Decision and Desire

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Fynn stood at the dock’s edge staring into the dark waters. It was just one week before his birthday, October 31st. Halloween. However, Fynn would not be there to celebrate either. There was nothing to live for. Better to get it over with. He thought of the water surrounding him like a cocoon as he was dragged down. Just slip away quietly, no fuss, no bother. The world would not miss him. He took a step closer to the pier’s edge. The rain had soaked him to the skin, his fleece no protection, and he was shaking from the cold, unaware his lips were already turning blue.

“You wanna tell me why?” a laconic voice had Fynn turning; his feet dangerously close to the end of the jetty.

“What do you care?” he countered through chattering teeth. Suddenly aware of how cold he was, Fynn found he was shaking so hard he could hardly keep standing.

“Didn’t say I cared, just curious.”

Fynn could see little of the other man in the dark. Just a dark outline silhouetted against the light. Not so tall, slender, but his voice was powerful in a way Fynn could not define. He took an unconscious step away from the edge towards the man.

“Curious,” Fynn repeated, his mind becoming a little foggy.

“You know what it feels like to drown? Not a good way to die.”

For a minute it seemed to Fynn he was actually in the water and that the stranger was right. Water invaded his nose and mouth and he was struggling frantically to reach the surface, his lungs burning as his waterlogged body was dragged mercilessly deeper. He gave a cry of distress and found himself still on the dock, but a safe distance from the water, held in strong arms.

“I thought…I thought…” he stuttered helplessly.

“I got you,” the stranger said.

There was no rocking or crooning, just strong arms holding Fynn against a warm body. Even if the stranger did not care about him, it was the first concern Fynn felt he had received in the month from Hell. Unable to stop them, the tears fell. He sobbed on the other man’s shoulder releasing all the pent-up emotion he felt.

“Wanna give me the edited version? You’re freezing. I gotta take you home.”

“My boyfriend, I’d only been seeing him for a couple of months, he kept talking about a threesome. I told him I wasn’t interested. We hadn’t even progressed to full sex as a couple. A friend of his came round and they were laughing, drinking, talking and I felt like a spare part, so much so I hardly drank anything myself. It got late and I wanted to go to bed. Mick said they’d just finish their drinks before they went.” Fynn sighed, shaking his head. Even now he found it hard to believe what Mick had done.

“I wasn’t happy but went to the bathroom, thinking by the time I’d finished in there they’d be ready to go. I went into my bedroom and they were ready alright, but not to leave. They were naked in my bed, all over each other. Mick said Phil would make up our threesome. They tried to pull me into the bed, their hands all over me. I fought them off, pushing Mick onto the floor and landing a lucky blow that put Phil out of action and I ran out.”

“A punch in the goolies will do that,” the other man sounded satisfied. “But that wouldn’t bring you here.”

Fynn nodded, it was exactly where he had landed his flailing punch. He found himself trying to burrow against the man’s heat, his voice becoming breathier.

“It was my apartment, but I couldn’t face going back that night. I stayed in a motel and went home the next day. There were used condoms and come all over the bed and drink had been poured over my lounge suite. I had to get rid of them both. My fridge-freezer had been switched off, so all the food in it was spoiled. Replacing everything maxed out my plastic and now I’m being made redundant from my job. I keep getting nasty calls from Mick saying it isn’t over between us and I’ve seen him following me to work or lurking around the apartment block. I haven’t been in this city long. I don’t have friends here, and I have no family to turn to. I just couldn’t cope anymore.”

“You’re tougher than you think. Look, my name’s Brant. I need to get you home, warmed up and I think you could use this more than me.”

“I’m Fynn, thanks.” A warm leather coat was wrapped around his shaking form and he was guided away from the dock and towards a car. By the time they were driving from the port, Fynn’s eyes were winning the battle of closing against his wishes.

“We’re here.” Brant’s voice awoke him with a start.

“How did you know?” Fynn whispered, looking at his small apartment block.

“You told me where you lived when you told me about Mick,” Brant said. “Dontcha remember? Maybe you were too upset.”

Fynn was dispatched to take a hot shower and dress in dry clothes. He had pulled out sweats and t-shirt for Brant, who seemed remarkably dry, and who was currently busy in Fynn’s kitchen. He finally wandered back into his lounge to find two bowls of steaming pasta with tomato sauce on his table.

“I like Italian,” Brant shrugged.

Fynn was surprised Ankara escort at how good a simple dish of pasta with tomato, garlic, capers and olives could be. There had been little else in his cupboards. He had not shopped, not seeing the need for food.

“It’s great,” Fynn enthused, taking his first real look at his unexpected benefactor.

He already knew that Brant had no more than a couple of inches in height over him. He also knew they both had a slender physique, however, the peek at Brant when he had changed his t-shirt, had revealed a smooth, sculptured chest and well-defined muscles in contrast to Fynn’s softer, more rounded build. His own olive-toned skin, chestnut hair and espresso eyes were courtesy of a Mediterranean inheritance. Brant’s skin seemed to have a bronze sheen and his hair was platinum blond and gelled into short spikes. One ear had a row of multi-coloured studs, his lips were full and sensual and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that had Fynn staring fascinated until he realised Brant was staring back, one eyebrow quirked and a half-smile on his lips.

“Sorry,” Fynn said, blushing furiously.

“‘S ok,” Brant shrugged, his smile widening. “Kinda nice you think I’m worth looking at. Guess I’d better be going, although I’d like to see you tomorrow night. Take you out. Show you life is worth living even when things look bleak. Wanna have a meal, go to a club?”

Brant had moved closer and Fynn could see the hope in the other man’s eyes. He smiled and nodded. Brant had, after all, saved his life and was very attractive.

“I should take you as a ‘thank you’,” Fynn murmured.

“Things are tight for you right now. Your company is payment enough for me. I can ask my dad to check out work opportunities. You can tell me over dinner tomorrow what kinda work you can do. Deal?”

“Deal,” Fynn nodded. He watched with growing anxiety as Brant headed for the door.

“Can you stay?” Fynn blurted. “You can have the bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. I just…I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“You have the bed, I’ll take the couch,” Brant said. “It’s no problem. I just have to be away very early, so I won’t be here in the morning, but I’ll leave a couple of numbers for you. Just leave a message on this one. I will get it and get back to you, but it might take a while. If it’s really urgent, ring my dad,” Brant said looking intently at Fynn. “I mean it, Fynn,” he added. “If it’s important, let my dad know, ok?”

“Ok,” Fynn agreed, adding the numbers to his cellphone. He then got sheets, duvet and pillows and made up the couch. He stood back and smiled shyly at Brant. “Thanks,” he murmured softly.

“Sleep well, Fynn,” Brant smiled.


Fynn was having a nightmare. He was certain he was drowning. He struggled frantically, unknowingly entangling himself more and more in his sheets. He moaned and whimpered, not waking enough to unravel himself.

“Easy, baby, easy,” a soft voice crooned and Fynn’s tussle with his bedding began to subside. He felt himself eased back against a warm, smooth, bare chest and sighed contentedly. An arm slid around his waist, holding him securely, and he settled.

Fynn was in the state between waking and dreaming. He began to imagine how it would feel to have Brant’s white teeth nipping at his shoulders. He moaned softly, rolling onto his back and arching, offering his chest, inciting his dream-lover to pay similar attention to his nipples. He whimpered his appreciation as a volley of sharp nips was followed by slow, sensual suckling. His legs spread wide, his hips canting upwards, his aching shaft demanding the same wet suction as lavished on his nipples. As his erection was taken into moist heat, Fynn gave a low, deep groan to vocalise his pleasure. There was something different about the tongue that slid up and down or swirled over the head of his engorged flesh, but Fynn was beyond the ability to identify what. A hand cupping his sac and tenderly squeezing his balls was enough to send him over the edge. His hips pumped furiously as he was milked dry. Finally replete, his softening sex slipped from its haven and Fynn slept dreamlessly once more.


Fynn’s sienna orbs drifted open lazily. He grimaced at the thought of the mess he would find, but when he threw back his sheets his body was clean, not covered with the evidence of a very realistic wet-dream. He frowned briefly and then shook his shoulders. Padding into his living room, he found the note from Brant.

‘I’ll be round at 7.00. Dress smart but casual. Fill the fridge. See ya later. Brant.’

Fynn smiled softly at the money left with the note and shook his head. It was nice to think that the other man cared. He was already looking forward to seeing Brant again.


The next three days sped past faster than Fynn could believe. He had slept with Brant each night, although the other man had done nothing more than hold him. It seemed to calm and settle him, but Fynn was beginning to want more than the reassurance that the Ankara escort bayan strong, warm body so readily provided. He was sure he had seen desire in the fascinating amber eyes, but Brant had made no mention of developing the relationship. He glanced at his watch once more. Brant was late and, so far, there had been no call. A tap at his door had him scurrying to open it. He stared at the older man standing there.

“You must be Fynn,” he said. “I’m Mark, Brant’s dad.”

“Is he ok?” Fynn asked anxiously. “Please, come in,” he added. “What’s happened?”

“He’s ok, Fynn. He’ll just be a little late getting here. He didn’t want you worrying he’d stood you up.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Fynn asked, still unconvinced.

“No, son,” Mark said. “But it’s good to know you care for him. My son is a good man.”

“I know,” Fynn said softly. He wondered who else would have lain and held him the way Brant had. “Would you like a coffee, tea?” Fynn asked, suddenly remembering his manners.

“A tea with milk no sugar would be nice,” Mark smiled.

Fynn found Mark easy to talk to and the older man had taken more detailed notes on Fynn’s work experience to try and find something to replace the job he was losing. They chatted for half an hour before Mark left, still assuring Fynn there was nothing to worry about.

The older man had only been gone fifteen minutes when there was another knock at Fynn’s door. The brunette stared with shock at the big, blond male that stood glaring at him.

“Told you it wasn’t over, slut,” the big man growled menacingly.

“Mick…” Fynn began but a brutal fist drove the air from his lungs as it was slammed into his stomach. As he staggered back into his apartment, he was spun easily and a thickly-muscled arm grasped him around his throat, causing Fynn to have to stand on tip-toe. He tried to loosen the grip, his breathing little more than a tortured wheeze as he struggled for air.

“You’ve spread yourself around since ditching me,” Mick rasped in Fynn’s ear. “The punk, the old guy, bet you were cheating on me. Bet you were seeing them before you pretended to be all offended by a threesome. Made me look a fool, Fynn and I don’t like that. Now I’m getting what I wanted from you from the start. A piece of that pretty, tight arse.”

Fynn’s desperate thrashing grew weaker as he was dragged across the living room into his bedroom. Mick’s free hand was at his groin, unfastening his jeans as he was propelled forward onto the bed. Mick followed him down, crushing him, Fynn’s face jammed against a pillow making breathing impossible. He tried to dislodge the bigger man but the swirling dots before his eyes coalesced into one and his eyes closed.

Satisfied that Fynn was pliant enough, Mick flipped the barely conscious brunette onto his back, grinning malevolently. He tore open Fynn’s shirt, yanking it half-way down the slender torso, pinioning the younger man’s arms to his sides. He roughly pulled down the opened jeans to mid-calf, smirking as the briefs were dragged to mid-thigh, the clothing helping to immobilise Fynn’s legs. He rolled his captive back onto his stomach as Fynn began to recover and to plead uselessly.

“Please don’t do this, Mick. Please don’t.” He moaned in a mix of fear, humiliation and revulsion as Mick pried his cheeks apart. The big male making no move to try and rape him, but Fynn could feel the cold eyes devouring the sight of his hidden entrance exposed and vulnerable. It was just a matter of time. Mick was going to take what Fynn had never freely offered to him.

“Fuckin’ bastard.”

The words in a feral rasp accompanied Mick’s weight vanishing from Fynn’s body and a yell of shock from the big blond. Groaning softly as he moved, Fynn rolled to see what had happened. His eyes widened as he saw what was happening. Brant had hold of Mick around the throat with a single hand. Mick had both of his wrapped around Brant’s wrist but to no avail, not breaking or loosening the smaller man’s hold. Instead the bigger man was forced to stand on tip-toe despite his greater height and breadth. Fynn was stunned by the flames of fury that seemed to flicker in Brant’s eyes.

“I should rip off your balls, shove them bloody side first down your stinkin’ throat and leave you to choke,” Brant said, his voice a sibilant hiss. “This time you live, but if I even smell you anywhere near Fynn again you’re a dead man. And no one will find the body.” The last words were punctuated by Brant shaking Mick as if he was a rag-doll before throwing the blond out of the front door.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

Fynn could scarcely reconcile the softly-spoken, gentle man who now held him in his arms with the embodiment of rage Brant had been just seconds before. However, the shock of his assault had kicked in and he began to shake.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Brant whispered, nuzzling at Fynn’s temple.

Fynn’s memory of the rest of the night was hazy and disjointed. He remembered Brant carefully undressing him, low growls accompanying Escort Ankara each discovery of a bruise inflicted by Mick. Being helped into the bathroom and held in strong arms whilst a hot shower cascaded over him alleviating some of the chill from his shock. Then being bundled under the bedcovers, snuggled tightly and protectively against Brant’s heat and strength. He murmured wordlessly, burrowing against the other man’s chest, sighing as he finally settled. He dimly wished he would wake in Brant’s arms, but an instinct told him the other man would be gone by morning once more.


Fynn was not surprised to find Brant had gone when his eyes opened to see morning. He sighed as he held the note left by the other man promising to return that evening and to explain why he could not have been there when Fynn awoke. However, he was surprised when Mark turned up at the door, with a slender woman whose hair and skin colours instantly made him decide she was Brant’s mother.

“We’re sorry to disturb you, Fynn,” Mark smiled as they seated themselves in his lounge. “But we wanted to speak to you.”

“No, really, it’s fine,” Fynn replied. If he was honest, their company was welcome. He was still shaken by Mike’s appearance and this was an opportunity to feel more relaxed whilst waiting for Brant to come.

They chatted amicably for a while before Fynn sensed the real reason for their visit was emerging.

“We wanted you to know that Brant will keep his word, Fynn. He will talk to you later, just as soon as he is able. We also wanted you to know, well…Safara and I faced the same decisions you and Brant will face,” Mark said nodding to his wife who clutched tightly at his hand.

“We know how much Brant cares for you,” Safara added. “We love our son very much and we want his happiness. All we ask of you, Fynn is that you look beneath the surface and see Brant for who he really is. Just like Mark did when we courted,” she added gazing lovingly at her husband.

“I will,” Fynn promised, touched by the concern of Brant’s parents if unsure of what they actually meant.


It was a couple of hours after dark before Brant arrived, Fynn finding his home in the strong embrace and holding as tightly as he was held.

“Make love with me?” he asked, pulling back to look into amber eyes that held a mix of hope and pain.

“I can’t baby,” Brant husked.

“I don’t understand,” Fynn said. “Your parents came round. They said you cared for me. I thought…I thought…” he stopped, his voice breaking on a sob.

“I love you, Fynn,” Brant whispered. “I loved you from the first night when you suffered the nightmares and I held you in my arms. But it’s not that simple.”

Fynn stared as Brant pulled off his clothing. He stood, naked. His smooth, well-defined chest was adorned with two bronze nipples haloed with copper areolae. His stomach had almost wash-board abdominals. However, there was no treasure trail from navel to groin. There was no hair at all and no navel. Fynn could not help but take a couple of steps backwards as a tail whipped into view, hovering at hip-height as if possessing a mind of its own.

“What…?” Fynn husked, unable to say more.

“I’m half-demon. Dad is human. Ma is full-blood demon. I can exist in this world between sunset and dawn, then I return to my other. I don’t catch human illnesses and can survive anything but a point-blank bullet to the head or through the heart. The only thing I have to really fear is demon hunters. The Moderates would leave a demon like me alone. Fanatics would kill me despite knowing I mean no harm to humanity. There are blood-sucking, flesh-eating, soul-stealing creatures out there, Fynn, but I’m not one of them.”

“I still don’t understand,” Fynn whispered. “A demon? You said you loved me?”

“I can either fuck or make love,” Brant sighed. “I’ve done a fair bit of the former, none of the latter. For that to happen I have to love the other person and they have to love me, be willing to be with me for the rest of their lives. Bond with me. I invaded your dream, Fynn. I couldn’t have touched you if you’d been awake. There are advantages for you bonding with me,” he added. “You’d become immune to most illnesses and anything you did get you’d be able to draw on my strength to beat. You’ll be hale and hearty into old age. Disadvantage is that you’d become photosensitive. No more holidays trying to get a tan, needing to use sunscreen during daylight even in winter.”

“And you. What do you get?” Fynn asked, the memory of the dream sending more shivers through his slim form.

“I get a lifespan tied to the man I love. When you die, I’ll die. As a full demon, Ma chose to bond to Dad. She could have lived for centuries. Love was more important to her, just as it is to me. I’d also be able to stay in this world. You wanna know what real hell is, Fynn?” Brant sighed. “It’s seeing life go on around you and yet it’s as though you don’t exist. No one sees you, cares for you. No one touches you or loves you. I want love, Fynn. I want you. If you feel the same for me, then call for me in your mind, from your heart, between sunset and sunrise on Halloween. If I don’t come, you know a Hunter has got me ’cause nothing on Earth would keep me away from you if I’m alive.”

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