Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

A burst of sickening sweet lavender flooded the café. I choked, wrinkling my nose.

Then I gasped in shock as a spray of cold water rained from the ceiling. Princes and Immortals scattered, diving up in shock. Sleipnir broke off his song with a twang of wrong notes. Mist squealed, flaring his nostrils, as he shook his wet mane.

“My hair,” I wailed, “my already way below acceptable levels of shininess hair.”

I stared around at the other drowned rebels, shivering. Then I slipped my comb out of my pocket (because I never leave my bedroom without it, obviously), and brushed my hair frantically.

“Serenity,” Sleipnir growled, “what in Hel’s breath was that for?”

“Just calming the tension,” Serenity’s welsh voice crooned from the walls. “I’m your Stress Counselor, after all. How about you get out of those nasty, cold clothes and into these nice, hot soapy bubbles?”

The center of the room dipped, transforming into a vast marble bath with bubbles that you could get lost in.

It was tempting…

“Let me make this clear,” Sleipnir counted off on his fingers, as Mist snorted agreement on each word, “we’re not stressed, tense, anxious or in need of your relaxation, calm, or therapy.”

Serenity hesitated, before the bath disappeared and the walls changed to pictures of gushing rivers that made me desperately need to piss.

I crossed my legs, hoping that nobody noticed. I covered it by slipping my comb back into my pocket.

Bad dick, you haven’t embarrassed me by wetting yourself for…well, awhile now…in front of the Princes isn’t the time to take up the habit again.

“Carry on, you’re a little stressed,” Serenity sulked.

“Nope.” Sleipnir snatched up his blazer, using it to wipe dry his guitar.

“You’re always stressed.”

“Not this time.”

“Stressed enough to need chocolate…”

“Don’t answer her.” I dived up, slamming my hand over Sleipnir’s mouth. How long had it been since I’d eaten chocolate? I’d be able to give some to Magenta and Fox. I hated that they had to eat the slop, which they fed us Immortals at the academy. “If it pleases you, Serenity, my shoulders are feeling a wee bit tense. What’s this about chocolate?”

“Chocolate is high in magnesium to help you relax,” Serenity said, slyly. “It also raises your endorphin levels. Do you know what else raises your endorphins?”

My slinky self had scored full marks in the theory part of my sex education in the incubi harem. Both that and the practical side had been thorough.

Rule 42 of the Incubi Night Code stated: You can never have too much pride in your sexual knowledge or prowess.

“Screwing.” I preened.

Then I glanced around expectantly, crossing my arms.

Why wasn’t petting tribute coming my way as reward? In the incubi harem, I’d have received at least two strokes for getting the correct answer.

“That’s right: admit to your needs!” Serenity said, brightly. Oh, Lysander so didn’t just send me a judgey look. “And when you combine chocolate and screwing you get…chocolate body paint.”

Something dropped from the ceiling.

I yelped, stumbling into Lysander, before I caught the large bottle of chocolate paint.

“Come closer to me with that, incubus, and I shall cover your balls in it, before I bite them off,” Lysander hissed.

“Unfriendly.” I stroked along his cheek with my gloved hand, and his eyes widened. “Here’s the thing, I was going to lick it off your wings…” Lysander’s eyes became glassy, and he melted into my touch. “But since I value my balls, I’ll lick it off Midnight’s wings, instead, as long as he desires it.”

I glanced up to meet Midnight’s gaze, and by the way that his pupils dilated, his prick did a happy twitching dance, and his wings spread wide in welcome, he desired it.

I walked Midnight backward towards the couch, pressing him down onto it (and there was definitely increased incubi mesmerizing power in my MTT powered fingers). To be fair, Midnight threw himself excitedly onto the couch like a willing sacrifice. When I stroked through his outstretched feathers, he shuddered. I couldn’t help the wince, however, because I remembered his wail, as Damela had broken these stunning wings and how sensitive they were.

I unscrewed the jar, shuddering myself at the vanilla infused scent of chocolate.

Come to my licky licky tongue…

I crawled over Midnight with a slink of my hips. Midnight’s soft eyes widened.

Silly vampire, didn’t he think that he was looking at another predator?

I dipped my thumb into the gooey, warm body paint, before drawing it from Midnight’s wingtip to his shoulder, tracing the line of his feathers. The long line of his neck arched back like he was begging me to bite.

I wasn’t a cruel incubus. I didn’t make my lovers beg.

Much.

“Please,” Midnight breathed. “Bite me, please …”

I bit the juncture between Midnight’s neck and his shoulder.

Lysander made a choked sound. When I looked up, marking Midnight with a deep hickey (because an incubus had to mark his property), Magenta met my gaze with dark eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, and she rubbed absentmindedly at her own throat.

Lysander coughed, before clasping his hands smartly behind his back and deliberately not watching Midnight and me. “Entertainment, that’s what…” He might not be watching, but the hard-on in his pants told a different story. “Fae balls always start with music, and most certainly not orgies.”

Magenta sighed. “Well, how thoroughly disappointing. That’s my Lady Godiva costume out then.”

Sleipnir chuckled.

My answer was to suck a path from Midnight’s neck to his chocolate treat of a wing.

The taste exploded through me: every rich taste that I’d been denied, all at once racing through my senses.

And drawing my balls up embarrassingly fast.

Hadn’t Serenity said that it created endorphins? Why didn’t they call it Cum Chocolate?

What a missed marketing opportunity.

Midnight writhed underneath me.

“I want in on this.” Fox stumbled to the couch, perching next to Midnight, before gripping his hand. “Chocolate Vampires have always been my favorite sweet.”

“That’s lucky, seeing as mages are mine.” Midnight drew Fox in for a lingering kiss, before Fox drew back to nibble at a feather.

Then his eyes shot wide and he covered his lap in the time honored hiding you’re about to cum in your pants move.

“ Ehm , has anyone told you that you’re sex on wings?” Fox blushed adorably. “Or is it…?”

“Cum Chocolate,” I explained.

Lysander coughed again, and Willoughby patted him on the back. “The Committee business is music and not cum.”

“I can sing,” Willoughby offered.

“Nope, I have it covered.” Sleipnir swaggered to Magenta, strumming on his guitar.

When he serenaded Magenta with Tenacious D’s comedy rock “Fuck Her Gently”, she melted, mesmerized, as my Slippy unleashed his full godly talent on her.

“Ah, romance,” Magenta smiled.

Lysander, however, reddened and spluttered at each crude lyric of cock , ball , hump , which were all sung to the sweetest melody.

Sleipnir winked at me, as I attempted to smother my snickers in Midnight’s feathers.

Lysander pointed at Sleipnir in outrage. “Stop singing this instant! Are you serious? Is this what counts as courting to the non-fae? A love song about…?”

“Shagging,” Serenity supplied, dreamily.

“Do you take requests?” Fox called out. “How about “Barbie Girl”? “Who Let the Dogs Out”? “Livin’ La Vida Loca”?”