Immortal, winged Cloud Dancer rescues Ethan from attack by a group of miners in 1850s Denver and spirits him away to his aerie in the Rocky Mountains. Rewarding his savior with smoking sex, Ethan brings relief to the Cloud Dancer’s loneliness and solitude, and touches him with a magic that changes the way Cloud Dancer sees his endless existence. (M/M)
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Cloud Dancer’s eyes narrowed and the young man unconsciously straightened and lost the prideful smile. It was a good thing that Cloud Dancer had learned much of the white man’s tongue to ease his boredom, but always there was that tone of condescension.
“Thank you,” the youth said, dropping his too-light eyes. “I appreciate the help. I was not looking forward to another beating.”
Cloud Dancer found he’d moved closer. Underneath the tan there were darker patches of fading bruises, some forming a bracelet around the stranger’s forearm, a few blushing from one cheekbone. He laid a hand on one bared shoulder.
“Does this happen often?”
An uncomfortable shrug made him drop his grip. The boy tossed his hair out of his eyes and a shadow of his former cocky grin flickered across his lips.
“It’s about time for me to be moving on.”
He smiled again, this one full of a promise that was older than the blood in anyone’s veins and made Cloud Dancer feel heat rise on his skin. There was something magnetically interesting about the contrast between blue silk and muscled shoulders. Cloud Dancer let his hand drift back up to rest on the boy’s shoulder again.
“Where will you go?”
He shrugged and stepped a little closer to Cloud Dancer, “Wherever I can scratch out a place.”
One of the young man’s hands stroked down Cloud Dancer’s chest, bare under the ragged cloak. He shivered and was glad his buckskin trousers were loose and roomy. The youth’s smile got wider and now both hands were running over Cloud Dancer’s chest.
“Meanwhile, how can I thank you for saving me from these ruffians, Chief?”
“What is your name?”
The boy blinked, not the response he was expecting. His smile grew a little less certain and a little more genuine.
“Ethan, you can call me Ethan.”
Cloud Dancer moved his hand to the back of Ethan’s neck and tangled his fingers in the short hairs there.
“You may call me Cloud Dancer.”
Fisting his grip on the youth’s hair, he tilted his head up and brought their mouths together.