Feast of Stephen Read Online Free

with
the result.
    Stephen picked
up the smaller ring to examine it. Gold glittered in the firelight.
Chips of quartz and onyx, cunningly set, formed the shape of a
single magpie in flight, its long tail stretching around the ring.
The larger ring was its mirror image, so that the birds could face
each other.
    “I…” He stared.
“They’re… I don’t know what to say.”
    “That’s what
you said last time I gave you a ring.”
    “It is, isn’t
it?” Stephen slipped the smaller ring onto the fourth finger of his
right hand, held it out in admiration. “And then I said, ‘Thank
you, Lucien.’”
    “And then, if I
recall, you kissed me.”
    Stephen turned,
kneeling on the footstool, and took Crane’s hand. His fingers were
alive with their electric charge, almost painful. “I can’t speak as
you do. You can talk your way out of certain death. And then you do
something like this and I..I don’t have the words.” He hesitated,
looking almost embarrassed, then rushed out, “Look, you, uh, you
know the song?”
    “Song?”
    “Wenceslas.”
Stephen cleared his throat. His voice was a little husky.
    “Sire, the
night is darker now
    And the wind
blows stronger
    Fails my heart,
I know not how,
    I can go no
longer.”
    Crane took up
the king’s response in his deeper voice:
    “Mark my
footsteps, my good page
    Tread thou in
them boldly
    Thou shalt find
the winter’s rage
    Freeze thy
blood less coldly.”
    “That,” Stephen
said. “It struck me when we were singing earlier. That’s what you
do. When I’m with you, I can keep going. I’m braver. The whole
world is warm for me because of you.” His hand trembled as he
threaded the larger ring over Crane’s knuckle, and then he put his
own hand over Crane’s, interlacing the fingers. “Two for joy.” It
sounded like a vow.
    “Two for joy,”
Crane repeated softly. “And I am quite sure you owe me a kiss by
now.”
    “I don’t think
that will suffice.” Stephen gestured with his free hand at the
door. There was an audible click as the key turned, and Crane
spared a second’s gratitude for whichever past Vaudrey had put
brass fittings on the door rather than iron. Stephen hopped up onto
his lap, straddling his legs. He leaned in to cup Crane’s face with
both hands, the charge of his fingers prickling like snowflakes on
skin, and kissed him. Crane could feel the shift of cloth and
movement of buttons as he responded, Stephen undressing him with
his powers, and he ran his own hands over his lover, down his back,
under his waistband, doing his best to break the little witch’s
concentration.
    He failed,
though Stephen grunted protest into his mouth, because Stephen was
putting everything he had into the kiss and it was overwhelming.
Teeth and tongues, open mouths and the rasp of stubble, Stephen
pulling at his hips, dragging at his clothing, caressing his
face—Crane had no idea which were Stephen’s physical hands and
which his magic, didn’t care enough to look. Featherlight touches
were running the whole length of his skin, and Stephen’s breath,
laced with brandy, rasped in his ear.
    Stephen slid
down, to his knees, hands resting on Crane’s bare thighs. “Stay
there,” he said. “I want to…”
    “Anything.”
    “Then don’t
move.” Stephen’s eyes were luminous in the dark room, glowing gold.
“My lord.”
    “My w— What the fuck ?”
    “Me.”
    “Of course it
is.” Crane made himself hold steady, controlling his breathing. It
took an effort. Stephen was between his legs, sitting back on his
heels, hands firm on Crane’s thighs, but his power was moving. It
spread from his hands to wash over Crane’s skin, dripping and
sliding, as thick and cool as he imagined mercury might feel. A
quicksilver touch. Gentle pressure spiralled around his cock like a
ribbon, looped around his balls, tightened all over.
    “Sweet
Jesus!”
    “Good?”
    “Fuck.”
    “I’ll assume
that’s good,” Stephen murmured. The power pulsed against