The heavy German accent turned his name
into a thing of beauty and
grace, a thing that could not possibly belong to him. Yet, it held a power over
him, it commanded
he look into the eyes of the Hessian.
Ichabod found himself pinned beneath that gaze. His body trembled
uncontrollably at the touch. Fear and desire raced through him overloading his
nerves and filling
him with a visceral need that was making coherent thought impossible.
He thought he made some noise then, but he was deafened by his heart
pounding in his ears. He opened his mouth to speak again but demanding lips
closed over his
swallowing any words he might have formed.
The Horseman tasted of wind and rain and felt like steel and stone.
Ichabod's hands found their way beneath the loose shirt to the flat stomach and
lightly furred
chest . The flesh beneath them was warm and smooth. Powerful muscles moved
beneath the skin. He could
feel the sliding of tendons and ligaments as his lover moved down to his neck
nuzzling then
biting the hollow at his collarbone.
"You're dead, this can't be real," he whispered, wondering who he was
trying to convince.
The Hessian drew back until he was sitting astride the younger man
bearing his weight easily on his knees. His face was flushed and his eyes bright
with desire. He
grasped the front of the human's shirt ripping it open. Then with the same ease
and economy of
motion, he stripped away the trousers beneath him. Deliberately he placed
powerful,
dangerous hands, the hands of a killer on Ichabod's narrow waist holding him
pressed to the pallet.
"I AM dead, my pretty boy, yet I live. You live, yet you came here
seeking death." The battle calloused hands moved slowly upward still
pressing into the pale flesh.
"Have you found any answers here?" He paused in his upward stroke to
tease his captive's
nipples until they were hard enough to ache." He shifted forward letting
the weight of his body
pin Ichabod's erection between them. "Does your body respond so for your
witch? Tell me now,
what do you want?"
Ichabod moaned thrusting his hips upward rubbing his erection against
the impressive hardness beneath the Horseman's leather pants. "I want you,
God have mercy on my
soul; I want you." he whispered wrapping his arms around the ghost's neck
pulling himself
hard against the other's body burying his face against one broad shoulder. Tears
ran unheeded
into the Hessian's mane of ebony hair. "I wanted you from the first moment
I saw you, I need
you."
Those words were a release Ichabod had not expected. Fear and confusion
faded into a fierce exhilaration. For the first time since he had originally set
foot in
Sleepy Hollow, he felt free.
This time it was Ichabod Crane who caught the Horseman's face in both
hands and captured his mouth. He tore at the fabric seperating them until the
Hessian laughing
against his mouth pulled the offending garment over his head. Boots and pants
soon followed
suit.
Ichabod let his hands and mouth wander all over the muscular body. He
had never loved a man before. The hard muscles and coarse hair fascinated him.
The knowledge
that this man could kill him in an instant without benefit of blade or gun was
an unbelievable
aphrodisiac. When the Hessian entered him joining their bodies at last, some
final, vital
wall exploded in pain and pleasure and the world above ceased to be.