Free Daimon by Pelaam Page B

active participant in the ever-present battle between the powers of light and dark. He preferred to think of himself as neutral. However, when it came down to it, he knew he would fight for light if he had to. He glanced back to the window.
    Drugs, barred windows, and a guard outside, not far away. All told Daimon that, whoever this beauty was, no chances were taken that he could escape his prison. Almost without conscious thought, Daimon scooped the sleeping form in his arms, cradling him to his chest. His body reacted as it always did when in such proximity to an attractive male. However, he ignored his errant erection and held the lissom form tenderly. Something he couldn't name brought out his more protective nature.
    Daimon dematerialised, easily able to take the sleeper with him, and returned to his home. He tucked his precious bundle into his bed. He knew he could mount his vigil from a chair, but decided that his bed was the more comfortable option. He grinned. If I was completely altruistic, I'd have been born an angel not a demon .
    Part of him hoped the blond would indulge in an early morning romp once the drugs left his system. Daimon would accept such a reward as thanks very readily.
    Lycans processed such chemicals quicker than mere humans. However, Daimon had no intentions of molesting or taking advantage of the other man while so vulnerable.
    But first, he needed to take care of a pressing, personal problem before slipping into bed with the blond.
    He still had the erection that had begun with the proximity of the silver-haired Lycan and continued when holding the attractive blond. He sat in his armchair and glanced at his sleeping beauty. He dropped one hand to encircle his aching, swollen flesh. He stroked languidly, squeezing at the head of his arousal to encourage precome to slick his long, thick length. As his hand began to slide easily, he increased his speed with a low growl of pleasure.
    His gaze raked over the slumbering form, but even as he imagined creamy thighs spread for him, satiny mounds parting to offer him a warm, tight place to bury his throbbing length, the vision changed.
    Instead of the lithe blond, the powerful silver male dominated his erotic daydream. He threw back his head, gasping as spikes of lust jabbed low in his abdomen making him spurt precome more liberally.
    While he continued to stroke with one hand, he used the other to pinch his nipples and pull at the gold rings that pierced them. He then reached up to his horns, another source of his sensual pleasure. He let his nails rake over one then the other, relishing the touch as it added to his growing arousal.
    He tickled his perineum and large, heavy sac with his tail before sweeping it over his puckered entrance. He rubbed it quickly to coat it with his pre-ejaculate and pushed it inside himself. Wriggling it erotically, he used the tip of his tail to quickly find and rub his sweet spot, making himself writhe and groan softly. He increased the speed of his strokes on his rapidly heating flesh, his body undulating rhythmically as he raced towards completion.
    With a grunt he came hard, the crème of his release contrasting with the red of his skin. He licked his fingers appreciatively before dematerialising and re-forming, clean, to curl protectively around the body in his bed.
    Sleep claimed him in seconds, and his dreams featured a muscular, silver-haired male in a myriad of pleasurable positions.
     
    ****
     
    Awareness came slowly and with it despair. As soon as his jailer knew Leland had woken, he would administer the detested drug once more. It made the day a waking nightmare; they injected him with enough to keep him docile, unable to take refuge in oblivion. He would be washed, dressed, fed, and told over and over that Randal would never find him, even if he bothered to try. That Randal would have already sought another warm body to replace him. He had heard this so often that insidious doubt had rooted.
    Now it took