Dark Fantasy, Gay, Vampires & Shapeshifters
Date Published: May 3, 2024
Welcome to Amour Magique, where gay paranormals come to find
love…
Amour Magique – the notorious sex club owned by Liam, an incubus. His
friends call themselves The Brotherhood. The Brothers have the perennial
problem of gay men everywhere: finding a hottie who doesn’t turn out
to be a loser or abuser. They’re down on their luck, and looking for
love in all the wrong places.
Bite Me — Tattoos. Piercings. Leather. Attitude. Do anything, say
anything, and damn the consequences. That’s Bree of the Brotherhood,
and he’s not about to apologize for a thing.
The Dragon’s Tongue — Collin was born with the power to make men
burn with lust. He’s been burned himself, though, and now
he’s working himself into an early grave. Might just be worth
the trip if he can get it right this time.
Good Luck Piece — Conned into putting in an appearance at the notorious
sex club, Amour Magique, Simon holes up in a shoddy bar aptly called Last
Chance. Then an Irish stranger with flashing green eyes and a mouth made for
wickedness buys him a drink…
EXCERPT
Silence. Intense silence. Chilly air smelling of pine and citrus rushed
through painfully neat rooms and corridors, whisking over nothing but bare
furniture and knickknacks free of dust. Surfaces sparkled, yet had an
opacity that lacked any élan vital. Solemn strains of a Beethoven
requiem filled the air.
This was a place where happiness went to die.
In one room, though, a spark of life remained. A scented candle, fragrant
with bayberry and red as blood, crackled to life in the semi-darkness. It
passed from hand to hand, lighting taper after taper in a circle, until
twelve flares of light burned brightly in the gloom. Each candle, held
tightly or cautiously in a strong male hand, was lifted high in a circle as
the men holding them glanced at one another, took a simultaneous deep
breath, and chanted:
“Long live the Brotherhood. May our harmony and companionship be a
beacon in the darkness of an unfriendly world. Let the Brotherhood bring
light to the murky corners and sweep away the shadows of
hostility.”
Again, they glanced at each other. Faint smiles lifted the corners of
mouths plump and thin, narrow and wide.
“Here are the bylaws of the Brotherhood, long may they live. Act
smart. Look cool. Share your prick, not your heart. Long live the
Brotherhood!”
Smothered laughter broke out as all twelve men tilted their bayberry
candles toward a vast central pillar and set its many wicks alight.
“So let it be done,” intoned the man in the position of leader.
“So may it be.”
Silence filled the air for a long moment.
Then the doorbell chimed.
“Hot damn — food’s here!” Micah, closest to the door,
jumped up, shoved his candle into a holder, and, with a deft flick of a
switch, turned the chandelier lighting on in the main room. “Who
ordered tonight? David? What did you get — Chinese or Thai?”
“Chinese,” David called as he put his taper into another
holder, as did the other men. “Moo shu pork, egg rolls, wonton soup,
sweet-and-sour chicken, beef with broccoli, sesame beef, General
Tso’s, cashew chicken, lo mein –”
“Holy fuck, David! We’re not an army!”
“– and dessert, too.” He blushed a little. “Well, you
guys always say there’s never enough when someone else orders. I
figured I’d get plenty.”
“Yeah, plenty of food, since that’s all you’re
getting,” retorted Micah.
“Not nice,” Simon, their leader, rebuked, folding his hands.
“And would you open the door before the nice delivery gentleman thinks
we’re either crazy or not at home and goes away?”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m on my way.”
Micah smoothed his indigo silk shirt more neatly into his tight-cut jeans,
ruffled a hand through his hair, and swung the door open. A delighted grin
split his face. “Hwong Li! How did they know to send you? Was it just
for me?”
“You are a horn dog,” the young Asian man retorted. His arms
overflowed with boxes. “I drew the short straw.”
“There is nothing short about me.”
“So you say. Ninety-three ninety, please.”
“Ninety-three — David, how much food did you order?” Micah
turned, hands on his hips. “It’s obvious you don’t care,
but some of us are watching our figures.”
David blushed a deep, dusky red. “I just wanted to get enough
–”
“You got enough, all right. Lose about ten, and maybe you’d get
something else, too.”
“Gentlemen!”
“All right, all right.” Micah folded his arms. “I’m
not paying for all this myself, men. Pony up the cash.” All around the
room, men dug into their pockets. David produced a twenty and handed it
over, his cheeks still pink. Micah snatched all the cash, counting it with a
quick hand before passing over a hundred dollars. He riffled the bills in
front of Hwong’s eyes, letting him count the cash, before cracking a
nasty smile and slipping the money into the delivery boy’s front pants
pocket.
His fingers lingered.
“Why, Hwong, do I feel a spring roll in there?”
“Your touch would make bamboo soft.”
“Prick!”
“Yes. But not on the market for one such as yourself.”
“Fuck you.” Micah jerked his hand away as if he’d been
burned. “Keep the change.”
Hwong Li regarded him disdainfully. “Shitty tip.”
“You want a tip? Don’t insult me next time.”
“Aw, come on,” the youngest of their group piped up.
“Hwong’s a hottie. Treat him with the r-e-s-p-e-c-t a sister,
uh, brother deserves.”
Hwong glanced past Micah. “Hello, Christian. Got a kiss for
me?”
“You bet.” Christian dug into the pocket of his hooded
sweatshirt and pulled out a handful of chocolate drops. He unwrapped them.
“Here, catch!”
Hwong did a nifty little seal impersonation and snaffled every treat in his
mouth as they flew through the air.
“Someday, I’ll give you the real thing,” Christian
teased.
“You wish you were so lucky.” Hwong stuffed the boxes of food
into Micah’s arms, leaving him no choice but to grab them or drop
them. “Night, ladies.”
“Asshole!”
“No, that’s your specialty.” Hwong turned and walked
away.
Micah kicked the door shut and moved somewhat awkwardly toward the table in
the center of the circle they’d sat in earlier. “Does someone
want to help me with this? Simon? Laurence? Bree?”
“Nope!”
“You’re on your own.”
“No way.”
“You’ll sure as hell eat it, though.” Micah dumped the
boxes down. “Fine, then. Chow down, but leave me the plain white
rice.” He patted his flat stomach. “I don’t want to get a
pot belly.”
“You’re in about as much danger of getting fat as you are of
getting anything else,” Alex said bluntly as he flopped down in a
chair and reached for a container marked Lemongrass Chicken Special.
“Pot, kettle, black?”
“I don’t see you bragging about your conquests.”
Micah’s voice was prickly.
“Honestly! Hwong wasn’t far wrong in calling you ladies.
Quentin, you and Harrison get the beer and wine. The rest of you,
sit.”
“Aye, aye, Simon!”
Micah sat in the middle of a buttery-soft leather couch and crossed his
legs. “I think you’re all carrying this whole Brotherhood thing
too far… or not far enough. Help each other out, everyone doing their
part… then it all lands on someone like me.”
A slight, lithe, curly-haired man who had not spoken as yet murmured,
“You need each other, Micah. Such is the purpose to this group.”
He toyed with a blue crystal that dangled from a chain around his neck.
“Even you need these others, deny it as you will.”
Micah regarded the man with distaste. “All I need, Liam, is one good
night on the town with a decent fuck who knows how to treat a
man.”
A youngish, multi-pierced man flopped down on the couch beside them.
“You want a man who’ll treat you like a god.”
“So what if I do?” Micah retorted. “You just want anyone
who knows how to make the bedsprings bounce, Bree.”
“Yeah, and?” Bree reached for some extra-spicy General
Tso’s. “At least it’s been less than a year for
me.”
“Not by much.”
“Liar, liar, pants not on fire.”
Simon sighed and rolled his eyes to heaven. “Enough! No one else says
a word until we’ve eaten. I invoke Brotherhood Head
status.”
“Yeah, you wish you could get some head,” Bree muttered.
However, despite his defiance, he fell silent, as did the rest of the men.
Falling into place on chairs, divans, and sofas, they dug into the hot Asian
food. Small moaning noises of pleasure filled the air as rich spices and
tangy flavors crossed eager tongues, and sighs of satisfaction were heard as
one or another discovered a favorite among the boxes and cartons. Even
David, picking at white rice himself, found the courage to reach for a
packet of soy sauce and then, with a shy glance up, took a vegetarian egg
roll.
* * *
As the members of the Brotherhood ate, Liam picked daintily at a dish of
cashew chicken and watched each man closely. He did not require food, not as
such, but took pleasure in eating with his Brotherhood. They found so much
delight in their weekly feasts, bitch though they might about waistlines. He
did wish they would leave David alone, though. He might be the slightest bit
plump, but certainly not fat, as Micah would have him, and his softness only
made him all the more delectable.
Micah, on the other hand, was over-tall and far too whipcord-lean to be to
Liam’s taste. But that is the irony and joy of it, is it not? Liam
thought. For everyone, there is someone to appreciate them. These men have
all been far too long without the reverence due those of their worth.
I will show them the path back to sexual triumph and the satisfaction of
conquest, Lilith willing. But I must tread carefully, and mark out my way
step by step…
He continued to watch. Finishing their entrees, the men reached for one
final, cold box. It would seem David had ordered ices — a specialty of that
particular restaurant — to go with their meal. It catered perhaps too much
to American tastes, rather than the finer hallmarks of true Asian cuisine,
but they made a fortune on their desserts. The ices, served in small cups,
were rich and creamy, drizzled in exotic syrups that not even Micah, after
some wavering, could resist. Renewed moans and murmurs of appreciation were
heard as spoons dipped into the smooth, sweet treats and were savored in
eager mouths. In delectable contrast, several men also reached for hot,
sugary doughnuts, blending the tastes and textures.
Liam took for himself a vanilla-flavored ice covered in rose syrup and
savored it, bit by bit. He laughed a little to himself at the choice of
vanilla for a creature such as he, but it made an excellent base for the
rich rose. Sweet and smooth, with just a tang of honey, it flowed over his
tongue. Truly, there could be nothing finer, except perhaps the come from a
man who lived on fruit alone. In his many years, he had tasted such nectar
on occasion and found it to be the best dessert of all.
Still, the food was not his primary concern. Watching the others took
precedence.
Spiky Bree, all youth and exuberance.
Tall, massively dignified Collin, still immaculate in his business suit
from a hard day’s work, looking a little irritated, as ever, at having
to leave his beloved office for a meeting of the Brotherhood. He only came
because his therapist had ordered him to develop social contacts outside of
work.
Disheveled Quentin, his hair tousled in wild bed-head that he’d
likely not bothered to comb save for with his fingers, sexy in a sort of
devil-may-care way.
Simon, neat and cool as his apartment, but tough as — how did they say? —
nails.
Laurence, vulnerable beneath his shell of bravado.
Micah, truly a bitch among man-bitches, but with a core of softness buried
deep down — very deep down, Liam decided.
Soft David, who would be ever so kissable if he lost his shyness and showed
himself off as the prize he was.
Sober, solemn Allen, and cold but beautiful Alex, uncle and nephew, who
shared a slight hard-jawed, dark-blond resemblance save for Alex’s
thin, wire-framed glasses.
Christian, youngest of all, so very innocent, and Harrison, hard with
cynicism.
The Brotherhood. His Brotherhood, Liam’s chosen group of friends.
Gathered together, standing proud against a heterosexually oriented world,
these “gay” men joined as a unit to celebrate their sexuality
and their bond of kinship. It had taken him a little work to join their
ranks, but, ah, it had been worth it. Most of these men had come together
after Simon, a lawyer, had defended them in court against too-rough or
financially cheating lovers who had done them wrong. Liam had had to come in
by word of mouth and a slight use of the magics he had at hand. After all,
no man dared harm him, unless he asked for it ever so prettily, with a
pouting mouth and eyes that sparkled and dared any man to mark him.
With his Brotherhood, he kept his powers carefully concealed. He came to
them for friendship, not a group of conquests, though at times he toyed with
the idea of seeing Micah begging at his feet, or watching proud Collin
between his legs, sucking him off and swallowing down his come as if it
tasted far better than any butternut ice with maple syrup. And yet again, he
thought of gently undressing David, kissing every soft inch of him, petting
his lovely body until he felt as worshiped as he deserved to be.
But no, no. Satisfying as he sometimes thought sampling the Brotherhood
might be, he needed them far more as friends. Without friends, even an
incubus became… lonely. Sex fulfilled but one need of a man, after
all. Having lived millennia, Liam had become acutely aware of his need for
companionship in addition to sex, although he thrived on a nightly diet of
fucking and being fucked, plunging into another man’s tight channel or
having fingers and cocks deep inside him. He fed his powers, and lived on
from day to day, but he came here with equal passion and interest,
cherishing the time all the more for its difference.
However, as he had spent time with these men, this Brotherhood, he had
noticed that despite their attractiveness, not one of them had enjoyed sex
in quite a long time. Bad luck, or simply a dry spell? Liam didn’t
know. What he did know was that he could do something about it. He had
traded one of Lilith’s Tears, identical to the one he wore around his
neck to mark him as an incubus, for a chance to give these men a night that
would transcend their most exotic and erotic fantasies. All that remained
now would be to convince them. Soon, soon, he would set out to do just
that…
About the Author
Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray
cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for
winter weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a
lifelong love of storytelling. Will’s definitely one of the quiet ones you
have to watch out for, though he — not she anymore — is a lot less quiet
these days.
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@changelingpress
