The Agency

CONTENT WARNING: This story is for adults only. It features fairly explicit M/M sexual situations. If you are under 18 please hit the "back" button on your browser now.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story takes place between parts 14 and 15 of "Pentecost."

----)O(----

150 years he has walked the Earth, and in that time he has learned a few things, among them the sad fact that something wished for, longed for, ached for, if obtained, is almost always a disappointment.

Almost.

They sway, his hands resting at Rowan's waist, the Elf's arms around his neck, one hand curved warm beneath the collar of Jason's shirt. Jason takes a breath, the combination of scents intoxicating: curry, chai, books, Elf. Spice and softness, the ancient and the moment, and he wants to wrap himself up in it and etch every second in his memory.

Rowan's head rests against his shoulder, and he can feel their pulses slowly coming into synch; it's something vampires do, gradually bringing their prey's heartbeat lower and lower to calm them and make it easier to feed. Contrary to the myth, it isn't in his kind's best interest to harm anyone. Rowan isn't his prey, but he can't help it--he wants to disappear into his would-be lover, to dissolve breath by breath and beat by beat.

He slides his hands around Rowan's back, up along his spine, feeling muscle and vertebrae, fascinated by the way he moves. So human, and yet so alien. Jason has had many, many men in his bed, of many shapes and sizes, but few immortals, and never an Elf. There's something subtly different here, some wild grace that defies description--he hopes fervently that he'll have a chance to find the words, as he learns every last inch of the slender body in his arms, inside and out, and soon.

He has absolutely no idea where to begin. The night has been as close to perfect as he could manage, but now that they are alone in the candlelit safety of his quarters, he is nervous again, his mind trying over and over to run down the list of things that could go wrong. This isn't a back alley blow job or a quick fuck in the file room…it's Rowan. His Rowan.

His Rowan, who leans back to look in his eyes, smiling. "I'm nervous too," he says. "All of a sudden this is very, very real."

Jason breathes him in again, wishing for a second that the Elf also smelled like Xanax. "We can stop here, if you want…if you've changed your mind."

In answer, Rowan removes his hands from Jason's neck. The abrupt loss of warmth and the possibility that the Elf might, in fact, have changed his mind both make Jason's stomach tumble down to his knees. But Rowan takes a step back, reaching up to his ears, and removes the inhibitor, then the control on his wrist. He places them on the coffee table and returns to the embrace, this time ignoring the music as he covers Jason's mouth with his own.

*****

Sara had come over to help Rowan get ready, but really all she was doing was making him even more anxious. He'd been trying to think of the evening as just an outing between friends, and not dwell too much on the terrifying possibility--no, probability--of more, but her giggly presence sitting on the bed made him feel like he was preparing to sacrifice himself in some bizarre sexual rite, or worse, a wedding.

"So where are you two lovebirds going?"

He stared at himself in the mirror, wishing it were autumn. Thanks to the unrelenting sun and humidity of the Texas climate his summer hair was a dusty sort of grey-brown with a few stalwart strands of dark green. In a couple of months it would be a brilliant cacophony of brown, gold, green, and red-maple-leaf scarlet, and it was one of his favorites. At least his eyes were interesting right now, a green-blue-silver combination that mirrored perfectly the reflections of the trees on Lady Bird Lake.

"Dinner," he answered belatedly. "There's an Indian restaurant I wanted to try. I'm not sure what, after that."

She gave him a Look. "Oh, really?"

His hands were far too white, he noticed, as he buttoned up his shirt. "Sara…I'm nervous enough as it is."

"Why? You should be overjoyed. You've been wanting this for how many years?"

"That's exactly my point. Years and years, and what if…"

She smiled affectionately, reached out, and squeezed his hand. "Honey, it's going to be wonderful. You're not starting from scratch, after all. You already know each other. You don't have to go through half the bullshit of new relationships."

"No, we have unique bullshit all our own," he pointed out. "What happens if he wants to go to bed? What if I can't do it, or I do and I have an episode, or worse?"

"You can't go into it like that," she said. "It's going to be fine. You love each other, and you're perfect for each other, that's what matters."

He looked at himself again, thinking back to before he had come here, before his clan had been slaughtered and his life destroyed. He had been so self-assured back then--everyone knew and respected him, and the honor of his calling had been evident in his every word and step. People had made appointments weeks in advance to spend an evening in his bed. And now, look at him…quaking in fear before a date!

Granted, this was all new and perplexing to him, this business of going out and spending time with one person with intent to keep that one person for more than a single night. What if they did become a couple, and he got bored, or Jason demanded monogamy he simply couldn't give?

"You look fantastic," Sara said, plucking a stray thread from his arm. "If you weren't going out with someone else, I'd shag you myself."

He turned to her and frowned. "Are you sure you're all right with this? We haven't really talked about what's going to happen now between us."

She pulled her knees up to her chin thoughtfully. "I'm all right with it. I've always known that one day you'd be with someone else, or rather, that you'd be with him. I tried to keep in mind that I was helping you heal for exactly that reason. I can't guarantee I won't be jealous."

"I don't want to stop seeing you," Rowan said. "I don't want our friendship to change."

"It will, though, one way or another. Things always do. And I'd love to find myself in bed with you again, trust me, but if that's not possible, I'll understand."

He hugged her fiercely. "You are remarkable, anama. There will always be room for you in my life."

The knock came, and his pulse barreled into orbit, his nerves turning the butterflies in his stomach into drunken turkey vultures. How on earth was he going to eat? He wasn't sure about the mating customs of vampires, but usually, vomiting on one's date was considered rude regardless of race.

"I'll get it," Sara said mischievously. Rowan nodded, suddenly unable to speak. "You take a deep breath or ten and ground yourself, mister. Remember--it's Jason. You've hunted bad guys together and saved each other's lives. Surely one meal can't be any harder."

As she left him in his room for a moment, Rowan couldn't help but think she was dead wrong about that one.

He gave himself one last once-over in the mirror, glad he'd let Sara help him decide what to wear; he wasn't used to spending time outdoors in Austin summer evenings, and aside from "hellish" he didn't know what to plan for. He'd chosen green, his best color, and it set off his eyes. It really was too bad it wasn't autumn. He was so much more attractive in autumn.

Rowan sighed. He was being ridiculous.

He left the bedroom and was immediately confronted with the sight of Jason waiting for him, dressed in his usual black from head to foot, this time without his signature coat--he was off duty and didn't need so many places to stow gadgets and guns. He looked magnificent, and the way his blue eyes widened slightly when he saw Rowan made the Elf think the opinion, and possibly the nerves, must be mutual.

"Good God," Jason said, "you look…fantastic." He held out his hand, and Rowan saw he had been as good as his word--he'd brought flowers.

Rowan felt himself blush. "Thank you."

"What, no roses?" Sara asked with a devilish grin.

Jason gave her a withering look. "These are his favorite."

Rowan smiled, taking the bouquet of wildflowers--including two giant sunflowers no doubt chosen with some irony by the vampire--and inhaling deeply of them. "You remembered."

"I'll take those and put them in water," Sara said.

As Rowan handed them off to her, his eyes still on Jason, the vampire produced a second gift: a small paper bag. Rowan took it, still smiling, and peeked inside: blueberries.

It was the first time Jason had ever given him his nightly offering directly, and Rowan found his throat constricted with surprising emotion. "Thank you," he repeated, the words half-whispered.

Jason seemed to understand, and took Rowan's free hand and kissed it. "You're welcome."

Sara had returned from the kitchen and was watching them, all but beaming. "You two crazy kids go out and have fun," she said. "Rowan, do you have fifty cents for a pay phone in case he gets fresh?"

Rowan raised an eyebrow. "You want me to call and brag?"

She snorted. "Go. I'll put that in the fridge and I'll lock up behind me. You've got the inhibitor, right?"

"Yes, mother," he replied. She made a face, snatched the bag away from Rowan, and swatted him playfully on the ass. He chuckled, and let Jason lead him out the door into the hallway.

*****

Jason is thankful that for once he remembered to make the bed. Somehow the thought of tumbling down onto a rumple of pre-twisted sheets with pillows scattered hither and yon borders on blasphemous. This moment deserves linens far finer than he can afford, but at the very least the room is clean without any random shoes serving as landmines in the dark. He isn't slovenly by any means, but life as an Agent tends to use up all the energy chasing demons that one might normally use on, say, dusting.

He hasn't been able to tear his mouth from Rowan's since that first kiss in the living room. They make their way slowly through the apartment, hands seeking bare skin and impatiently undoing buttons, Jason's tongue snaking between Rowan's lips. The Elf's hands tangle in Jason's hair, his kisses surprisingly hungry. The taste of him is driving Jason slowly mad, and it's a madness he has been craving for years.

Rowan nibbles his way along Jason's shoulder, hands gradually pushing his shirt off and onto the floor, and they are a mere inch apart, the Elf's body heat seeming to rise with each kiss. Jason's fingers skim his belt around to the front and fiddle with the buckle, waiting just a little longer to undo it, but using it as a sort of steering wheel to direct Rowan through the kitchen, into the hall.

At one point he pushes the Elf against the wall, flattening into him so hard Rowan gasps. He can feel Rowan's desire quite firmly through his jeans, which is surprising given what Sara has said about his self-control, but now is not the time to concern himself with questions. Jason rocks his hips slightly, pressing against him as if they are still dancing, and Rowan makes a low growling noise and digs his nails into Jason's arms and his teeth into Jason's neck.

It takes every scrap of will he has not to tear into the Elf's throat then and there and fill himself with what he knows would be the sweetest blood he's ever tasted. Perhaps Rowan knows that a vampire's neck is more sensitive than any other body part, and perhaps it's just chance, but Jason feels the heat wash through his blood, his teeth getting that familiar painful yet delicious itch that precedes their extending like a cat's claws, into the waiting flesh of his prey.

He jerks back, realizing what he's about to do, and Rowan catches sight of his teeth and draws an astonished breath. Jason knows his eyes have gone silver--everything in the room has taken on a hazy, half-drunken quality, but he can still see the look on Rowan's face, and it makes him burn with shame. He hasn't lost control so utterly in over a century. It's appalling for someone of his age and strength; a vampire who feeds on impulse is little better than an animal.

He starts to turn away, clamping his eyes shut, but feels the palm of a hand touch either side of his face, holding him there. He opens his eyes again reluctantly, meeting Rowan's gaze, seeing neither disgust nor fear, but absolute acceptance.

Rowan kisses him gently, hands still holding his face as though concerned he might bolt, and draws him along toward the bedroom.

*****

Jason would never have thought that one day he would consider curry a sexy food, but there he was, sitting in the basement room of the Clay Pit, thankful that the table was concealing the way his body reacted to watching Rowan eat.

He sipped his wine, not bothering to hide the fact that he was staring, and for once it didn't seem to make the Elf uncomfortable; Rowan was too busy savoring every last bite of the vegetable concoction he'd ordered, making irresistible little noises of delight. He licked his lips, and Jason shifted in his seat--he was unbearably hard, and at this rate by the time they got to dessert he was going to leap over the table and throw the Elf facedown on the floor.

To make matters worse Rowan chose to sit adjacent to him rather than across, putting him within easy pouncing distance. The insane part of his mind that injected random thoughts into everyday situations wondered, briefly, if ghee would work as a substitute for lube.

"Do you miss food?" Rowan asked suddenly, and Jason was grateful for the distraction.

"Not anymore," he replied. "I did at first. It only takes once or twice eating something and having it make you violently ill to lose your taste for it."

"So you can't digest it at all?"

"No. Our enzymes are completely different, and we don't produce enough stomach acid to break it down. Even some liquids, like whole milk, are too much for us."

Rowan grinned. "Which explains why you take your coffee black."

He nodded. "Dessert?"

Something decidedly puckish crossed Rowan's face. He slid one hand across the table and traced the inside of Jason's wrist, eliciting a shiver that traveled through Jason's entire body. "What did you have in mind?"

The ache in Jason's cock redoubled, and again he had to adjust how he was sitting. At this rate they were going to be here all night before he could stand up. Still, he returned the grin, as he was pretty sure Rowan was aware of--and enjoying--his effect on the vampire.

Confirming his suspicions, Rowan asked innocently, "Is there something wrong with your chair?"

Jason narrowed his eyes, reached under the table, grabbed the Elf's hand, and placed it squarely on the source of the problem. Rowan turned slightly pink, but didn't withdraw his hand; his smile was touched with wickedness as he squeezed a little, then rubbed, looking pleased at the dimensions of what he'd encountered.

Jason bit back a groan and nearly snapped the stem of his wine glass in half. "Bastard," he muttered.

Rowan laughed. "Oh, all right, I'll be merciful." He sat up straight again, hands folded on the table. "I guess we can't leave just yet."

"Talk about grandmothers or something," Jason suggested, clenching the arms of the chair. "I can't even feel my feet."

Another laugh. "I don't think either of us has a grandmother."

"All right, then. You told me once you had a daughter--how did that happen?"

Rowan's energy changed immediately, from mirthful to surprised to melancholy, and Jason regretted asking. It only took a moment, however, for the Elf to recover, and he smiled with mixed grief and memory. "A friend of mine, a regular healer, wanted to have a child. She was part of a trio of women, and they all raised the baby together."

"A trio? That sort of thing is common among Elves?"

He shrugged. "Not common, really, but accepted. Our relationship mores are a lot more relaxed. Since the birth rate is so low, any child born to anyone is loved by all, and if someone conceives who doesn't want the baby there are always a half-dozen parents ready to take it in. I was too busy to really be a father to the child, but we saw each other often, and she knew we were kin."

"What was her name?"

"Kaeli." He stared down into the remains of his food, stabbing a potato with his fork. "She would only be about fifty now. I didn't see her die, which is a blessing, really. I saw two of her mothers cut down and the other dragged off to be sold into slavery. Given the alternative I hope Kaeli died in the raid."

Jason closed his eyes briefly. He knew the grief in Rowan's voice all too well, and it tore at him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have asked."

"It's all right. Really." Rowan took his hand. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

Jason took a deep breath and forced a smile. The past was past--and if he'd had to lose so much to reach this night, with those eyes looking into his, it was all worth it. "I've got a better idea," he said.

*****

For the first time that night, Rowan falters. He stares up at Jason, breathless, a touch of fear on his face. "I…"

Jason pauses, fingers stilling where they were about to unzip the Elf's jeans, and frowns. "What's wrong?"

He knows the answer, of course, and has in fact been expecting this for the last half hour, while they slowly and reverently undressed each other, finally stretching out on the bed. Jason hadn't given him time to take control; he had nudged Rowan onto his back, half-pinning him against the comforter, and set to exploring him with hands and lips and tongue, waiting for the inevitable.

Rowan's eyes are shining in the darkness, and he sounds perilously close to tears. "You're still shielded," he says almost plaintively. "I can't read you."

"I know that," Jason replies. "I don't want you to."

He stares, confused and hurt. "You don't trust me?"

Jason shakes his head. "I don't want to be your client, Rowan. I don't want you to think of me as someone to serve, at the expense of your own enjoyment. I want you to learn to be loved as well as a lover. Nothing else is going to work in the long run."

Rowan looks away. "I don't know how."

"So you'll learn. We're immortal--we have time."

He sighs. "But you don't understand…I do enjoy myself. Giving pleasure to others is what I was born for. Just because I can't do it the way I used to doesn't mean I don't still have the instincts or the talent. And you're right; I do have a lot to learn about being with someone…about loving someone and being loved. But I need to connect. Please. Otherwise it's just physical, and…I need more than that with you."

It has been years, so many years since Jason allowed anyone past his shields, especially to the depth that he knows the Elf will go to join with him…but he knows at heart that Rowan is right about that much. They can't simply fuck and fall asleep like normal people.

They both have a lot to learn.

In the end, there is no response he can give except to give everything.

*****

"Oh my god," Rowan breathed, one hand going to his mouth. "It's…"

"It's a bookstore," Jason said with a chuckle. "Are you going to have a stroke?"

"I may."

They wandered around the two floors of books for over an hour, Rowan reaching out to touch everything he could, his eyes wide with wonder and joy. It was just like the first night he'd tried the inhibitor in public, when a coffee shop transformed temporarily into Wonderland; Jason watched him trace the spines of hardbacks and paperbacks, turn the pages of a Brian Froud collector's edition as if it was a religious experience, and actually press his nose into a shelf to fill his lungs with the smell of books. The Elf had been ordering his reading material online for a decade. Book People was a revelation for him.

"Thank you for bringing me here," Rowan told him. The pure unvarnished happiness on his face was enough to melt every bone in Jason's body and stiffen everything else.

"I said I would," he replied. "Here, let me carry those."

He took the stack of books Rowan had collected, feeling like a high school boyfriend and rather liking it in spite of himself.

Certainly they made a striking pair. He wasn't sure how, but even with his long multicolored hair, faintly glowing eyes, and pointed ears, Rowan had a tendency to pass mostly unnoticed in a crowd of humans. Those that saw he wasn't average-looking reacted to him as they would any attractive male. Even in Austin there should have been more stares; the most he saw was a small child walking alongside her mother on Sixth Street, freezing mid-stride with wide wonder-filled eyes fixed on the Elf, who gave her a conspiratorial grin and walked on.

"How do you do that?" he finally asked.

Rowan lifted his eyes from the gardening book he was paging through. "Do what?"

"You blend in. I can't feel any energy coming from you, so it can't be a glamour. How do you do it?"

He gave the vampire an enigmatic smile. "Just because you can't feel it doesn't mean it isn't there."

"You'd have to be projecting on such a low level that a human certainly couldn't detect it, if I can't."

"That's precisely what I'm doing. I'm not actively trying to look normal, I'm just, as you said, blending in. It's a very weak tendril of energy that shifts people's perceptions a tiny bit. It doesn't occur to them there's anything unusual about me. Someone strongly psychic who was paying attention would see right through it. Children and animals usually can too."

"And you can do that through the inhibitor?"

"On this setting, yes. On the highest, no. But I'm hoping never to need the highest setting-this one seems to work fine for fairly uneventful public outings." He handed Jason another book to add to the stack. "A perception shift like that is Magic 101 where I came from."

"You must miss it," Jason remarked, helping him up from the stool he had sat on to look through the plant books.

Rowan tilted his head to one side, considering. "I do, but in a way…if you could take the time I was captive out of the equation, I might still have wanted to see the human world someday. I heard so many legends as a child, and met a few Wanderers over the years with fantastic stories of great bodies of water with their own tides, and animals that don't exist in our forests. I'd still like to see an elephant."

"See, now, Indian food and Book People I could do on a date. Elephants will take some planning."

A laugh. Rowan kissed him lightly, but Jason used his free arm to catch the Elf and pull him closer, deepening the kiss. Rowan's teeth closed on his lower lip and tugged slightly, sending sensation through Jason that nearly made him drop the books.

There was a polite cough nearby, and Jason looked up to see a bookstore employee actively not looking at them, reshelving an armful of volumes. Beyond, there were a pair of little old ladies looking a bit too scandalized to be Austin natives.

"Are you ready to head back?" Jason all but purred into Rowan's ear.

"Your place or mine?"

"Mine."

"Where's the checkout?"

"Downstairs."

"Is there an elevator we can make out in?"

Jason seized the Elf's arm and pulled him along. "This way."

*****

Surrendering, he winds his arms around Rowan and kisses him deeply, lowering all his defenses, every last one, the sudden vulnerability shaking him inside and out. He is terrified of what the Elf can see, the bloody and violent recesses of his past exposed, every emotion as clear as the chapters of a book. Twice now tonight he has felt ashamed of what he is, when he had never questioned it before.

And twice, now, he has felt nothing in return but acceptance. He feels Rowan's senses moving through him, the touch so intimate it multiplies his internal shivering. As deep as he goes, he still leaves some stones unturned, not even touching most of the memories. The level of respect and compassion shouldn't surprise Jason, but still, it's a rare thing for someone to have the opportunity to plumb the depths of a vampire's mind and not take advantage.

He feels, rather than hears, what the Elf tells him: that this is how his kind work, that they only learn what they need to and never violate the sanctity of someone's mind. Besides, so much of love is in the talking--giving out stories and parts of oneself bit by bit, over time--that to learn it all at once would take years away from their walk together. The sound of a lover's voice is far too beautiful to sacrifice to expediency.

They are face to face, foreheads touching, shirtless and awash in the most peaceful feeling Jason can ever recall. He could lie like this forever, and he knows exactly how long forever is.

Rowan, on the other hand, has different plans.

As Jason had to him, he opens himself, one layer at a time as if undressing, the glimmering heat and light of his presence emerging from the tentative shields he has managed to regain in the last few months. Jason has had to admit that Sara was good for him; he would still need the inhibitor to leave the base, possibly forever, but his control over his powers has grown exponentially.

Breathless, Jason watches with his mind, his senses overwhelmed by the Elf, who slides into him so easily and completely that Jason nearly comes right then and there.

The energy settles into a flow, and Rowan chuckles, nuzzling his ear. "Like that?"

Jason's reply is a distinct affirmative, spoken with his tongue in the Elf's mouth. Amused, Rowan runs his energy through Jason's body in waves, stroking him from the inside, and it's nothing like the vampire has ever experienced--he moans, working his hips against Rowan's, wishing he could remember how to move his hands so he could get the rest of their clothes off.

Rowan, now completely calm and in control, eases Jason onto his back and with agonizing slowness unbuckles and zips, pulling cloth down from Jason's waist before echoing the motion with his own jeans. Appreciation travels through Jason's mind as the Elf stretches out beside him and his eyes wander solicitously over the terrain of Jason's body, admiring the way a sculptor might a fresh canvas.

Jason does much the same, taking in the sinuous curve of the Elf's side, his narrow hips and surprisingly muscular torso, all proportioned slightly differently than a human but still perfect, somehow. His gaze travels down, memorizing, and--

He blinks.

Rowan sees him staring and smiles. "They're on the inside."

"No way."

"Yes."

Jason smiles back. "Too bad. I guess I'll just have to content myself with this…"

He reaches over and glides his hand up the length of Rowan's cock, making the Elf gasp and immediately harden in his grasp.

"I thought you didn't react this way," Jason murmurs, twisting so they're touching from shoulder to waist, his hand moving up and down, ghosting over the skin. "Aren't you supposed to have unshakable self-control?"

Rowan's eyes are half-closed, his mouth open, and he doesn't seem to hear--his energy, too, is flickering like a light with a short in it, whatever plans he had temporarily derailed.

Jason takes the initiative, switching places with him, pushing him flat on his back, biting and licking his way along Rowan's collarbone, then tracing slow spirals over his chest. He pauses to suck on a nipple, and hears a soft cry, one he might mistake for pain if they weren't so tightly wound around each other's minds that any problem would set off blazing alarms.

Rowan's kind, the rethla, had their ways; they could absorb a partner's desires instantly through their psychic abilities--but it's really not so arcane, if one is a telepath with a touch of empathy, and a window once opened can be climbed through in both directions.

The Elf is panting, unable to summon a coherent thought, and Jason smiles. He pauses in his downward descent for a moment, moving back up the bed to capture Rowan's mouth, and says to him mentally, [I told you you needed to learn to be loved…welcome to your first lesson.]

With that, he breaks the kiss, slides back down the length of Rowan's body, and lowers his mouth to suck.

*****

They intended to go straight back to the base, but on the walk to the tunnel entrance, Rowan was distracted several times--first, by the mammoth Whole Foods market, where he paused, staring up at the edifice of organic commerce, openmouthed.

"That's a grocery store?"

Jason stepped up behind him, slid his arms around his waist. "No, it's more of an amusement park for food addicts."

Rowan gave him a quizzical look. "Doesn't being human make you a food addict by default?"

"Not the way these people are. They're about to close down, for the night, though. It's almost ten."

"I always thought of vegetables as more of a second date thing anyway," Rowan replied, and then asked, "Is this where you get my fruit?"

"It is indeed."

"Then maybe I don't want to go in," he mused. "Maybe it should remain a mystery."

"Oh, no, I think you should someday. It's the kind of place you'd love--they have about eighty brands of tofu and weird things like organic bathroom slippers."

Rowan's eyes lit up. "Second date, then. What's that over there?"

The area around Book People played host to a number of Austin--famous businesses, most of which stayed open late; they crossed the street to Waterloo Records, then followed Lamar a few blocks down to Austin Java, just in time for the last half the evening's poetry open mic and the crowds that went with it.

A man with a feather in his hat and a beard that looked like it hadn't been trimmed or washed in weeks was waxing metaphoric about the current administration, likening it to a pair of shaven balls or bells or something that started with a b, eliciting periodic cheers from the audience, whereupon he immediately launched into a rhyming diatribe about losing a single sock in the dryer, connecting that, too, to the evils of the government.

Rowan and Jason exchanged a look, and got their coffees to go.

"All right, your turn," Rowan asked once they were clear of the noise. "Where did you learn to play the violin?"

"From my sire," he answered, looking up at the sky, where a few brave stars had burrowed through the city haze to wink down at them.

"What was his name?"

Jason smiled. "How do you know it was a man?"

Rowan made a noise of amused incredulity. "You'd let a woman get that close to your neck?"

"Hey, I've slept with women. At least…er…ten, I think." He tested his coffee, still a bit too hot. "I had to sometimes, back then, to throw off suspicion. I wasn't very good at it. They're hard work, women."

"But worth it," Rowan informed him.

"If you say so. But I scattered a few butcher's daughters and ladies of the evening in amongst my stable boys, when it seemed like people were watching me too closely. Say what you want about this country in this age; at least I won't be stoned to death in the streets for loving you."

Rowan's ears turned a little pink at the words, but he returned to the original subject. "You didn't answer my question."

"Oh. I guess I didn't." Jason hadn't said it out loud for a long time, and the name sounded strange. "Charles Renard Duvalier. A Parisian aristocrat, musician, traveler, and vampire."

"Renard--that's French for 'fox,' isn't it?"

"Yes. That's what I called him."

"And your violin, was it his?"

"He had it made for me. His was…burned."

He figured Rowan would ask the next logical question, but he didn't. "Did your sister like him?"

"Not at first. She thought he was going to be the same as all the others--sleep with me and then betray me, turn me over to the authorities, fire us. He won her over, though. They fought like cats and dogs, but secretly they were quite fond of each other."

"I imagine they bonded over their bond with you."

"I suppose so. Over time I learned to trust her taste. Anyone I saw more than once, if she didn't like him, he was history. Not that it happened often. I've…I've been on my own, mostly, since Fox."

"I'm sorry," Rowan said, tossing his empty coffee cup in a recycling bin nearby, then taking Jason's hand. "I know you must have loved him very much."

"How do you know?"

"By the look you got on your face when you said his name."

They reached the tunnel entrance, this one a modern addition to the system that was disguised as a tall storm drain behind a porn store, and Jason entered his security clearance to open the gate. "Well, if it helps," he said, "Beck thinks you're…what was the phrase she used? The cat's freakin' pajamas."

Rowan laughed, following him inside. "I'm glad to hear that. I think she's the bee's freakin' knees."

*****

Rowan makes no sound as he comes, but he is hardly silent--the entire room seems to vibrate, power singing off the walls and time seeming to bend around itself, contracting, then releasing explosively outward, and it's better than any scream Jason has ever evoked from a lover.

He swallows reflexively, glad that one bodily fluid is like another to his kind and he won't get sick off his second favorite.

He feels eyes on him, and feels the body beneath his shaking, but he takes a moment to bestow a few lazy strokes along the softening length, causing a few residual whimpers and aftershocks, the fingers in his hair clenching, then falling back onto the bed.

Finally he raises his eyes, sees tears, not unexpected. He licks his lips. "Are you all right?"

A vaguely shaken head is the only reply, but his energy is wild, almost manic, a dozen warring impulses fighting their way free. Jason wonders how long it's been since Rowan was last with a male that didn't hurt him--but he knows the answer to that already, and just thinking of it breaks his heart.

He pulls the Elf close, wrapping his arms around his sweat-damp body, feeling a tribal rhythm where there should be a satiated, cooling pulse.

"It's all right," he says. "I'm here, love. Just keep breathing. You know I'll take care of you. You can feel it. Breathe."

Rowan nods, but buries his face in Jason's shoulder--much better than pulling away, but still an almost childish gesture, and worrisome. Jason thinks of the vial of morphine he has in the bathroom; he procured it from Nava, who gave him a knowing look when he said he wanted to have it on hand just in case. If only life were simpler, and it was a box of condoms instead of a Schedule II opiate. Luckily, even though he has a problem with needles, all Agents have at least some medical training, and he can administer it if he has to.

Last line of defense, he reminds himself, and concentrates, imagining he can wrap Rowan up in his emotions the way he has in his arms, a Linus blanket of energy. This is how it has to be, they both know it; the only way out is through.

After a moment, Rowan takes a deep breath, and leans back to look him in the face. There is a shaky, almost shy smile playing about his lips. Amazingly, he seems okay, regaining his equilibrium faster than Jason had expected. Again, he can thank Sara for that, he's sure. He'll have to remember to be nicer to her…hell, by the end of the night he might have to buy her a car.

"My turn now," Rowan whispers. "What can I give you?"

"Just you," is his answer. "All I want is you."

Rowan kisses him just below his ear, and says, "Then take me."

*****

They managed to keep their hands off each other all the way back to Jason's quarters, mostly through conversation. They never seemed to lack for things to talk about--one of the benefits of being immortal and having such a long history. Rowan had three hundred years on him, but most of it had been spent in a quiet day-to-day existence in the forest with his kin; there hadn't been much adventure. Jason definitely had him beat in that arena.

"…so the Steward lights the torch, and we're there in the stall, pants around our ankles, and the Duke's horse is just standing there chewing on his oats like teenaged boys roll in his hay every day. And the Steward thunders something like, 'what's the meaning of this?' and the horse snorts at him."

"That was, what, the fourth time you were fired?"

"Fifth. At least that time I didn't end up escorted off the premises naked by the police."

He unlocked the door to his quarters, and the minute they got inside, suddenly neither of them knew what to say; the easiness between them evaporated.

Jason made himself busy getting them wine, lighting a few candles, and turning on the stereo, trying not to feel, or act, like a horny teenager after the prom. When he opened the CD changer, he bit his lip--Beck had been there.

She'd replaced all the discs in the stereo with Barry White.

He reminded himself to smack the crap out of her, and switched the stereo to auxillary, plugging his iPod into the dock. In a few seconds, a woman's sultry voice and a few piano chords came through the speakers.

"Who is this?" Rowan asked. He was sitting on the couch a little too straight, palms on his knees like he'd been wiping sweat off them.

"Stella Blue," Jason told him. "Local artist. Sort of Norah Jones meets Poe."

"I like it," he said. "Maybe we can see her, if she ever performs in town."

"Absolutely. She's amazing live. Even Beck likes her, and she hates anything with an actual melody. But Stella plays piano, 12-string, even the cello--I got to talking to her after a show once. She's also absolutely beautiful, she has these dreadlocks in about eighty shades of blue, kind of like Dru but she's an actual tiny little black girl underneath it all. Skin like 60% cocoa and a voice to match. We were discussing left-hand technique, she had this trick where…" He trailed off, realizing he must be boring the Elf to tears, but to his surprise, Rowan was listening with rapt attention, and seemed to be genuinely excited to hear more.

"Aren't you zoning out by now?"

Rowan looked offended. "Why would I do that? You're talking about something you're obviously passionate about. In fact I don't think I've ever seen you so animated. It's absolutely riveting. Keep talking."

Jason, self-conscious, reined in his tongue, but amended, "Yes, we'll definitely go see her. I think she's doing Stubb's Barbecue next month. She and I are friends--we email, get a coffee once in a while. She'll probably comp us tickets."

"I definitely like this song," Rowan said as the track changed to one with a more pronounced backbeat. He swayed a little, and said, "We should go dancing sometime, too. That is, if you dance."

Jason put his hands on his hips. "Did you forget that whole thing about my being gay?"

Rowan laughed and stood up, holding out his hand. "Well then, good sir, shall we?"

Jason laughed, too, spun the Elf around him once, caught him, and dipped him.

Rowan gazed up at him adoringly. "Do that again."

He obeyed, dipping the Elf to the left until his hair swept the ground, then lifting him back up and into a more standard slow dance, an easy swaying back and forth, close enough to feel the heat of each other's bodies but not quite touching, not yet.

"You lead," Rowan said, drawing his hands up Jason's arms to curve around his shoulders.

"As you wish," Jason acquiesced readily, laying his hands above the Elf's hipbones.

And as they followed the music, and each other, deeper, Jason couldn't help but think that he'd learned many things in his long life, and the worst lesson had been the sad fact that something wished for, longed for, ached for, if obtained, was almost always a disappointment.

Almost.

*****

He curls up against the Elf's back, cradling him, trailing soft sweet kisses along his neck and down his spine. "Are you sure you're ready?"

Rowan closes his eyes. "Yes."

Jason doesn't want to believe him, but the evidence is there, a beautiful hard shaft pressing into Jason's hand, needing. Jason rises onto his knees, surveying the lovely, ethereal landscape in his bed--the Elf halfway on his stomach, arms under his head, the candlelight bathing him in shadow and shimmer, the way skin like his was meant to look.

Perfect. There are no words beyond "beautiful" that sound anything but trivial. Jason leans over to the bedside table and digs around for the tube he's sure is in there; finding his prize, he slides the drawer shut, and sets about sculpting his opus into the perfect form, turning Rowan onto his back, leaning him against the pillows, arms up above his head--not restrained, just resting against the headboard, to give him something to grab onto.

He kisses Rowan, then situates himself between the Elf's knees, reaching down to stroke him as before, earning a groan of pleasure that still makes his toes tingle. He gently kneads and caresses the skin, rubbing his thumb over the head, enjoying the way each new touch makes Rowan's body jump or twitch. He runs his fingernails along the shaft, and Rowan moans deep in his throat, falling back with his fingers in a death-grip on the headboard.

Jason opens the tube and slickens his fingers, still using his other hand to keep Rowan focused on the external so that the internal might not frighten him. This is dangerous ground, he knows, but there's only one way to know if the risk is worth while.

He places his wet hand against Rowan's backside, pressing his legs apart, and Rowan knows what is about to happen, and is visibly trying not to tense up. Warm trust radiates from him, as does fear, but the trust for now is winning.

Jason meets his eyes. "You say stop, and we stop. No questions, no excuses. It's all in your power."

Rowan nods.

Jason strokes him gently, first with the dry hand and then the slick one, first along his cock and then beneath, where the rest of the equipment is normally found but in Elves, apparently, there is only warm, bare skin. He's completely hairless, Jason notices, even his arms and legs; another evolutionary quirk. There is something very sexy about body hair, to a point, but it was also nice not having to pick any out of his teeth.

He finds what he is looking for, and touches one finger to the cleft, rubbing small circles around the muscle, relaxing it. He gradually works that finger in, to the first knuckle, slow circles, barely applying pressure. The soft mewling noises he evinces tell him all is well.

Jason carefully slides his finger in, stroking, then adds a second, and the stretch and tease of it makes Rowan's hips roll against his hand, drawing his fingers in deeper. He obliges quite willingly, this time adding a third, and Rowan moans, painfully, but doesn't say stop.

He keeps working his fingers inside the Elf, while his other hand moves to his own cock, coating it with lube, careful to make himself as slick and easy as he can. Finally, he pulls his fingers out--Rowan makes an almost keening sound of displeasure, his breath erratic and his thoughts whirling, only one thing uniting them all: the urge to beg, to plead, to get down on his knees and do whatever it takes to make Jason fuck him.

There's no need for such indignity…this time. Jason leans over and runs his hands along the hills and valleys of Rowan's body, teasing here and lingering there, all the while rubbing his erection against Rowan's, then against his ass, causing tortured sounds of need each time their skin touches.

Jason's whole body is burning, burning, and if this were any other coupling he would have been done with all this foreplay hours ago and pounded into the boy until he bled, but he holds himself off, teasing, shifting Rowan's position for the best angle, lifting the Elf's feet to his shoulders. From there, Jason strokes him open again, then slowly, gingerly, barely an inch at a time, slides inside the welcoming heat of Rowan's body, slick and tight and waiting, god they've both been waiting, so long, so long.

By the time they are fully joined together Jason cannot think, can barely move; he's lost, lost in his lover's body, the vortex of their minds so unified that there is no end and no beginning to either. He finally begins to draw out and in, just barely at first, a tiny shift in and out, growing, deepening, hardening. He tries to keep it slow, but his need to fill and possess the Elf beneath him is drowning out any sense of romance or patience, and he slides his arms beneath the Elf, lifting him up, both of them upright, rising and falling against each other's bodies.

Rowan's nails dig into his shoulders for leverage, and his hips move in slow figure-8s as he lifts them and lowers, taking Jason deeper inside, then pulling out, over and over, building the fire, over and over.

They both speak, but the words don't matter; the energy says what needs to be said, and the rest is just for decoration. They move against each other faster and harder, more force bringing them together each time, the soft wet slap of skin against skin the only sound in the room besides breath, gasping and sighing and rushing breath.

Finally Rowan flips over, facedown, and Jason takes him from behind, bone-shattering thrusts, the Elf's body responding in kind, pushing his pelvis back to catch him, each time feeling like he might suck Jason's entire body in and devour him, that they may share a skin. Now they are both moaning, cries building, Jason's nails raking long red welts along Rowan's sides, down over the smooth curve of his back.

Another surprise in a surprising night--Rowan comes first, violent waves of orgasm rocking through him, tearing something from his throat in Elvish before he collapses forward onto the bed, Jason still above him, and right behind. Mere seconds later Jason feels a supernova kindled in his head, and stardust erupts from his body, an entire universe formed inside the Elf, who tightens his muscles to hold them together just a moment longer.

Long minutes of silence pass, the only sound, breath. The candles burn, distantly the CD still plays, an occasional strain of melody reaching the bedroom; the air conditioner clicks on. The hour changes from two to three.

Jason shifts himself sideways to avoid suffocating the Elf, and flops down on the bed, his legs quivering and his back aching. His head, too, aches and spins. He's never felt so wonderful in his life.

He starts to draw Rowan closer, but the Elf pulls away, sitting up with a grimace. Before Jason can have a chance to feel rejected, Rowan says, "I'll be right back," and climbs painfully out of the bed. He vanishes to the bathroom, where Jason hears water running, and when he returns he has a warm, damp rag in each hand.

Rowan rejoins him in the bed, coaxing his legs apart, and begins to swab gently at Jason's skin, cleaning off the evidence of their pleasure.

"Do you always do this?" Jason manages, though he can't quite tell which language it comes out in, his mind is so addled.

The Elf nods. "It is customary, a way of honoring the one you have been with, to see to their comfort afterward. If this were my place I'd have warm tea and cool water beside the bed as well, and if I were with a human, some form of food."

"I'll remember that for next time. Now, you. Lay back."

Rowan looks like he wants to protest that this is his job, but then he nods, breathing out slowly, and hands the second rag to Jason. He lies back willingly and allows the vampire to tend to him the same as he had done, the warmth soothing his swollen and raw flesh. He does insist, however, on being the one to return the rags to the bathroom and comes back with a towel to apply to the bed so that neither of them will have to sleep in a damp spot.

Then, he folds himself into Jason's waiting arms, and pulls the blankets up around them both.

"Thank you," Rowan says into the darkness, kissing Jason where neck meets shoulder.

Jason lifts his chin and touches lips to lips, stroking the Elf's face, which is once again wet with tears. "You're welcome. And thank you."

Jason kisses his tears away, for the first time of many to come, and as they drift together into the sea of sleep, listening to each other breathe, they are both smiling.