the next three days, the dark Michael didn't return. Zack would've been relieved over that fact if he had answers, but he'd talked to several of his cousins and no one could give him any useful tidbit. Worse, the real Michael's odd shifts in mood did return.

  There weren't any quicksilver rages like that first one over his little frog's demise, but he was surly and irritable. Zack found himself walking on eggshells. Any little slip or attempt to tease caused offense. More than once, he found Michael curled into a ball on the floor, sobbing, choking on garbled words. The little Zack could make out sounded as if he couldn't remember how he had entered the room, hints of dislocation and missed time that sounded like the beginnings of dementia.

  Hermes had no helpful advice other than to say most fallen angels weren't like Michael.

  "Really, Herm?" Zack had snorted at him. "Thanks for the newsflash."

  "Sorry I can't help. But, Zack, if he doesn't get better, call your dad. I don't think this is a medical thing. It sounds metaphysical to me. Hades is better with that end than the rest of us put together."

  Zack had let out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, I'll call him and his new boyfriend'll answer."

  "You, my darling cousin, are going to have to get over that."

  He didn't have time for the bizarre turn in his father's love life, though. Mom divorces him and he takes up with a homeless, alcoholic human. Sure, the rest of the family seemed to like the guy, but it was still… Damn it, Zack had his own problems. Right now, his Michael-problem was singing They Might Be Giants songs in the kitchen, so he felt reasonably sure that he could go to his study and get some paperwork done. He'd make chili for dinner, Michael's favorite, and they would talk about getting him some help.

  After an hour, Michael slipped through the study door and sat in the chair by Zack's desk. "Hey." Zack offered a smile, which faltered when Michael didn't respond to it. "What's up?"

  "The dark. It's back." Michael swallowed hard, but his face remained disturbingly stoic. "The way it
was at first. When I fell. I have visions of destruction and horror…"

  "Sweetheart, we got through this before." Zack reached out to take his hands, blinking in shock when Michael jerked back. "We'll get through it again."

  "It's not going away. We've just delayed it. I'm fallen, Zack. I can't help what I'm becoming. You need to leave me. Now."

  "You think I'm leaving you now, when you need me? You're out of your mind. No. Not before, not now."

  "Before, the visions, the need for violence, they were nightmares." Michael leaned forward, his bright blue eyes earnest and haunted. "Now, they're daydreams." He stood and stalked out.

  "Michael!" Zack's chair fell backward with a clatter as he scrambled after his lover. "Michael! Damn it!"

  Michael poked his head around the corner of the kitchen, dishtowel and plate in hand. "What? Zack, I'm right here. What's wrong?"

  Zack stopped in the doorway, taking in Michael's concerned expression. "The fuck, Michael? You come into my study to tell me that your daydreams are violent horror shows and then ask me what's wrong?"

  Michael shook his head, his confusion all too real. "You're not making sense. I wasn't in your study. I've been in the kitchen this whole time."

  "Then what… oh." Zack gathered Michael into his arms. "I'm sorry. I… something really bad is happening here. There's you, and then there's… other you. Damn it. I hate this."

  "How does this other person get in here? How did he leave without me seeing him?" A note of panic wormed its way into Michael's voice. "Who is he?"

  "I don't know, hon. I don't know anything. But I think we should pack a couple of bags and go upstate to see my dad. We have to get out of this house. Now."

  "All right. I think… that makes sense."