Page 42 of The Bairwick Witches
Issac sat up and leaned forward, looking directly at Schuyler. “I accepted your help because you were kind enough to offer it to me, even though I’d been a nasty ass. Pun intended.
“I accepted because you were handsome, and funny, and kinda a grump. I wanted any opportunity to spend time with you. I never meant to hide anything. I really didn’t know how to bring up the subject once we’d gotten so intimate. And then days flew past without me realizing, and shit, like, how do I tell you now?Never,” he emphasized, “was it my intention to hurt you. I swear on the Goddesses, as you all say.”
The words were sweet, their delivery sincere, but could Schuyler believe him? There was an attractiveness to the vulnerable and remorseful Issac who sat across from him, almost crumpled in his chair, shoulders curled over his chest, head low. When his tired eyes weren’t fixed on Schuyler’s face, they were on the plates of food which arrived quickly, or on the RasSkels, the band on stage continuing their set.
He appeared remorseful, from the way his voice cracked when he spoke, to the number of times he reached out to touch Schuyler’s hand only to pull back, unsure if he was permitted to do so. But Schuyler questioned if that was enough.
“I really don’t know what else to say. I’m so, so sorry. If after this meal you never want to see me again, I’d understand.”
The idea of never seeing Issac again didn’t sit right in his stomach, even after days of turmoil with heightened emotions. Schuyler thought back, realizing most of that was for Dev, for the unhealed parts of himself. How much of that was truly about Issac? Yes, he lied, but he wasn’t wrong about being placed in an impossible position, albeit one he created.
He knew the young man waited for a response, but Schuyler could not find any words, continuing to peer into Issac’s face, thinking of their time together over the past week. Days wasted in bed, teaching him magic.
The RasSkels smoothly moved their way into a new song, strumming on the strings so evocatively it gave Schuyler a single thought.
His hand reached across the table and slid over Issac’s, “Come on.” Schuyler took his hand and urged Issac up, leading him to the dance floor.
“What? No—” Issac hesitated.
“Dance with me.”
“There’s people here,” he said, nervous at the thought of eyes on him, on them.
“Nobody cares. They’re only paying attention to themselves. And there’re other couples on the dance floor.” Both living and dead couples, gay and straight.
Issac nodded, still lingering in his hesitation. “I don’t really know how to dance like that. I can only throw my ass around to Pop songs.”
“You’re a witch, dancing is in our blood. We dance in our rituals, we dance to be grateful, we dance to be closer to theGoddesses.” Swaying his hips as they stepped onto the dance floor, Schuyler instructed, “Follow me, follow the music.”
Their left hands found each other; their fingers intertwined. Schuyler wrapped his right arm around Issac’s waist, pulling him in. This reminded him of their first night, in the bubble, the lingering tension of their hovering closeness, the restrained desire to touch. The mystery of the handsome stranger. He knew Issac now, and still the shivering ache calling for their bodies to be closer remained every bit as potent.
Light percussion joined the strings, informing them of the beat to which they moved around the floor. Every so often, Schuyler spun Issac away from him, never letting go, before pulling him back in. Face to face. Chest to chest. Resisting the urge to push in closer, though he feigned as if he were about to, only to spin Issac away once more.
Issac’s hand gripped Schuyler’s shoulders as their pace quickened. Their hips moved toward each other; their legs intertwined as they crossed the floor with a satisfying smoothness.
Bodies were given over to the music, following the strings’ instruction, the drums guidance, and the vocalist’s soothing plea to rekindle a lost love. The song spoke of forgiveness, and Schuyler wasn’t one to shake off synchronicity as strong as that. He understood Issac’s position; he’d more than once let things needing to be said linger until they snowballed into a bigger mess because he’d never ‘found the right time’ to speak up.
Remaining angry at Issac for a crime he’d been guilty of in his youth didn’t feel fair.
“I forgive you,” he whispered into Issac’s ear.
Issac’s grip on him tightened, and with every turn around the floor, Schuyler felt more of his anger at the situation fade.He’d be more cautious than his heavily bandaged heart already was, but he let go. There had been more moments of happiness and satisfaction in the past few days than in the past couple of years. Witches often found themselves in peculiar situations with creaky connections to the past; this was no different.
The reserve both parties had been showing began to fade once the apology was accepted. Their hips grinded against each other; embraces became tighter. The speed quickened. Schuyler pulled Issac in as close as possible and kissed the side of his head, working a trail down until their lips met, and then he led them off the dance floor.
Schuyler grabbed Issac, hoisting him up as they pushed past the bathroom door. Lowering his left hand, he swirled his ring finger in the air. “Lock,” he commanded, and the door locked behind them.
Issac wrapped his legs around Sky’s waist. They slammed against the outer stall wall, both ravenous for each other after two days separated. Their kissing wild, hands pulling at clothes.
Schuyler waved his right hand—Issac’s clothes vanished. Another wave, and so did his. He spun them around, setting Issac down on the sink—hard. The impact rocked the basin, causing it to come slightly off the wall and bend the pipes; water began to pour from the faucet. Issac licked on Schuyler’s hairy chest, biting at his nipples, while Sky scooted Issac’s lower half to the edge of the sink, ensuring he could enter. Issac’s rear slid, dipping into the basin, which had filled with water and was beginning to spill out onto the floor. Schuyler readjusted him and pushed his erection against Issac.
There was sex meant to be savored. Sex which took its time and lingered within the sweet bliss of deep, harmonic connection. The arousing sensation of lust brought from the stillest point to a rolling boil, where the caresses were tenderand thoughtful. Every desire spoken given attention; sex which transcended the mere act of bodies joined together.
Thiswas notthat kind of sex.
This was sex ushered in, in the heat of the moment, where control was relinquished to primal animalistic carnality; the need to penetrate or be penetrated. Where clothes were obstacles, and moans and words of encouragement were replaced by grunts and growls. Where lust flogged the mind savagely into no longer seeing a person, but merely a body, one intended for nothing more than pleasure.
The sink struggled under the force of Schuyler’s thrust and Issac’s vigorous responses. The final remnants of Sky’s anger worked out its issues with Issac’s ass, which accepted its punishment. The young man grabbed Schuyler’s hands and moved them past his chest, offering up his neck, which Sky began to choke. Issac nodded in enthusiastic approval, his eyes rolling back from the pressure being applied.
