[Siren Classic ManLove: Erotic Alternative Fantasy Romance, M/M, HEA]
Journeying to King Arthur’s castle, wanting to be allowed to join the Round Table, Sir Randour meets Wynfarad, a young sorcerer. Attracted to each other, they soon join forces.
Randour wishes to learn the identity of the father he never knew and also learn just what are the powers of the magic amulet embedded in his chest.
Arthur, however, has a different challenge for the duo. To become one of Arthur’s knights, Randour must first dispatch the monstrous fire-breathing beast Gwylldahr, which has been killing people, and setting houses and livestock afire. Yet so many before Randour have failed.
When he and Wynfarad encounter the beast, and Gwylldahr turns on Wynfarad, Randour knows he must not fail if he wants to save his beloved’s life. By the book’s happy ending, Randour has learned the answers to his two questions, and the couple is looking forward to a happy future together in Camelot.
A Siren Erotic Romance
The group of villagers swarmed past them, with all due haste, while Randour and Wynfarad resolutely made their way up the road. What if we fail?
Wynfarad seemed to have the same thought, for he voiced his concerns, saying, “We still don’t have a plan.”
“I know,” said Randour, sighing heavily. “We shall just have to see what opportunity presents itself.”
Farther along the road, they met a larger group of people fleeing Gwylldahr. Again they were urged, “Run for your lives! Turn around before it is too late. The beast is nearby!” Again they explained their mission and rode determinedly onward, though fear now gripped Randour’s heart at the thought that a confrontation was imminent.
“We are nearing Holmdemarle,” Wynfarad advised Randour.
“I suspect we are nearing the beast, too.”
Indeed, as they came around a bend in the road, they found themselves facing a village square, and in the middle of the square was the beast. He was every bit as fearsome as they had been told. His eyes blazed as if they contained lightning. His forked tongue, dripping poison, darted out in search of a victim. His claws raked the air as if he were shredding fabric. His long, sharp teeth glistened in his open mouth. From out of his open mouth, flames rolled like wild waves at the shore. And also from his mouth emanated a terror-inducing roar.
“He sounds and looks angry,” Randour observed. “I wonder if a beast truly has the capacity for human-style anger?”
“Do not be frightened,” said Wynfarad soothingly.
“Why do you say that?” asked Randour.
“Your amulet. I can hear it beating. Your heart must be pounding dreadfully.”
“I had not noticed the amulet. I was too focused on the beast. In truth, my heart is beating faster than usual, but not as fast as the amulet would indicate. It is the first time they are out of sync with each other. I wonder what is causing that?”
And indeed it was curious, but Randour had no time to mull over possible causes and meanings. They were nearing the beast, and though Gwylldahr had not yet spotted them, there was no question but that they were in grave peril from their proximity to the beast.
Across the square from them, on the other side of the beast, a short man with a beard was stirring something in a bowl. It hardly seemed the time to be preparing food or eating it! But no, that wasn’t the case at all. “That’s Malachi, my old mentor,” Wynfarad said in hushed tones, so as not to attract the attention of the beast. As they watched, Malachi continued to stir, then dribbled some of the potion from the bowl onto the ground, with the aid of a spoon. Continuing in a curved line from where he stood and working his way around the beast, he described a huge circle, created out of drops of dribbled potion.
Gwylldahr was terrorizing a crippled old man who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough, and he paid no attention to Malachi, who completed the circle and hurried out of the reach of the beast. Randour stood at the outskirts of the sparse crowd of remaining villagers, most of whom had already fled, watching to see if whatever magic Malachi had wrought had had any effect on the beast.
It had not. Whether the potion had been intended to kill the beast or merely confine him, it seemed it had had no effect at all. Gwylldahr crossed the circle, stomped toward a thatched-roof hut nearby, and set it afire with his flaming breath. Then, for good measure, he clawed at some sheep that grazed in the yard, maiming them all until they lay on the ground, bleeding their last drops of blood.
Randour’s heart was beating faster, but still, the amulet, out of step with his heartbeat, beat loudly and audibly even through the suit of armor he was wearing. “Now is our time. Victory or death!” he said to Wynfarad.
“Godspeed,” Wynfarad replied.
Gwylldahr turned, noticed the knight and his companion for the first time, and raised a paw with the clear intent of raking his claws over Randour. Randour, now afoot for better mobility, ducked as agilely as his suit of armor would permit, and the beast’s claws raked harmlessly over his armor. This seemed to enrage Gwylldahr, for he roared ferociously and took a stomping step closer toward Randour.
Randour ducked away again and made for the beast’s hindquarters. With an inspiration born of desperation, he took aim at Gwylldahr’s tail. Maybe that was the beast’s weak spot. Raising his sword, he brought it down as hard as he could at the juncture where Gwylldahr’s tail met his rump. The blade bounced harmlessly off the beast, who remained untouched and unfazed. Randour tried yet again, but again he had the same result, or rather lack of results.
Angry and determined, Randour aimed the sword’s point at the beast’s flank and tried to drive it in with all his might, but again the brownish scales repelled the onslaught, and Randour’s sally was ineffective. The blade bowed as the swordpoint met with total resistance from the beast’s hide, and Randour withdrew in disgust.
The beast, however, was now enraged at these attempts, and he turned and raised his paw again. Wynfarad was inadvisably close to the action, and it was he whom the beast now turned on. With a mighty roar, he brought his claws slashing through the air, aiming at Randour’s beloved with malice.
With their horses secured, they made their way through the underbrush until they found a suitable spot where they could lie down and couple without fear of rolling into a thornbush or of lying on hard stones. In this little clearing, Wynfarad came to a stop and turned to kiss Randour, his lips warm and inviting on Randour’s and his tongue darting suggestively between Randour’s parted teeth. As his tongue insinuated itself into the young knight’s mouth, Randour began eagerly fumbling with his armor, hurrying to divest himself of impediments even while their lips were still joined together.
Wynfarad had the easier task of undressing, clad as he was in tunic and leggings. They broke the kiss to get down in earnest to the task of making ready to make love. When Randour removed the tunic he wore beneath his armor, and Wynfarad saw the emerald amulet for the first time, his eyes widened, but this was no time for examining oddities. There were more pressing matters at hand.
Soon Wynfarad’s hand was stroking Randour’s dick, which was already drooling strings of syrupy pre-cum. Randour responded fully as Wynfarad’s hand insistently manipulated Randour’s palpitating cock, raising it to full erection. Then Wynfarad removed his hand and lowered his lips to Randour’s quivering rod. Suddenly weak-kneed, Randour felt the warmth of Wynfarad’s gripping lips encompassing his cock.
His hips bucked automatically at the feel of Wynfarad’s warm, demanding lips compressing his surging flesh and then starting to glide up and down it. Randour immediately jabbed sharply forward, trying to drive his dick far down the sorcerer’s throat. It almost felt like Wynfarad was working magic now, so incendiary was his touch on Randour’s throbbing column of flesh.
Sapped of strength, Randour allowed his body to sag, and he sank to the grass beneath their feet, landing sharply on his butt. Wynfarad followed him down and immediately reattached his lips to Randour’s mighty cock. Randour spread his legs, and Wynfarad knelt between them, his upper body hovering over Randour’s groin as he bent to his delightful task.
Now he thrust his middle finger to Randour’s lips, and Randour greedily began to suck on it. Wynfarad laughed with delight and let Randour demonstrate his desire to suck something larger, and then he withdrew his now spit-wet finger and positioned it at the entrance to Randour’s channel. Entering his new lover with this primed finger, he began to finger-fuck him determinedly. While Randour fucked Wynfarad’s mouth with his dick, Wynfarad began to fuck Randour’s asshole with his finger.
A shiver raced through Randour’s bulky frame as that finger entered him and began squirming its way inside and upward. Randour lifted his hips high in the air at the feeling, fucking upward so rapidly that Wynfarad lost his finger’s placement in Randour’s asshole and slipped out altogether. But a second later, that determined finger prodded again at Randour’s sphincter, a millimeter off-center but determined to find its way. Once again finding Randour’s wrinkled opening, Wynfarad insinuated his finger determinedly within the grip of Randour’s sphincter. As his finger sank to its full length and speared the quivering tunnel, Randour’s dick reacted by pulsing sharply.
His hips took off under their own steam and began rapidly ramming his dick in and out of his new lover’s mouth. Randour crammed Wynfarad’s mouth full of his wild and eager dick, stuffing his throat, already eager to cream. He didn’t want this part of the encounter to end too abruptly, yet he wondered just how he was going to hold back the orgasm he was already teetering on the brink of. He wanted to enjoy the experience for as long as he could make it last. Yet with Wynfarad’s lips squeezing the jism right out of him, his sucking mouth suctioning the jism right up from Randour’s balls, he was virtually helpless to fight off the orgasm.
He tried to think of something unsexy. Mortal combat. Fighting other knights. Slaying wild and ferocious beasts. Those were surely ardor-dampening thoughts. But he couldn’t keep his mind on such thoughts for long. Not with Wynfarad’s mouth insistently pulling the cum up from Randour’s balls. His breath was warm and moist. His lips were tight and loving. His suction was demanding. And he was making little encouraging noises in his throat as if he were urging Randour to give up his load now.
It wouldn’t take much encouragement, that was for sure.
Wynfarad looked up from his kneeling position, hovering over his mouthful of eager dick, looked Randour in the eyes, and grinned knowingly. Then his hand cupped Randour’s balls, hefted their weight, and slowly, gently squeezed.