Tempest (23 page)

“Oh!” There it was, that spot, that place that had felt so good before. It was even better now, not as sensitive as it had been right after his orgasm. Colm canted his hips back and lowered his head, and Nichol's chuckle was positively filthy.

“Have we found it, then?” he asked breathlessly, moving a bit faster.

“Yesss.” They certainly had, and it felt like lightning in his blood, coursing through the channels of his body and readying for a strike.

“Perfect. I want…gods, I want you to…do you think you can come? Like this?” Nichol's fingers dug into the sides of Colm's hips as he started to thrust in earnest.

“Don't know,” Colm replied, equally breathless. He swayed with Nichol's movements for a moment, then began to push back on his own. The harder and faster they moved, the more favorably his body seemed to respond. The gentleness of the past few months was stripped away, and all that was left was the desperate urge for
more, faster, harder
. “Nichol…”

“I'm…this…” The more inarticulate Nichol became, the closer he was to finishing. Colm let him chase his own pleasure as he reached one hand down and fisted his own cock, working his tight hand across the head with a flurry of motion. Their movement became faster, faster, so much so that Colm thought he might lose his balance and collapse, but then Nichol groaned gutturally, pressed as far inside Colm as he could get and came. Colm felt it, the delicious warm wetness of it inside, and his cock swelled in his hand, so close.

Nichol, once he caught his breath, didn't stop moving, thank the gods. He stayed inside, moving slower now, incrementally softening but still hard enough to press that spot, and that, plus the feel of his spend leaking out of Colm's hole around Nichol's cock, was enough to make Colm come. He lowered his head and muffled the wild noise that tore from his throat against a pillow as he pulsed over his fist, a lesser but gut-wrenching flow that left him as weak as a minnow afterwards.

Nichol finally pulled back, gentle at last, and Colm fell facedown onto the blankets, completely oblivious to the spots of damp beneath him. Nichol joined him after a moment, plastering himself to Colm's side and peppering what he could reach of his face with kisses.

Gradually, their breathing rates calmed down enough that they could speak again. “Are you all right?” Nichol asked.

“Mmm, you could say that,” Colm mused, feeling utterly satisfied. “It wouldn't do the state I'm in justice, though.”

“I'm that good, am I?” Nichol said, and they both laughed a little.

“I think it's more that
I
am,” Colm jested, and was taken aback when Nichol didn't keep laughing, just smiled and said, “I agree.”

Was it as good as you imagined it would be
, Colm wanted to ask.
Was it better than with Jaime?
But he couldn't quite bring himself to be that overtly jealous of Nichol. “Do you really?”

“Yes,” Nichol replied with gratifying quickness. “I think you're amazing.” He leaned in and kissed the top of Colm's head, then added, “And sticky, probably, and perhaps a little uncomfortable. So I should do something about that.” And he did, cleaning both of them up with water and a rag set well aside from the action.

Eventually, the blankets and the two of them were as clean as they were going to get, the candles were blown out, and they huddled together in the middle of the pile, sharing the pillow like always even though there was plenty of room to spread out. Nichol fell asleep first, snoring gently, and Colm looked down at him and thought to himself,
if I could keep this life, I would.
Or even just be with him, however the rest turns out. That would be enough for me.

Perhaps, even, it might be enough for Nichol.

Chapter Sixteen

Winter dragged its claws through Caithmor relentlessly, bringing sleet, snow and even an ice storm. The days passed with agonizing slowness, not only due to the tiresome repetition of the routine at the Cove but also for intensely personal reasons. No more letters from Colm's sister came, and with every day that passed, Colm wondered more and more if she was all right.

He worried she would run too early and get caught and brought back, or run and get lost in the mountains and fall from a trail, or be buried beneath a drift. He worried she wouldn't run soon enough and would instead be trapped into a marriage she didn't want. He worried silently but incessantly, and only hard labor or a night with Nichol could clear his mind.

With Nichol, the moods were less plain. He would be fine for days, for weeks, a brightly burning fire around which the rest of them could flutter to warm their own spirits. Then something might happen—word from the fleet, none of which was good, or an incident that reminded him of Jaime or Blake or Ollie—or nothing might happen, and he would still rise in a gray mood, disinclined to smile or to put up with the company of others. On those days, Nichol left the Cove before breakfast, and Colm learned that sometimes it was better not to go after him. Sometimes they both needed solitude, and Colm wasn't going to press his luck by rendering himself unwelcome.

Every evening, though, Nichol came back, and even if he was still silent and withdrawn, he slept nestled against Colm. If he was ready to let go of his mood, it was even better, and more often than not, their nights together began with hands and lips and tender kisses, thrusts and squirms and halting gasps as they took each other apart in their quest for pleasure.

When the poor weather finally broke, two weeks before the start of spring, Nichol's mood took an abrupt turn for the better. “Sunshine on the sea!” he exclaimed, running over to the taproom window and staring out at the sky, which was clear of clouds for once. “How fantastic! It's past time. I thought the sun had decided to hide in the mountains forever.”

“They should be so lucky,” Colm said absently, already thinking on his sister. “More likely the snow is still a foot deep and the loch frozen over.”

“We should go out in it.”

Colm looked curiously at Nichol. “We go out in it every day.”

“No, I mean we should go out in the water. Sunshine on the water, Colm! Surely you want to feel that!”

Colm wondered when Nichol had lost his mind. “It's likely to be just a shade above freezing still, no matter how bright the sun shines today.”

“Nonsense, it'll be perfect for it.”

“Are you ill, perhaps?” Colm imitated Megg and pressed a hand to Nichol's forehead. “Has a fever taken you that I somehow failed to notice?”

Nichol batted his hand away. “No, and no. I just… Look, it's the
sun
, Colm! Don't you want to…to be a part of it? And besides, you haven't learned how to swim yet,” he added in what he clearly thought was a logical tone.

“You want to teach me to swim in
that
? Today, really?”

And then Nichol made that face, that terrible face that he kept locked away, to be used only when he wanted something. It was a pitiable face, blended with just enough pouty beauty that Colm, Megg and most of the people who worked at the Cove had difficulty saying no to it. “Oh gods, fine,” Colm said, downing the last of his tepid tea.

Nichol laughed. “You won't regret it! Or, you know, you might, but I certainly won't.”

Megg was less than amused. “I thought you outgrew this, Nichol! You can't be draggin' him out into the surf when he's never even wet his toes before! What if he's washed away?”

“What if he turns into a seal?” Nichol retorted. “What if that happens and he swims in circles around me? Not that I expect it to,” he added quickly. “It can only happen if you're a full half, and Grandad only became a seal at the end of his human life because the line between magic and man weakens then. You're fine, you're healthy, you wouldn't… Don't become a seal, Colm,” he finished with a frown.

“I don't think that would happen,” Colm said, although he was briefly reminded of the warm feeling of what should be cold water, the way it made him itch sometimes, like his skin was too small. Still, he felt far more like a man, and a somewhat irritated one, than anything magical. But now Nichol was looking like he regretted bringing it up, his early happiness gone, and Colm hated to see that. “And I should certainly learn to swim.”

“Right! Of course you should. You see, Gran?” He turned to Megg and grinned. “Today is a day for an adventure, even Colm agrees.”

“He agrees with everything you say, and every path you lead him down,” Megg declared, but she sent them on their way a bundle of hot bread, spare clothes and an admonishment to “not be seen, for the gods' sake!”

“It's sweet that she worries about our reputations,” Colm commented as they walked toward the sea wall. It was still fairly early, but the water was surprisingly still. There was a bite in the air but nothing like the cold of earlier in the week, and he felt his own heart lighten considerably just by being outside in the sun.

“She worries for
your
reputation,” Nichol corrected cheekily. “I'm afraid mine is all done in. The boy with the bad luck, that's me.” It didn't seem to bother him too much today, but Colm still didn't want his mind to go too far down that path.

“Not so bad these days,” Colm said, and Nichol bumped their shoulders together.

“Perhaps not,” he agreed. “I used to do this with them, you know. Jaime and the others. On the first nice day, we'd head out here and strip to our skin and jump in the water. It'll be bloody cold, but there's something about it that just feels right, like a ritual of spring. At least it did for us.”

Nichol kept up a steady stream of chatter as they neared the sea wall. There were the remnants of old docks on the inland side of the piled-up boulders, shattered planks of wood that nevertheless provided them with something to climb down onto, rather than just jumping headfirst into the water. They'd sat just above them before, but now Nichol was stripping down to his skin, not bothering to wait for Colm, not waiting for anything. He handed his clothes to Colm and shivered a little in the breeze.

“It's the anticipation,” he said when he saw Colm noticing, “not cold.” Then he looked down at himself and reassessed. “Never mind, it's absolutely the cold. Otherwise, it wouldn't look like that, and don't laugh!”

“I'm sorry,” Colm choked back, trying to contain himself. “I know, I know how it looks, Nichol, I'm not…not judging…” He smothered his giggles in Nichol's shirt.

“Git,” Nichol complained. “Why do I put up with you? All right, so…maybe I should have explained some about swimming before I went and got naked…”

“It can't be that hard,” Colm said reasonably. “Children do it. Animals do it.”

“It isn't hard, really, I just… Thrashing around isn't good. Look, just stay next to the logs when you get in and hold on, and we'll work on it from there, okay? Start with floating, although the gods know that will be difficult for you, you've no spare flesh to buoy you up.”

Before Colm could reply to that, Nichol had turned and stepped down onto the nearest log, which sank a bit under his weight. “Oh lord,” he muttered, “that's brisk.”

“Just think of the sunshine,” Colm told him. “You'll be fine.”

“
You
think of the sunshine,” Nichol replied, but he was still smiling, even if it was a little rueful. “Oh, I hope there are no urchin attached to these…all right, I'm going to do it.” His muscles tensed, but he didn't move. “I really am this time.”

“I'll just sit down and wait for the mood to come upon you, then,” Colm said, not bothering to hide his playful sarcasm.

“Oh, wait until it's your turn. You won't be so bloody cheeky then,” Nichol warned him. “Far less high and mighty when you're the one worrying about keeping your—” The log under his feet suddenly rolled, pitching him forward, and Nichol was thrown into the water with a yell, limbs akimbo.

“Nichol?” Colm set the clothes aside and leaned forward, looking for pale skin and dark hair. He didn't see anything, and reached out to dip his fingers into the water for the first time since stealing Lew's boat. “Nichol!” What if he'd hit his head, what if he were injured—

A wet hand emerged from the water and grabbed Colm's wrist just an inch before he touched the surface. “Ha!” Nichol exclaimed, coughing a few times. “Well, that was unexpected.” The grin he sent Colm was wide and guileless. “You should come in. It's…quite lovely once you acclimate a bit.”

“You can't even keep a straight face when you lie,” Colm accused him, but he shook off Nichol's grip and started to remove his clothes.

“On the contrary, I am an excellent liar. I've just never seen any need to do so with you,” Nichol said, swimming a few paces back and then forward again. The waves were fairly gentle, but he still rose and fell with little rhythm as they battled the odd currents bouncing from the rocks. “Be careful when you come in, all right? Go slow, not like I did.”

“It didn't look like you had much of a choice,” Colm said, taking off his boots and drawing down his trousers and drawers. Nichol watched his unveiling with interest.

Gods, it might be sunny, but no matter what Nichol said, it was still cold. Colm resigned himself to a rather uncomfortable first swimming lesson, then bent down and lowered himself to the submerged piece of dock.

“Be careful, parts of it are rotten,” Nichol said, laying his hand on Colm's calf as soon as it came within reach. Colm's foot slipped, and he laughed. “And there's sea grass on everything, did I mention that? Bit slick, that stuff.”

“You are incredibly unamusing sometimes,” Colm told his lover, setting his second foot down more carefully. It was the first time he'd dipped his feet into sea water, and they felt…odd. Warm. Apparently, he acclimated faster than Nichol did.

“Good, now…down farther.” Colm braced against the rocks and sat down, gasping slightly at the cold, which rapidly turned to heat.

“Nichol…”

“Are you nervous? Don't be nervous,” Nichol said, pressing a kiss to the top of Colm's thigh. “I'll be right here. I'll keep you safe.”

This didn't feel like nerves. This felt like nothing Colm had ever experienced before. He'd been soaked to the bone with rain, washed in well water and drenched with the sea, but never submerged in it. His whole lower half was itching. “Nichol, I don't—”

“Too late for don't!” Nichol shouted gleefully, and grabbed his arm and pulled Colm down into the water next to him. It closed over his head and, for a brief moment, Colm panicked.

Then there was no more thought for panicking.

The first thing he noticed when he surfaced was the warmth all over his body, a comfortable temperature, like an early summer's day. That comfort rapidly faded in the wake of the furious, excruciating
itch
that was crawling across his body. Colm began to hyperventilate, clawing at the logs in an effort to pull himself free of the water.

“Colm?” Nichol said, and there was no mischievous joy in his tone now, only concern. “Colm, what—”

“Out,” Colm gasped, “out of the water, get me
out of the
—” Pain overwhelmed his voice, and he screamed once, thin and barely audible, before his legs began to thrash uncontrollably.

Colm lost all sense of his surroundings. It was as if his body belonged to someone else; he had no control over it. His legs melted like wax, limbs reforming and snapping into alien new shapes. His back arched uncontrollably, forcing his neck to extend. Colm could
feel
when the slits opened to either side of his throat, feathery things that suddenly turned the salty death filling his lungs into something he could handle, something that felt thicker than air but just as crucial to his well-being. Points of pain erupted along his shoulders and head, and with vision that seemed somehow improved, sharpened beyond what he'd ever known before, Colm could see bits and pieces of his pale, sodden locks floating around his face before they drifted away, unmoored from his head.

After another seemingly endless moment of agony, all the tethers of pain suddenly coiled in on themselves, vanishing into the pit of Colm's stomach. He felt…not good, but whole. Like he'd been breaking and someone had come along and glued him back together, but in a different shape. Colm swished his tail, then boggled over the fact that he had a tail to swish, and not legs. A tail with fins…not a seal like Nichol had thought, then.

Nichol. Oh gods,
Nichol
. Colm looked around frantically and saw pale, motionless legs below the water. He closed the distance awkwardly, not yet sure how to control his new appendage, and surfaced next to his lover, who was clinging to the nearest rotten log, his eyes wide with shock and pain. Colm opened his mouth to speak, but all that emerged from his throat was a rough, snapping vibration.

“Oh, Colm,” Nichol whispered, one hand pressed to his side. It was only then that Colm tasted the blood in the water, and saw the ragged edge of a slender, barbed spine protruding from between Nichol's ribs. “No, Colm, oh no.”

“Nichol,” Colm tried to say, but his new voice wouldn't cooperate. It was just snaps, ending with a hiss that made Colm wince. He pressed his tongue to his teeth and felt their new, sharp edges, felt his feathery gills flutter in the breeze—it seemed so much harder to get air now, even though it was going down into his lungs. They simply couldn't cope with it as well. It felt too dry, abrasive inside of him. Colm ducked his head under again, felt the water brush past his gills and renew him, then surfaced again.