Week One – Wolf Of The West

This bit of smutty goodness comes from Wolf of the West, as a result of…well, research, faoladh, and my own inability to resist the temptation of Marcas. Friday Fun may become a regular deal – let’s see how it goes, shall we? (And of course, as it’s smutty, that means NSFW!)

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Connor pressed his hips up against Marcas’ and grinned at the breath the other man sucked past his lips.

“What’s not right about now?”

Marcas laughed again, but this time Connor knew that he was laughing at him.

“You don’t want it enough yet. I want more than this from you, Connor.”

Connor couldn’t see Marcas’ smirk, but he felt it, the lips stretching, parting against his skin. Again, he felt a languorous stroking of tongue against his throat, nipping teeth, open-mouthed kisses that sucked heat to the surface of his skin to be soothed by that tongue. It was no longer in him to deny anything. He could only capitulate to sensation, his own nerves betraying him with what they wanted.

On your knees, Marcas said, and the image filled itself in his head, more than an image, a whole scenario… There would be the taste of salt and skin. Give as good as I get.

He found himself pushing up against the thigh Marcas had pressed between his legs. Connor arched his back off the ground and wished he could get out of his clothes, feel all the burnished heat of Marcas’ skin against his skin, but he still couldn’t move. He couldn’t even get enough movement out of his hips to ease the aching of his cock, so full, so wanting…

What did he mean, didn’t want it enough yet? What more was there to wanting than this painful pressure, tingling in his fingertips, his toes, a shiver that turned to a full body shudder when Marcas licked his lips. He leaned back over Connor’s mouth and kissed him, sucked Connor’s tongue into his mouth and stroked it lightly with the tip of his own tongue.

He mouthed his way along Connor’s jaw, back to his throat, kissed his shoulder—then bit it, hard. Connor jerked upward with an involuntary cry. He had been so close—but Marcas was already standing, backing away, grinning.

Love Talk

In the process of researching types of sidhe to play with in the Eight Kingdoms, I’ve encountered loads of interesting and obnoxious beings. Currently the ones I’m having the most fun with are the gancanagh – love talkers, it means, male fae who produce an irresistible attraction and addiction in mortals.

All it takes is one touch, and sometimes just to be in their presence for too long. Then a hapless human is infatuated, and doomed to be left heartbroken by their immortal lover when they grow bored and decide to move on to another mortal.

It’s difficult to find actual folklore about the gancanagh, as in legends with the specific names of people and places. When you look up faoladh, for instance, you’ll find dozens of references to the wolves of Ossory, the curse of Saint Patrick, and so on and so on (there will be so on, just wait ‘til I get ranting on in the next post).  Gancanagh, though….my grandmother used to warn me that if a boy was too good to be true, he probably was, and might be gancanagh – but she never had any stories to tell about them, the way she did about the Wild Hunt or the ways to escape the sidhe if you were trapped. (Eat no food, drink no drink, remember the charm of nine and pray!)

Having grown older and done the research, of course, I now wonder if maybe the stories just aren’t recorded or as well known because they’d have to be awfully raunchy. Let’s be honest here – what we’re talking about is a fae with all the cunning and beauty of the sidhe, but the intentions of an incubus (at least where it counts.) Not exactly bedtime-story-gee-thanks-grandma material!

The interesting part for me was the differences that make the gancanagh unique, rather than the things that are obviously similar, to other such seductive immortal beings. The gancanagh not only seek out mortals to seduce, but the ones they find have no choice but to give in. Touching one of them just once – a kiss, a caress, to hold their hand – is enough to invoke the ultimate addiction. Their skin secretes a substance described variously as a golden dust, or powder (pixie dust, anyone?), which completely ensnares any mortal unfortunate to come into contact with it.

Unfortunate, because while the gancanagh are supposedly fantastic lovers, the mythology suggests that any other kind of addiction would be nothing compared to this. Deprived of the gancanagh after the fae grows bored, the mortal who has been touched by a gancanagh will suffer the most terrible withdrawal.

They may go mad, accuse friends, family, or strangers of stealing their sidhe lover, attack those they’ve accused or even murder them. Those afflicted might also suffer from a less violent lovesickness, refuse to eat or drink, or wander the woods searching for their lost lover – but in the end, most simply die from the withdrawal itself.

If you want to know more about gancanagh, the best way is probably to see one in action. Check out Undone, and the exclusive excerpts at each stop of my Blog Tour!