Brothers

Princess Merry sat on her bed with the chalice in her hands. It had appeared so suddenly, her men were just as surprised as she.

"Apparently it has a mind of its own," Rhys said flippantly as the door opened and Adair entered.

Stopping in his tracks, his eyes on the golden goblet, he whispered an oath and then met the princess' confused eyes. "It has returned to your hands."

"Yes, but it has responded to no one," she answered, troubled by its silence.

Adair frowned. The princess' men had touched the chalice, and it had stayed quiet. He heard his brother enter the room quietly behind him and looked around. "The chalice has returned to the princess."

"I see," Aisling replied hesitantly, his eyes on the men who were staring hard at him. Galen and Nicca were nobodies in a fight, but Doyle, Frost and Rhys were problematic.

"It returned to me after your brother left," Merry explained as the golden treaure started humming in her hand. " I think it means for you to touch it." She held it out to him. "Show me your face Aisling and return to the Goddess."

"I have let the Goddess down," he replied, keeping his distance. "I am unworthy."

A voice that was not the princess' came from her mouth. "You have never let ME down, Angus. Remember what I told you? The land answers to you; it needs you back."

Aisling stepped forward, the voice as familar to him as his own. "I abandoned the land when I came here," he protested. "I was weak."

Merry stood up and pressed the chalice into his hand. She knew they were still in the room; she also knew they were in the field by the tree. A hooded figure stood in the distance, but her words came through Merry's mouth. "The land is not one place Angus. The land is everywhere."

"Then it suffers with my sorrow," Aisling said and looked around. "There is no hope."

"Hope is always with us," Merry said through her own lips. "Show me your face, Aisling, show me who you are."

"I will bewitch you," he said and pressed the transparent golden veil over his mouth.

"No. I know you can't," she answered. "I know you were once the heart and soul of Eire. You took the name Aisling because everything was lost...just a dream. Return to us."

"Us?"

"Son of my son," Danu spoke through Merry's mouth, "we once walked together. Be who you were, be more than a dream."

Aisling dropped his head, the emotion wracking his body. Unable to stand, he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her legs, his head resting against her body. Merry hugged him to her, his sorrow moving her. She needed him at Taranis' court; she needed to have sex with him, but something was amiss. "Aisling, you must help me."

He looked up, the glamour dropping from his perfect eyes. Keeping his cheek in contact with the chalice, he unwrapped the veil that protected him from unwanted attention, attention that would mean his life. When he looked up again, Merry caught her breath. Angus mac Og, the god of love and beauty and eternal youth, the slayer of thousands, the lover or sidhe, goddess and mortal women, gazed up at her with so much sorrow in his eyes she knew she had to kiss the hurt away. Bending towards his mouth, her heart hammering in her breast, she pressed her lips to his. It was gentle at first, soft and tender, and then his magic flaired as his own passions flaired. Merry gasped as it soaked her with desire and hunger...so much hunger...so much need.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gave herself over to the passion that burned in her body and made her crave this beautiful man. "let us return spring to the land," she whispered against his perfect mouth.

He smiled and unsnapped the front of her jeans. When his hands touched her bare skin beneath her blouse, she shuddered and moaned. Women in the past had destroyed themselves for his touch. And it was like every nerve in her body knew him, answered to him. He undressed her slowly, he on his knees, she standing in front of him. Everywhere he touched her sent the fire leaping through her blood. And when he kissed her bare skin, she thought she was going to surrender herself then and there to him. Now she knew why Andais would not take him to her bed. He was dangerous, deliciously dangerous. EVen his breath against her bare skin was intoxicating.

He slid the jeans down her legs and she stepped out of them. When his hands ran back up her calves and thighs, he let the fingers of one hand slide over the delciate silk of her panties. He caressed the area hidden from his eyes.

"Aisling please," she whispered desperately and held his shoulders for support, the chalice no longer in her hands. IF he kept caressing her silken crotch, she was going to climax. He chuckled softly, enjoying this as much as if he were fucking her. He eased her panties down and she stepped out of them. Now his lips pressed against her groin, and she felt his tongue slice her flesh. It was too much...too much, she screamed, but he drew his head back before she came.

Drawing her down to the ground with him, he grabbed the edges of her green pullover blouse and lifted it over her head. Gazing down at her bare breasts, he whispered, "IT has been so long since I have seen a woman's beauty." He raised her up a little so he could savor his breasts. Taking one nipple into his mouth, he teased and tortured it until she cried out in pain, the pain of desire.

"Aisling please," she whimpered. "I want to see you."

"Why?" he asked, still teasing her with his lips.

"I want to see...you."

He stopped and gazed up at her. "Please what?" he asked and turned his attention to the other breast.

"Show me your body."

He stopped and pulled the tunic over his head. His undershirt followed. Already his skin was starting to glow like polished gold. The magic he was starting to release tugged at his hair and fought against his braid. Without standing up, he managed to climb out of his boots and leggings. He was perfect, long and thick, and heavy with need. Merry had to touch that most male place of him, those delicate sacks that rode high against his body. Was it his glamour was he truely the most beautiful man alive?

HIs magic flaired like the sun, ripping the leather ribbon from his hair, his dark golden hair streaked with the palest of yellows flowing around him magestically. Watching him surrender to his need was in itself intoxicating. He took her breath away, his half shut eyes glowing from his own internal fire. His lips, full but unmistakably male were parted, his tongue licking his lower lip as his hunger grew. "Aisling?" she murmured as he rose higher on his knees and took her hands. And kneeling on the ground, he helped her mouth him. He slid deep, his cock stretching her, filling her, driving her half insane with hunger...the hunger of the flesh.

As short as she was, she could not get traction. But that didn't matter, he was fucking her, thrusting upwards into her, driving her delicate flesh against his pubic bone. Merry closed her eyes, the magic that was Aisling's burning brighter and brighter, all that gold starting to melt into a glow that rivaled the sun. And the fire settled deep in her groin, scortching her mercilessly. Her own magic answered his, her moonglow paling before the fire of his Seelie sun.

Before she knew it, the fire ripped through her and she screamed at the strength of the orgasm that shook her. He fucked harder upwards and into her, another scream coming from her throat. She could hear the sound of hard flesh hitting wet flesh. Would it stop? Would she die with him buried deep within her. Another orgasm shredded her body. Was this what drove mortal women mad? Was this what made sidhe women betray fathers and brothers? Suddenly he rose up, impaling her on his cock, holding her full wait on the strength of his manhood. He was pure light, melting gold, the only thing real about him the hard flesh throbbing inside of her. No sound escaped his lips. He was pure lust, pure desire, pure love. Merry closed her eyes and thought of Doyle and Frost, and remembered that she loved them. They were her lovers. Aisling did not own her.

(not finished)