Page 3 of Fleshbound (Enchanted Ink)

Q uill leapt from the bed and spun.

A man lay in his bed, curled up on one side. He was lean and long, with red hair tinged in black—the same colored scruff covered his cheeks and chin. His eyes were red, and they glowed like fire, almost serpent-like.

Quill took two steps back, searching the man’s face. He was handsome, in a peculiar way. One not many would claim good looking, but he was pleasing to Quill’s eye, none the less.

And somehow, he knew who it was, as improbable as it was.

A man just for me…

“C-Corven?”

The man rolled out of the bed onto the side Quill stood, bowed deeply, and grinned on his way up. In the deepest of Scottish brogues, he replied, “In the flesh, ma dear.”

Quill searched the man over from head to foot, trembling at the sight of him.

He wore a well-worn, faded Sex Pistols t-shirt that had once likely been black, tight black denim pants, black boots Quill was quite sure he’d heard described as ‘shitkickers’ before, and a black velvet sports coat, tailored to fit tightly along his leanly muscled frame.

“No,” Quill said, shaking his head. “There’s no way you’re Corven.” He waved a hand at the man’s attire. “You’re ancient. You wouldn’t show up here wearing… that.”

“Dae ye expect me tae come sportin chain mail an a mace?” Corven asked, his eyes sparking with what appeared to be mirth, though it was hard as bright as they glowed.

“We are in modern times, laddie. Are we no?” Corven crossed his arms over his chest and then lifted a finger to his lower lip.

“Though—does chain mail ever really go out o style? A dinnae think it daes.”

Quillam lifted a hand to his forehead and felt warmth there.

“Maybe I am sick. I feel feverish.” He grinned to himself.

“Then it wasn’t a lie I told. Brilliant!

” He glared at the man between him and his bed.

“I’m hallucinating.” He considered that for a second.

“Was the book spelled? One so strong I can’t fight it off? ”

He charged past Corven and lifted the book. Examining it, he found absolutely no hint of a spell upon it, nor had he before. Had it somehow bypassed his skill at curse detection? No… not possible. He would’ve felt something. He spun again, eyeing the man claiming to be Corven.

“Who are you?”

“Corven o Evonium,” the man in black said, bowing deep again. When he lifted, he took a step closer. “Ye know wha I am. Ye read ma book, love.”

Quillam gazed at the book in his hands. Flipping open one of the pages to test his knowledge, he gasped.

The pages were once again blank.

“Ye read them all,” Corven said. “They live inside yer head now.”

“And that’s where you are. In my head,” Quill said, firmly, slamming the book shut and tossing it onto the chair near his bed. “ A hallucination.” He stalked out of his bedroom and into the living room. He pulled a pitcher of cold water from the refrigerator and poured himself a glass.

After, he swept to the bathroom and searched the medicine cabinet, finding an old bottle of cold medicine. Once he’d taken the pills and drained the glass, he splashed cold water on his face, scrubbing it to wake himself fully. He searched the mirror, looking for signs of illness.

There were none visible.

“Maybe it’s simply exhaustion,” he said to his reflection.

Or maybe you’re so incredibly lonely you conjured another spirit to ravage your body without even realizing it.

He spun and faced the door, nervous to walk out of the bathroom and find the figment of his imagination sitting on his bed. Or maybe he was just as scared Corven would be gone.

Slowly, he pushed the door open. He saw no Corven or any other specter anywhere in sight. With a sigh of relief, he carried and deposited the empty glass to the kitchen before walking to the bedroom, a deep yawn coming from him.

No Corven.

Thank heavens.

Quill slid under the sheets with a satisfied sigh and closed his eyes, even as a hint of sadness took hold.

“I'm glad ye listened tae the wee skunk. Ye need yer beauty rest.”

Quill’s eyes popped open, and he fought a smile. Once he’d beaten it down, he turned his head to the left and found Corven in bed with him.

“You’re not real,” he said, rolling to his side with his back to the hallucination. “I’m ignoring you and going to sleep.”

Quiet settled into the room. Quill closed his eyes and tried to relax. Minutes passed and he felt himself floating closer to the abyss.

“I noticed how ye held yer breath as ye read ma escapades. Ye liked ma tales, I can tell.”

Quill growled. “Didn’t you just say you were glad I listened to Perry, and that I needed to sleep?”

“Aye.”

“Then why are you still talking to me? I can’t sleep when you’re talking.”

“I just got out o that book after three hundred years an ye expect me tae stay quiet now? It's hard enough lyin in this bit without jumpin yer bones.”

Quill rolled over violently, tangling himself in the sheets. He finally got himself free and lifted to one arm. “Jumping my bones? Are you mad?”

“Well, I am a man who's no had sex for nigh on three centuries. I'd say madness an lust are near aboot the same thing.”

Quill waved his hand toward the door, his body suddenly tightening in places he wished it wouldn’t. Yes, madness and lust clearly did go hand-in-hand. “Then go sate your needs elsewhere so I can sleep. There’s someone out there who would be…” He looked over Corven. “Into that.”

Corven smiled, his eyes coiling with red fire. He cuddled closer to Quill. “Elsewhere? But I like it here in yer bit just the same.”

“I’m not having… relations … with you,” Quill said, pushing Corven away with the heel of his hand. All while wanting to pull the man closer and kiss those glorious lips.

“An when was the last time ye had a good, rough fuck? I'd say ye're in as bad a shape as I am.”

Quill’s face heated even more, which seemed impossible. “When I do—or don’t—have a good, rough….” He closed his mouth and shook his head, unable to repeat the word. “Is none of your business.”

“Ye know ma tale an I know yours. I was knockin aboot up there in yer noggin while ye were readin mine. It's been almost three years since anyone has touched ye. An even then, it was a spirit ye conjured for the task.”

Quill’s mouth dropped open, his face aflame. “I have never conjured a spirit for carnal relations!”

He had.

He’d been so incredibly lonely and there had been no one to sate his need. He was a bookish nerd. Invisible to those he wanted to be visible to. So he’d done the unthinkable.

“So ye say, but we both know better.”

Quill pulled the sheet higher, toward his neck, feeling ashamed the man had seen the wicked desires in his mind. He’d not given anyone, spirit or otherwise, the right to dig around in there.

An odd look crossed Corven’s face. “Look. Ye're dreaming, laddie. I'm no really here. Ye're asleep in yer bit, all alone.”

Quill searched Corven’s face.

“Ye read until the wee hours an drifted off tae sleep. Ma book lay open in yer lap right now as ye snore away.”

Quill lowered the sheet. “I don’t snore.”

Corven snorted. “Aye, laddie. Ye do. Enough tae break ma eardrums here an there.”

Quill narrowed his eyes.

“Why dinnae we get ye all comfortable an let ye drift off now?” Corven asked. “I promise tae be quiet... if ye sleep in ma arms.”

“Sleep in your arms? Whatever for?”

“Just… give me that,” Corven said. “Tis a dream’s request. Aye?”

Quill searched his face a few seconds before nodding. Just a dream, hmm?

Corven straightened the bedding around Quill and urged him down. He laid beside Quill and opened his arms, dragging him into the crook.

Quill closed his eyes. It had been too long since he’d been touched.

It felt so incredibly real.

Maybe it would be enough to keep the heartbreaking loneliness at bay for a while.

“Am I really dreaming?”

“O course ye are. Ye've been workin far too hard tryin tae figure out Eli's family tree. Ye're mind is so worked up, it's still spinnin in yer sleep.”

Dreaming made so much more sense than a man leaping from the pages of a book—one he’d sensed no magic or curse within. He reached out and caressed Corven’s chest, surprised by the hardness under his touch. The man was lean, but it was all muscle. Firm, hard muscle.

He was so deliciously warm.

And he smelled so flipping good.

It all felt so real.

“Well… if this is a dream…”

A small smile spread across Corven’s face.

“It has been a long time. Even dream sex might be better than none at all.”

“Ye even called it sex . No carnal relations. I'm impressed.” He cuddled closer, the scent of his cologne faint, but delightful. “I bet ye have a naughty side, dinnae ye? All o the quiet ones dae.” He moved closer, his lips a mere fraction of an inch from Quill’s. “Are ye naughty. Quillie?”

Quillie? No…

For the sake of the moment, he ignored it.

“I want to be,” Quill breathed out, his pulse racing.

“I want tae be naughty with ye. I only need yer consent.”

Quill frowned. His consent?

It was a dream.

Supposedly.

What did consent matter in the dark corners of his mind? He knew he should think on that question more, but he was too tired and too tempted to care.

“Dae I have it?”

Quill nodded, knowing full well he might be making a mistake on a grand magnitude. “Yes.”

“Aye, Quillie,” Corven whispered. He waved a hand, and they were both suddenly naked… but no longer in Quill’s bed.