Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Jawk - Tales of the Chosen

Luc Saint-Cyr

The Chosen of the immortal Sempervians are:
Called to serve
Honored to protect
Obedient to the vow
Safeguards of the truth
Enablers of life
Neutralizers of threats

Jawk - Tales of the Chosen
Kayelle Allen
Jawk Brighton works at Batchelors, a hip restaurant/club in the Top Tier district of Tarth City, where he meets the immortal Luc Saint-Cyr. When Luc offers Jawk a deal too good to pass up, one night showing him and his Chosen, Wulf Gabriel, a good time in exchange for eight times his usual pay, Jawk takes it. All three have secret agendas. The question is, will Jawk's keep him in Luc and Wulf's shared bed, or tear apart the alliance of the immortal and his Chosen -- forever?
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In this scene, Luc has taken Jawk on a short tour of The Crossfire, Luc's ship, they've shared a few glasses of wine, nibbled on some cookies, and Jawk has agreed to relax and enjoy their week together.
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Jawk followed Saint-Cyr into a multi-room suite with high ceilings and low, indirect lighting.
"Wow." He turned in a circle. Several white leather couches edged the room. It wasn't half the size of the man's penthouse, but for a sleepliner--huge. One wall was painted with more of those meaningless but colorful lines and shapes. White carpet, black leather chairs.
Saint-Cyr perched on the arm of the closest couch, seemingly content to wait while his guest gawked like some kid fresh off the planet. He gestured around the room. "Do you like the accommodations?"
"I've heard about suites like this, but never thought I'd stay in one." Jawk hugged his backpack closer up his shoulder. "I could never afford shit like this. Er, excuse me. Stuff. You really could buy a planet, couldn't you?"
The man laughed, an infectious, throaty sound Jawk wanted to hear more often. Saint-Cyr rose and headed toward a doorway. "Come on. Hungry, Jawk?"
"Not really." He followed him into an adjoining hall. "But if you are, go ahead and eat."
"I eat several times a day. Helps me stay active. How about some wine, then?"
"Yeah. Anything. I'm not picky."
Saint-Cyr turned so suddenly Jawk almost ran into him. The man lowered his brows as if studying him.
Jawk took a step back. "What?"
"You're very picky, Jawk. It's one of the things I like about you. What you mean is you don't know how to tell what's appropriate, when it comes to wine. I'm surprised, since you're a waiter."
"Oh." He flipped a hand in the air. "I say what they tell me to say when a customer orders meat, fish or chicken. And I always ask the maitre de what's selling well and push it. As long as the client thinks I know what I'm doing..." He hooked a thumb beneath the strap of his bag. "Everyone's happy, right?"
"I can teach you more than you ever wanted to know about wine. If you ever have a question, feel free to ask." He turned and shouldered his way through a swinging door. "The galley's in here."
They ended up with a bottle of red wine with a fruity flavor, which Saint-Cyr explained was created from a grape grown in soil famous for its quartz-heavy content. Between them, they nibbled a dozen palm-sized cookies. Thick, soft, and chewy like his human aunt made. The warm chocolate morsels inside them melted on Jawk's tongue.
He licked the chocolate from his fingers. "These would be really good dunked in milk."
"Your fingers?"
Jawk shot him a wry grin, reached out to thumb a smear of chocolate from Saint-Cyr's chin. He licked it. "Mmm."
Saint-Cyr's cheeks darkened. Was he blushing? The man brushed a crumb from his shirt. "Milk doesn't relax you nearly as much." He dragged one finger along the edge of his glass.
Jawk had seen him do that at Batchelors. Though he hadn't waited on the man's table, he'd been close enough to get a good view of him. Nervous habit?
The Crossfire - Luc's Ship
"You mean, milk doesn't relax me specifically, or people in general?"
"General." Saint-Cyr swept one hand across the table, brushed the crumbs onto his other hand. He dusted them over the empty cookie plate.
"So, you want to get me drunk."
He gave a short, gusty laugh. "Can I get you--or any Kin--drunk on two glasses of wine?"
Lowering both ears to the sides in a show of humility, he bared fangs in a human smile. "Prolly not."
Laughing, Luc stretched out both legs. You could read this man easily, once you got used to him. His solid black eyes didn't reveal as much about him as normal people's, true. But the way his mouth tightened, his nostrils flared, the flush of his skin tones, turning his cheeks a darker color than the rest of his deep, deep brown skin ... oh, yes. He had his tells.
"I hope I'm worth the expense, Luc. And the trouble."
"I don't usually like surprises, but you've been a good experience so far. I want to know you better."
"You know what I want?" Jawk dragged a finger through a wet spot on the table, eyes down.
"What?"
"Remember when I tasted your throat in the hoversine earlier?"
The man swallowed. He lifted one hand toward his throat as if recalling being bitten, made a fist and lowered it. He squirmed a bit. That same match-strike spark of heat rose in the room. "Yes."
Jawk dragged one clawtip along the table, near the man's arm. He lifted his head and captured his gaze the way he had in the car. "I want to know what the rest of you tastes like."
Saint-Cyr flashed his blinding smile and leaned all the way back in his chair, a sinewy slide of flesh that screamed confidence. "Do you?"
Jawk laid back one ear. "I know something about you your human lovers don't."
He tapped a finger on the table. "Which is?"
Jawk braced both elbows on his knees. "You speak Felis. Do you know what romtzeet means?"
"I've heard the word. It's some kind of scent."
Jawk lifted his head, sniffing. "It fills this room, more heady than the wine. I can barely catch my breath. Humans call it testosterone. You--" Inhaling, Jawk closed his eyes briefly. "--taste of it."
Saint-Cyr wet his lips. The leather smell of pride added to the male-rich scents of the room. "Do you like that?"
"Yes." He dragged the tip of his claw along Luc's jacket sleeve. "Do you know what else you smell like?" Jawk could hear the inhalation of breath, smell the musky scent of his desire.
Saint-Cyr's throat worked. "No. What do I smell like?"
Jawk stroked his tongue into the air. "Mmm." The scent of desire heightened. "I don't have a human word for it."
"I..." He cleared his throat. "Say it in Felis."
Jawk smiled, savoring the way he surrendered, asked to be described. If you defined a man, you owned him. In Felis, he said, "You smell like roasted cinnapods with kai pepper. You smell of danger, I think. Risk."
Saint-Cyr leaned his chin on one fist, his smile cocky. "Are you sure you're not just hungry?"
He made a show of taking in Luc's entire length, from his feet up. "Only for sex."
The man rose, his movements slow, studied. Unhurried. "Our..." He gestured vaguely to the right. "The room's this way."
Jawk picked up his backpack and followed. One door down, Luc touched a panel and entered. Right behind him, Jawk dropped his bag on the floor, reached out to grip Luc by the arm. His bicep felt like steel beneath Jawk's fingers, yet the man did not resist. One tug, and he had Luc in his arms. He turned, pushed him back into the door as he leaned into him, body to body.
He rocked his erection against Luc's hard upper thigh. "Put your hands on the wall, arms out."
Luc did as told.
The sight of this man--this man--in submission to him brought a riot of emotions to the fore. Few knew who and what Luc really was. The thrill of having Luc Saint-Cyr at his mercy ... Jawk forced himself to move slowly, to savor the moment. Jawk set his mouth beneath Luc's jaw and huffed a deep breath against his skin, using the heat to increase the man's rich, romtzeet scent. Jawk's growl elicited a gasp.
"I must taste you." He gripped Luc's shirt with both hands, yanked it open and swooped in to lick the bared skin.
Luc's husky moan evoked another surrender, this one of pleasure. A fine shiver swept over him, translating itself to Jawk's body every place they touched.
He splayed one hand behind Luc's head, turning him so they breathed the same desire-steamed air. "Do you know what I want to do to you, human?"
With those black, black eyes closed, he seemed more human. Less of a force to be reckoned with, more of a lover. "Tell me."
Jawk growled against Luc's throat. "I want to keep you beneath me, all night. Keep you under my fangs, so I can lick every single inch of your skin."
Luc reached for him.
Jawk growled a warning. "Hands on the wall." When Luc complied, Jawk nuzzled his throat, kissed him in reward. "Good. Good. I'll tell you when to touch me. For now, human, the pleasure of touch is mine to take, yours to give."
"Jawk, I..."
"Shh."
When Luc opened his mouth to speak again, Jawk hissed. Saint-Cyr glared.
"If all you wanted was a boytoy, you shouldn't have hired a Kin." Jawk scratched one sharp clawtip down the man's jaw. "I can smell how hot you are. You want a Kin to dominate you in bed."
"No." He shook his head. "I..."
"Shh." He set a fingertip on the flat planes of Luc's mouth. "It's all right for you to want it. Maybe just for one night, but you do want it." He added in a whisper alongside Luc's ear, "You need it. Crave it. And I, my fine human, am going to give it to you."
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Jawk, Tales of the Chosen
Pleasure. Trust. Possession. Is a betrayal of the heart forever?
http://liquidsilverbooks.com/books/jawk.htm

Video - Jawk, Tales of the Chosen

1 comment:

Kayelle Allen said...

I created the video with pictures made by photomanipulation in Photoshop. Putting cat-ears on my heroes is fun. =^_^=