Kasyn, the Spunk-Prince

The voice-over plays, but with no video accompaniment:

It is an age of danger and tumult. A decade has passed since Prince Kyler seized the Throne of Byzantium and dissolved the Church. His capital city is gripped by tension as signs of religious insurrection cause the Apparatus Priapus to tighten their draconian grip. Meanwhile on Mars, the Emperor Jade-Mothra amasses his winged army in their millions, and he sends Prince Kyler a final warning…

“Stop! Just stop!” someone barks from inside a darkened sound booth. “Are we seriously starting the new season like this? With a fucking voice-over narration?” The owner of the voice steps out of the booth, a toned and smooth-chested twenty-something lad clad only in tight black briefs and a rubber harness. It is Braden Vaieux, one of stars of the long-running telenovela The Hidden City. He’d joined the repertory cast in the show’s eightieth season, and had, in the few years since, become one of its most popular performer.

“What’s the matter, love?” The director, Patrick Confessori, speaks in a clipped high Britannic accent and regards Braden with an impish grin as the boy pads barefoot toward him, waving his arms.

“It’s dumb!” Braden shakes his head and pulls his fingers back through his thick black hair. “For one thing, we have never opened like this before, and, for another, why are we skipping this many years into the future? We’re ignoring the end of last season altogether!”

Patrick clasps Braden’s shoulders between his hands and says, “Well, this is what the network has requested, so there we are, you see?”

“No, I don’t see! It’s completely stupid!”

Says Patrick, still grinning, “Of course it is! It’s vomit! It’s simply cunting puking mad! But let’s just let it alone for today, and you can trust me to fix it in final edit, yeah?”

Braden sighs and then lets slip a small smile at his director. A voice behind him says, “Costume, Braden.” Braden says he’ll be right there. Today, in the costume room, he is to strip naked before being clad in wings: one of his several roles this season is as the much-rumored new Emperor, the winged tyrant of Mars.

From Kyler’s journal…

Kasyn and I lounged in bed, having just inseminated each other’s chutes during a very quick and vigorous morning fuck, aroused to action by a few minutes of spying via the aetherglass upon Naxon and Torus also enjoying a morning fuck, Torus’s cock clad in a condom to avoid knocking up his brother and future husband, Naxon having vowed not to get pregnant until their marriage and then only by Torus. “We should,” I said, “consider bringing Jaxon up here this evening and take turns drilling him.”

“Jaxon? Oh yeah, Blue Radical’s son. I’d forgotten that was his real name.”

“He’s a very cock-hungry boy, a very enthusiastic bottom, younger than you but evidently vastly experienced.”

Kasyn said, “I actually have had sex with him once already.”

“You have?”

“Yes, of course. Don’t you remember? It was just a few minutes before the first time you fucked me. He evidently likes to be the insertive partner as well, at least sometimes, because he wandered in and boned me while I was still trussed on that inspection table in Blue’s lab awaiting your arrival.” I vaguely remembered now Blue Radical having told me that Junior had tried out Kasyn’s enhanced cocksocket, and that the boy had found the texture of Kasyn’s slot almost too stimulating. “It was a big load of batter from that kid’s crotch that lubed your own cock, Kyler, that first time you planted your pole in me.” He laid his head on my belly and teased my nipples with his soft slender fingers, making my rod stand up fully again behind his head and nest in his hair. “I was really quite helpless, you know. Any number of men could have come in there and dicked off in me and I could have done nothing about it. I am so glad you arrived when you did to rescue me!”

“You probably would have enjoyed it if a dozen or two others cocks had gotten in you before mine!”

He laughed. “I am sure I would have. I have always liked taking a busload of boys at one time.” I recalled him telling me that his virginity-losing experience involved getting fucked in succession by a trio of older boys while his father slept in a nearby room, passed out from drink, having no idea what his young son was getting up to just a few meters away. But, changing the subject, Kasyn wondered, “So are you going to do as Elisha says and go to Byzantium to claim your crown?”

“Fuck no!” Kyler eased Kasyn off his belly and rose from the bed. “I have not decided how to proceed, but it’s not going to be that. At least not now.”

“The Church is without a pope. The other Aetheric Princes and the cardinals—the Cthulhist ones anyway—are pointing at you. Elisha says you would win the election. And if the new Emperor would finally make his existence publicly known, it would probably settle the matter easily.”

“Nazrata is still alive and has not yet resigned or been removed by the conclave.” Kyler scowled at the thought of that pest, the Pope, stewing in the confines of his cell within the Holy Keep.

“But he will be,” Kasyn persisted. “The confessions that you extracted from him have embarrassed the Church and exposed too many of their crimes. He and his entire faction are tainted by it, and the others clamor for a new leader.”

“Me!” Kyler laughed, standing naked at the open balcony door, watching the impending sunrise color the clouds to the east. “It’s too ridiculous, my love: a roguish secular prince, known best for drinking and fucking, becoming the living vicar of their God on Earth—a god that I’ve never believed in by the way.”

Kasyn climbed out their bed and joined Kasyn at the balcony door. “No one believes in that god! Their whole church is just an apparatus to exercise power over fools. Why should not the one holding those reins be you, my prince?”

“What, and be a king of fools? Worshipped by idiots? No thanks, baby.”

“Or…” Kasyn said, wrapping an arm around his husband’s waist, “you could be the one who exposes the whole fraud. Use your new power to demolish the delusion.”

“You mean be the last pope.” 

The princes turned to face each other, hands clasped, and after a few moments of silence, Kasyn smiled. “You know you want it, baby.”

Kasyn seeks some nourishment…

Kyler intended to spend the day plotting strategy with Ian and Elisha—and probably dwelling over weird dreams and transmissions from the aether with Blue Radical—but Kasyn had no important plans, so he threw on a tank top and a kilt and wandered down to the kitchen to look for some breakfast. Normal “breakfast time” for the house was still a couple hours away, but he was too hungry to wait for it.

In the kitchen, he found two cooks seated on stools by their prep island watching something on a small screen. Kasyn could not see the image from his angel of approach, but he heard a voice, made to sound portentous over a low droning aetherphone musical score, saying something like, “It is an age of danger and tumult. A decade has passed since Prince Kyler seized the Throne of Byzantium and dissolved the Church. His capital city is gripped by tension as signs of religious insurrection cause the Apparatus Priapus to tighten their draconian grip…”

“What are you watching?”

Startled, the young cooks jumped off their seats and stood at attention. One of them quickly paused the program they’d been watching. “My lord!” they cried together. One of them—a pale blond boy who looked a photo-negative of his very dark partner—added, “Apologies for our shameful inattention! How may we serve you?”

“Oh for god’s sake,” Kasyn grumbled, stepping around to their side of the island, “do not grovel like that around me! Unless you’re sucking me off.” The blond blushed deeply. If the other one did as well, Kasyn couldn’t easily tell. “So, what is this? What are you watching?”

The black boy said, “They just dropped new episodes of The Hidden City. We were just curious about it because we’d heard that it speculates on what Prince Kyler may do many years in the future.”

The Hidden City. Kasyn had never seen it, but he was vaguely aware of it as a locally-produced telenovela that had been running for decades and which followed a sprawling cast of characters. The stories centered mostly on these characters’ lurid private dramas but they occasionally lifted ideas from real current events. The pale boy said, “But if it offends you, my lord, or Prince Kyler, then we shall not view it!”

“You’re groveling again.” Kasyn smiled at the cooks, enjoying their appearances, clad as they were with nothing beneath their aprons other than jocks and harnesses. “You can be assured that Prince Kyler does not care one whit how he is portrayed in fiction. Nor do I. And I’ll leave you to your viewing in a moment after I get something to eat and drink. I cannot wait any longer.”

The white cook reached into a chiller and withdrew a bottle of sparkling wine. “Would my lord appreciate a mimosa this morning?”

“I certainly would.” Kasyn amused himself by vetoing the boy’s first two choices of glass for his drink: a narrow flute and then a tumbler just slightly larger. 

“This one perhaps,” the boy said, holding up a large stemless wine glass sufficient to hold about the half the bottle of prosecco and a splash of pink jerkfruit juice.

“Please.” Kasyn let the lad carefully pour the large drink and then he took a look for himself in another chiller for a snack. He liked the look of a some large pink and blue eggs and a wedge of soft cheese, rimed with soft white mold, and a bundle of bright green spring onions. He brought these items out to the countertop.

“May I prepare you an omelet?” The black cook stepped forward to take the items. Kasyn turned and, quite deliberately blocked him. He clasped the lad’s hand, and with his other hand, stroked his bare arm from shoulder to wrist. “Perhaps in a moment. I think I’d like something else first.” Kasyn repeated the stroke, fingers softly trailing down the boy’s arm. “Do you like it that I am touching you?”

The cook inhaled deeply. “Yes, my lord!”

“I can tell.” Kasyn peered down at the lads’ jock-bulge, obvious even under his apron. “Call me Kasyn. Or you can even call me Daddy the way my sons and step-sons often do.”

Kasyn unclasped his kilt and dropped it to the floor. He hopped up onto the prep island, bare ass on the smooth wooden surface. “Both of you, please.”

The cooks fought with their mouths over Kasyn’s dong and balls for a few minutes. I’m probably fucking filthy, Kasyn thought, not having yet showered after sex with Kyler both last night and this morning. They don’t seem to care. White Boy went low for a few moments, sucking on Kasyn’s fat balls through their smooth sack one at a time, and then lower, lathering his taint with spit. Kasyn tipped back and spread his legs a bit to let the boy have a taste of his asshole while Black Boy pulled his foreskin up and down with his lips and tongue. White Boy’s tongue pressing into his pucker was almost enough to pull Kasyn’s trigger. “Get right in front of me!” he ordered. “Faces together.” White Boy and Black Boy pressed together cheek-to-cheek, and Kasyn pulled had twice on his rod and fired, hitting them both on the forehead one after the other and slopping a few more spurts onto their eyes and noses and into their wide-open mouth.

Post-blowjob, Kasyn let the boys prepare the omelet, and then he ended up spending another hour with them watching the season-opener of The Hidden City, fascinated with its weird extrapolation of things actually happening right now around him. But he offered only one comment, and it was about the vaguely Asian-looking twink who appeared in one very brief scene as Kasyn. “I don’t think he’s as good-looking as me. Do you?”

The night before, in Kyler’s dreams…

Partway through a class, with thousands of students in attendance…

“The Cthulhist ouija can be expressed in many media: sometimes it’s literally a wooden or paper talking board with a planchette; sometimes it is expressed in a virtual or aetheric space; sometimes it comes across in strange elaborations like the swimming pool version created by Prince Kasyn’s orchid-boy sons, with one of their own number serving as a wet planchette. But in every configuration, it always contains at minimum some form of the characters that represent the basic phonemes of the Cult cant—their ancient and secret language—and a quartet of characters that represent direct answers to yes/no questions: YES and NO, of course, and MAYBE, of course…but also: CAN YOU REPEAT THE QUESTION?

“The way that we repeat the question,” booms Elisha’s voice, carried through the theater by a round metal fan-shaped microphone the size of his head, “can be determinative of what the answer actually is, and how we perceive that answer within our puny human consciousnesses. Do you understand?”

A sussurus passes through the crowd of students, the faint noise of wonder and fascination, but also of incomprehension. No one is quite sure what the priest Elisha is talking about.  In the front row, Kyler rises to ask for attention, so that he may ask a question, and it is at this point that he understands that he is having a dream. Stay in it, he tells himself. Do not wake yourself up yet.

“You have a question?” Elisha gestures to Kyler.

The vast audience goes silent, awaiting Kyler’s question. “Are you saying, then, that by changing our very phrasing of the question—if , for example, we are asking about a future event—that we can change what will happen?”

“That,” Elisha said, grinning, “is the question that I’d hoped one of you would ask!”

Kyler becomes uncomfortably aware that he is naked—was I naked the whole time?—and that the entire assembly of students consist of naked males, thousands of them, fit men his own age and many more much younger, and all of them handsome and displaying stiff cocks. Focus, he thinks. I can’t get too horny before I get this answer. He wonders if in the waking world Kasyn might be stroking or sucking on his cock, trying to awaken him with sex. Not yet!

Elisha says, “Watch what you see—or feel—on this screen!” A gigantic aetherscreen lights behind him and Kyler strains to ignore his aching cock and to comprehend the imagery within that screen:

The sense of a vast body of water swamping deeply over buildings and roads…

The sense of a sun rising and then blacked out by an eclipse, the corona flaring redly…

The literal sight of a maw of roiling black and grey clouds swallowing stars…

A burst of light in the aether? A supernova?…

A powerful beast, blackened in silhouette, rising against a red sunset, unfurling its wings…

The notion of a mangrove forest flattened under a sudden sheeting rain-gail of blood…

From space, a view of the rim of the half-lit Earth melting toward the terminator…

A titan—a rogue planet?—shattering the Moon…

And, underlying all these impressions, he hears this again:

This is not a dream... not a dream. We are using your brain's electrical system as a receiver. We are unable to transmit through conscious neural interference. You are receiving this broadcast as a dream. We are transmitting from the year one, nine, nine, nine…

Despite the creepiness of receiving these impressions again, Kyler can feel his arousal intensify and the rows of theater seating around him degrade a bit, and soon he has the sense that all of the naked boys next to and behind him are standing and that they are about to be caned for being bad boys, two thousand males stripped naked and punished around him. Kyler can smell their involuntary horniness and their fear of the cane. Stay with it, Kyler! he commands himself. Just follow this a little bit longer!

Elisha speaks thus: “These sensory impressions that you are receiving directly into your brain roughly sketch out the impact of a trans-aetheric burst from Sagittarius A-Star.”

“A-Star!” Kyler says. 

“The supermassive aetheric singularity at the galactic core. This burst from it will intersect the Solar System and wreak an incomprehensible distortion upon our planets. If the hit is direct enough on one world—say, Earth—it will be an extinction-level event. This has been foreseen for millennia.”

“Millenia!”

“Listen again sometime to the transmission from one nine nine nine if you’ve forgotten.”

Kyler shuddered. Indeed he was so nauseated that his erection flagged. “I never want to hear it again! But tell me, Elisha—because that’s why you’re here!—what are we supposed to do it about it?”

Elisha laughed. “You actually did your part already, Prince Kyler. Now it’s up to Kasyn. And all he needs to do is fuck a whole lot more!”

“What?”

“And remember this after you wake up, Kyler: there are now, in a way, two of him. One here and one on Mars!”

Kyler spasmed awake, cock-stiff and dribbling ball-juice on his belly. Kasyn snored softly next to him.

In a fuck-nest on Mars…

Jaustin lifted his mouth from the angel boy’s asshole and sighed. He’d spent the previous several minutes sucking the boy’s cock and eating his ass not just to pleasure that boy prior to fucking him and giving him a whack of sperm—before getting him pregnant—but to give himself a few moments to get his own dick sufficiently stiff again. This Martian boy was the thirteenth that he’d been given to breed today, and he felt like he had actually reached a limit of his fuck-stamina even with all the Juice-E and Erec-T flooding his system. 

Fuck this, Jaustin thought. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. He rose to his knees on the bed, gazed down at the winged lad, and gripped his only half-stiff dick. “Sorry. I’m gonna need another shot before we get to business.” He reached toward the side table where lay the hypospray with the cock-and-ball-enhancing drug cocktail, but the boy stopped him, grabbing his wrists, wrapping long fingers around them.

“Before you hit that hypo,” the angel said, “let’s try something else first.”

“What?”

The boy rose a bit letting his wings flex outward, their tips brushing Jaustin’s shoulder. “You’re so pretty, Jaustin. I kind of want to make this last a while if you don’t mind. And I know I can get you hard as fuck again in a minute if you let me try.”

“You’re so pretty, too,” Jaustin said, enjoying the feathered caress on his shoulder. Fuck! They’re all pretty. This one especially: slender hips but a full bubble of an ass, fine limb bones, but intense bulges bicep calf muscles, smooth hairless belly carved with abs, wide nipples even darker than the rest of the rest of his ruddy brown smooth skin. If he had been on Earth, this boy would been the exact kind of twink that always rocked Jaustin’s cock, but here on Mars he was positively stunning, shrouded in those impossible wings. “It’s just,” he said, “that I have knocked up twelve other dudes already today!”

“I know, and I will be number thirteen. Very soon.” He brushed Jaustin’s forehead with his wingtips. “Trust me.” The Martian boy flexed a wing and hung it tip directly in front of Jaustin’s face. “Open your mouth,” he said, “and stick out your tongue.”

This is weird, thought Jaustin, but he did as he was told, expecting the feathers to touch his tongue. Instead, a glossy drop of something fell from a feather and glazed his extend tongue. He sucked it and swallowed, and he gasped, suddenly light-headed and warm as if he’d just inhaled from a vial of poppers.

“You like the way I taste, don’t you?”

“Oh fuck yeah!”

“And the way I smell, too.”

“Oh my god, brother, yes!”

“Here,” said the angel. “Bring your pretty face down here.” Jaustin allowed the Martian boy to extend his wings all the way around him, embracing his naked back, pulling him downward. “Here,” said the boy again, pulling with one of his human arms the Earth boy’s face into the pit of his other one. Jaustin—nose and mouth pressed into the fuzz of the boy’s armpit—inhaled, and he licked at the dampness and he felt as if his whole body was shot though with a swamp-heat of lust. He lapped up more of the boy’s pit-sweat, lathering the fur with his spit and sucking it back into his mouth. “What are you doing to me?” he said, gasping against the damp armpit.

“I’ll make you lose control,” the boy said and, with a hard flap, he fluffed his wing feathers and slicked Jaustin’s back and neck and head with his strange fuck-oil. “Ive been dreaming about getting drilled by an Earth boy ever since I got to be old enough to  jerk off.”

Jaustin’s dong inflated to its full length and thickness and he cried out at what felt like the sensation of each one of his fat balls being crushed in a fist. “I gotta cum so bad!” he yelled. “In you! Now!”

The angel pulled Jaustin close and kissed his lips sloppy, laughing. “What if I don’t let you? What if I don’t want you to after all?”

Jaustin gazed downward in astonishment, saying nothing.

“What if I don’t even let you fuck me? What if I send you away from here with the worst set of fucking blue balls ever?”

“You can’t say no to me!” Jaustin levered his knees beneath the angel’s thighs, grabbed the backs of the angels knees in a tight grip, trying to push the Martian boy’s shoulders down and his legs up and spread his ass to take his Jaustin-fuck.

“You gonna nail me whether I want it or not?”

“Fuck yeah!” Jaustin tried to aim his cock (without the benefit of hands)—still seizing the boy’s knees—into the Martian’s cunt, hoping there was still enough lube in there from his prep for the first aborted fuck-attempt.

“I bet you won’t!”

“I sure fucking will, faggot!”

“But you’ll get me pregnant!”

“That’s the whole fucking point!” He felt that he was on target, swollen arrow-head against the boy’s opening. “You’ve been ordered by the Emperor to take my seed, bitch!”

“But I am too young to be burdened with a kid!”

“Like I give a damn! That’s why you were given to me: to fuck you full of my cocksnot and make you have my baby! Why are being such a bitch now?”

The angel shrieked when Jaustin slammed it in, his full length, and right into the right spot, that special hole-within-the-hole: he’d put his batter in about two hundred of these spunk-angels already and he was now totally skilled at getting his post into the right slot on the first try.

“Oh fuck!” screamed the angel. “Please, Jaustin! You're fuckin’ dick’s too big! I can’t take it!”

“Fuck you!” Jaustin breathed, sweating heavily. “The fit feels fucking perfect to me!” Grunting, he tried to push it in even a little deeper, and the winged lad squirmed and trashed beneath him, spattering them both with more of his wing ichor. Jaustin kept him pinned easily and he picked up his fuck-pace a bit, chambering up a heavy spunk-load for this young Martian bitch’s womb.

“Fuck! Jaustin!” screamed the angel. “Please don’t cum in me!” he forced out a hard sob. “I’m begging you! Don’t make me get pregnant!”

Even under normal conditions, if Jaustin Moss is fucking you, a really good way to get him to cum inside your body is to tell him not to. It’s like pulling the trigger for him. He throbbed into the boy, dumping his juice in heavy spurts. Once he felt that the final spurt was out, he withdrew his dick and scooted down a bit and took the angel-boy’s rigid pole in his mouth. The angel needed to dump his cream, too: it couldn’t have been more than a minute before he flooded the back of Jaustin’s throat with sweet-salty semen.

Jaustin crawled back up on hands and knees, straddling the angel. He lowered his face to the angel’s and they kissed for a moment. Jaustin drooled some of the angel’s spunk into his mouth. “You’re a fucking bitch, you know that?”

The angel grinned. “But you did not need that hypospray, did you?”

It was a good trick to know, using the angels’ own intense pheromone-soaked sweat and wing oil as a kind of erection drug. Jaustin suspected it would be useful to him again and again. Jade-Mothra had told him that he was expected to impregnate ten thousand angel boys. He’d be at this for a long time.

Back on Earth…

Elisha took a seat at Kyler’s desk where the prince and his security Ian were already waiting. “Sorry for my tardiness,” he said. “But I had to see something with my own eyes first.”

“See what?” Kyler peered at the priest, wondering over his unsettled demeanor. 

Elisha shifted in his seat as if it were hurting his ass. “My sons by Seth, Koth and Dath have been born. Early this morning.”

“How?” Kyler leaned forward as if to see Elisha more clearly. “I thought those were supposed to have been relatively ‘normal’ pregnancies. I thought that was the whole reason that Kasyn made you impregnate those boys before they seduced Kasyn himself into doing it.”

“Oh…shit,” Ian muttered. Kasyn turned to him, awaiting an explanation. Said Ian, “I was going to raise this topic with you this morning. According to Doctor Phibes, the pregnancies of the six half-orchids—Kasyn’s sons, Dagon and the rest, knocked up by your ‘normal’ sons—have suddenly accelerated. They’re going to pop any day now, too.”

“Evidently they take more after Kasyn than they do after their so-called normal sperm-providers,” Kyler said.

“Or,” said Elisha, “after the thing that possesses Kasyn and warps his sperm.”

Kyler glared at the priest. “I don’t like that particular phrasing! And I ask that you not use it again. Whatever the special state of Kasyn’s biology may be, he is perfect! Do you understand? Fucking perfect! Therefore his offspring cannot, by definition be warped, nor are they monsters!”

“My lord,” Elisha said, eyes downcast, “forgive me. I misspoke. But it is so strange and eerie not knowing what is to come of this when each day brings a new mystery.”

“I don’t know yet either.” Kyler stood and stepped over to the large window behind his desk, gazing down at the churning River Insemina. “But I know now that these unusual offspring are not a threat to us but rather they will show the path toward a solution. Corvis shares my opinion on this.”

“Corvis!” blurted both Ian and Elisha together.

“The witches have seen something that comports with what I have seen. We’re going to…trust them for the moment.”

Elisha looked to Ian who shook his head and mouthed a silent, “Not now!” Kyler, back still turned to his advisors, cancelled their meeting just begun. “I need some time alone,” he said. “To think about all of this.”

On Mars…

Jaustin and Radon shared a large meal of roasted game hen and root vegetables and bubbly Kaseian wine. They sat at their table naked and freshly fucked and famished, focused on the food and drink. A knock at the door startled Radon, whose wings twitched sharply, ruffling his now very thick feathers. “Shhh…” said Jaustin. “Don’t be so jumpy! I’m expecting a package!”

Jaustin went to the round door of their suite, pulled aside its curtain and leaned through to see who was there. He returned to the table with what looked at first to Radon like a thick rectangular box, black and worn and inscribed all over its surface with gilt lettering and decoration. “It’s a book,” said Jaustin, turning the object to let Radon see that the box was a slipcase holding two quite thick paper books, the two volumes of something titled The Exegesis of HPL by Kyler Fey.

“Same first name as your prince on Earth.”

“Yeah.” Jaustin frowned. “I’d say it was just a coincidence, but it seems like an especially odd one given what’s going on in the solar system nowadays. Anyway, I read this book when I was a teenager.”

“You did?”

Jaustin scowled. “You know, everyone always assumes that because I look like a dumb blond twink faggot who can’t do anything but fuck that I can’t even read and that I’m not any kind of scholar!”

Radon folded his wings around his shoulders. “I did not mean it that way! It’s just that this book looks very old…and its title is not exactly exciting. There: I admit my own shallowness!”

Jaustin grinned and pecked Radon on the lips. “It is very old, about two thousand years. I read it years ago, though, and it really sucked me in. And…things that are going on now somehow keep bringing back memories of this book. So I asked the librarian if he could find a copy of it for me.” He set the heavy boxed set on the table. “Though I’d assumed it would be an electronic copy! I can’t believe I have the paper original right here!”

“What do you think you’ll find in it?” Radon peered at the book, as if one could divine its content just by gazing at its ancient binding.

“I don’t know.” Jaustin sighed. “Will it bore you too much if I spend some time this evening looking through it?”

Radon grinned. “I can’t think of anything more interesting! And there are two books, so we can each look through them at the same time.”

Nonplussed, Jaustin said, “You really want to?”

“I can read too, you know!” Laughing, he pulled Jaustin close, folded his boyfriend’s bare body in his wings and kissed him.

To be continued…