Homelands Pt. 06 Ch. 02

Lately, though, Patty needed a lot of cheering up. She'd hardly even known Kurt. The girl acted like she'd lost the love of her life.

Of course, that was no more fair than blaming her mother for Nick's lingering crush on her. It couldn't be easy to be the only one around without a special someone to warm her bed each night. Veronica couldn't stay upset at Patty if she tried.

It was just getting to be awfully lonely being Nick's girl.

"What's that mean?" her mother asked, a bit alarmed.

So Veronica explained.

"That little shit," her mother said.

It took some effort to keep from laughing hysterically. Her mother hadn't wanted her and Nick to risk their necks helping Patty back when they'd thought she'd been kidnapped. Now, though, it was like Patty was no less her daughter than Veronica and Annie were. The way it had always been, growing up.

On some level, that warmed Veronica's heart. She liked the idea of the Hardts and Moodys getting along, perhaps even becoming one big family again. They'd never ceased being one, so far as she and her brother were concerned. It was time their mothers came round to the idea as well. But at just the moment, Veronica wouldn't have minded if her mother showed a little more concern for her feelings and a little less for her sister's.

"The other one really tried to get him to apologize?" her grandmother asked.

"Yeah," Veronica said.

"Interesting."

What was this? Were they now discussing how deep the rot in House Fisher ran? Did no one care about Nick leaving Veronica high and dry, yet again?

"Probably just a ploy to get you all to trust him," her mother said.

Apparently, that was precisely what they were discussing.

"On second thought," Veronica said to her grandfather as she plopped her feet up on the coffee table, "I think I would like a drink."

He nodded and slipped into the kitchen.

Of course, she could have easily conjured up a drink herself. But it felt nice to know that someone cared about her wants and needs and would go out of his way to tend to them.

"Even if not," her grandmother said, "that wouldn't change anything."

"I know," her mother mumbled, looking duly chastised.

Veronica's head spun. Even with all of the Hardts, save Annie, living under the same roof for the past few months, Veronica had yet to get used to the sight of her mother wilting like that. She'd never been the disciplinarian in the house. That had been Mom-Gee. But she'd been firm when she needed to be, and Veronica had never seen her chew on her words like that. That she looked of an age with her own mother made it even harder for Veronica to wrap her head around. The two could easily be mistaken for sisters, rather than mother and daughter. To look at them, that is. The way they interacted with one another left no doubt that Grandma Flori had changed the other woman's diapers.

No matter how long they lived, how often and deeply they loved and were loved, they'd always be children. Every one of them. Scared and needy and desperate for approval.

That definitely held true for her. But it also undoubtedly did for Nick as well. She wanted him to be around more, to be the center of his universe. But he was just as fragile and insecure as she was. He just dealt with it differently. And she'd known that when she'd fallen for him. It was no one's fault but her own if she was having trouble sharing his affections with all the other women in their life.

Her grandfather returned with her SoCo lime. Veronica smiled at him sweetly as she took the glass. "Thanks, Grandpa."

"My pleasure." He kissed her forehead before returning to his post by the recliner.

He never sat down when there was something important that had to be discussed. Usually, those conversations had revolved around Annie. Veronica hadn't heard her sister's name once yet, but it finally occurred to her what was happening. The clan elders were debating how to react to the king's violation of the only rule he'd yet to repeal.

And why wouldn't they be?

If Veronica hadn't been so caught up in lamenting her brother's tendency to try to make everyone happy, the very same thing would have been on her mind.

"But if he's really gone and allied with Daphne, what in Summer can we possibly do about it?" her mother was asking.

Daphne. She'd heard that name before.

Right. Her grandfather had once told her to ask her grandmother about it. She'd never gotten around to doing so.

Better late that never. "Who's Daphne?"

Both women stared at her.

"Oh, sweetie," her mother said.

"Do you want to take this one?" Grandma Flori asked her daughter.

"No, you're better at this," she replied.

So Veronica got herself a history lesson. Her grandmother told her about how Lady Winter sought to forge an alliance with every king or queen with any potential for greatness. Not just in the First Court of Summer, but all throughout the outer Homelands. The Matriach of Autumn was her creature, as was the Matriarch of Spring. If Hank was in bed with her now, it was only a matter of time before he became Patriarch of Summer.

She also told her about how Phil had found Daphne too unsavory to work with. The first thing she demanded of all her proteges was that they engage in inbreeding, and encourage their subjects to do so as well. No one knew for sure why she did that, but Veronica's grandmother thought it was so that her own sins wouldn't stand out. If she could erode the norm against inbreeding to the point that no one anywhere in the Homelands objected to the practice, her own hold on power would be that much more secure.

"I don't get it," Veronica said. "She can't really care about legitimacy?"

She'd mostly studied American politics in college, but Veronica had taken a course on authoritarian politics. She knew that elected leaders weren't the only ones who had to worry about popular legitimacy. Particularly if their ability to crush an uprising was limited.

But, from the sound of it, Daphne's was not.

"It's not her own people she's worried about," Grandma Flori replied.

Then she explained about the Unshackled Maiden and the Trilateral War. Though it was ancient history, long since forgotten about in what had once been called the breakaway courts, it was still remembered by many in the Eternal Garden of the Sun. It had been there that Veronica's grandmother had heard the tale. And the fact that history seemed to be repeating itself would not be lost on the powers that still ruled there.

"If that's true," Veronica said, "why would Hank want an alliance with her? Sounds like that would only make him more of a target."

"He might not know that," her grandmother replied. "If and when the Garden and the Glade decide to move against her, you can be sure that she'll try to cast it as an imperial war, an act of oppression, rather than what it will be in truth: a punitive mission targeted against her. She'll have us all believe that the first immortals are seeking to bring their bastard progeny to heel, that it'll be in our interest to rise up as one against them." She took a calm sip of her tea, as if she was discussing something less than a war that would consume all the Homelands. "If she succeeds in amassing enough power to rival the ancients, though, it won't be all of us `lesser' immortals who get to go back to the true mortal realm. Just Daphne, and perhaps a few of her favorite children."

"So," her mother said, breaking a stretch of silence, "the question is, will the king listen to us? And if not, will we make an enemy of Daphne simply by trying to talk to Hank?"

"We need to know what he's got planned before we decide whether to try to talk him out of it," Grandma Flori said.

"Sounds like we need to talk to Annie," Veronica said.

#

It wasn't voyeurism.

Barely even eavesdropping.

Nick had just been checking up on his sister. That was all. From a distance, yes, and without her knowledge. But he hadn't seen or heard anything, even though he could have if he'd wanted to. His grandmother might never have taught him how to do those things, but Nick strongly suspect that it was possible. It would've taken a little more effort, maybe, but it could be done. That he'd chosen to do no more than monitor his sister's Libido for any sign of anger or pain or fear therefore had to say something for him, didn't it?

All the same, he'd felt dirty and ashamed of himself. He'd been reminded of the first time he'd seen his father's glowing green eyes as they watched him and Veronica, and reminded as well of how his father had told him shortly after their induction ceremony that Nick was a lot like him. More so than Eric, who everyone seemed to expect to be king one day.

True, his father had meant to be seen that night. Had been looking to intimidate them. What Nick did before leaving his father's palace was different. He'd just wanted to make sure that Mike was treating Patty right.

His father had probably started out the same way, though. Perhaps even still thought he had good reasons for doing the things he did. For lying about Patty and Kurt, for fathering children with his sister, and for holding Annie hostage. Which, so far as Nick was concerned, was what he was doing. She was a willing enough participant, to be sure, but that didn't change the fact that no one would dare attack the king in his home the way they had his predecessor so long as Annie lived with him.

Just a little earlier that very same night, Nick had nearly convinced himself that they'd all been worried about Annie for no reason. What a fool he'd been.

It had taken one quick scan of his father's Libido as he'd passed by him in the hallway for Nick to know that the king was hiding something, and that thinking of Annie reminded him of it. That didn't tell Nick what the king was hiding, but he didn't need to know that in order to guess that Annie was their father's protection from him and Eric.

That brief moment had shocked Nick so badly that he'd nearly fallen out of the closet in which he was hiding. Not because he didn't think that his father was keeping secrets, or that he was using Annie, but because he had no idea that he could read men's Libidos.

But, then, his father had read his that day on the yacht.

And as his father had said, they were ever so much alike.

So, after convincing himself that he'd inherited a few too many of his father's characteristics, and after getting uncomfortably aroused by the sensations he felt in Patty's Libido while she and their brother went at it, Nick finally teleported out of the royal palace.

He still didn't go home though.

At least, he didn't go inside. Instead, he stood atop the battlements of Castle Hardt, trying to wrap his head around what he'd done and who he'd become. Trying to convince himself that it wasn't so bad that he'd violated Patty's privacy. That it didn't mean that much that he had more of his father's talents than everyone, including himself, had realized. Trying to do those things, and failing miserably.

There came a point where he realized that he couldn't be alone with his thoughts any longer. He'd only feel worse. Convince himself further that he was treading a dark path. With the best of intentions, sure, but that didn't mean the destination was worth reaching.

He almost talked himself back out of going to Veronica once he was inside though. It wouldn't be right to wake her up because he was in a shitty mood and wanted to hold her in his arms, to hear her tell him that he wasn't a bad person just because he'd spied on Patty after leaving her. Bad enough that he'd left her alone back at their father's place, and that she'd probably been waiting for him all this time.

Of course, she'd be even more upset if she awoke in the morning to find her bed empty.

Round and round and round, his thoughts ran. On the hand this, on the other hand that. He'd always been a damned over-thinker. Every girl he'd ever been friends with had told him so. As had his sisters, back before they'd become subjects of romantic attraction and thus no longer capable of dispensing advice to help him with his girl trouble.

He bet his father was an over-thinker too.

Enough.

Nick drew a deep breath and crept down the hall towards his sister's bedroom. His heart raced and his head filled with thoughts far less depressing than those that had occupied his mind for the past hour. What might Veronica be wearing? Which shampoo might she have used? Would she smell of vanilla and spice or like flowers?

Should she be mad at him? Or just glad to see him?

Sucking their grandfather's dick, as it happened.

Her door was closed, but there was hardly any sound coming from her bedroom, so he'd simply walked in without thinking to knock. And found her on her knees beside the bed, mouth too full to speak. Their grandfather turned to see who'd interrupted them and a look of panic settled over his face.

"Sorry," Nick said, slipping back out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Why was he hard as a rock?

Sure, he'd been halfway there when he'd opened the door. The mere thought of his sister in sleepwear did that to him. But seeing his sister with another man had finished the job.

Twice in one night, he'd gotten hard while spying on his sisters. He hadn't set out to do so, not for that reason anyway, in either case. Yet there it was. He was that guy.

He went up to the kitchen and poured himself a drink while he waited for his sister to come apologize. Or demand that he apologize. Or whatever.

But she didn't.

Which was fine. If she didn't feel like chewing him out, so much the better. And it wasn't like she owed him an explanation for hooking up with Grandpa Randy. They usually spent the night together, but they didn't always. And he hadn't told her when he'd be back, or even if he'd be back that night. If she found herself in the arms of another man, that was his own damn fault for leaving her.

That was what he told himself before he knocked down the first SoCo lime.

By the third one, he started to see things differently. Started to get angry. Started to resent the fact that, without even thinking about it, he'd starting pouring a drink he'd only acquired a taste for because of her. She hadn't waited up for him. Fine. She could at least take the fucking dick out of her mouth long enough to speak to him, if only for a minute.

Another two drinks, though, and he was back to thinking that there was no reason to be upset. Back to being disgusted with himself, for various reasons.

"Hey, sweetie," his mother called from the bottom of the stairs.

He waved to her limply before pouring another shot.

"What's up?" she asked, padding down into the kitchen.

The black babydoll looked damn good on her. It obscured her six pack but not her full breasts. Her shapely legs seemed to glow in the moonlight drifting in through the window and the way she had her hair tied up, like she hadn't had the time to really put it together, was far more alluring than made any sense.

If Vee could stray, why couldn't he?

Granted, she probably wouldn't have if he hadn't done so earlier. So that line of reasoning was more than a little flawed. But with several shots of liquor in him and a raging hard on tenting his pajama pants, it passed muster.

"Nothin' really," he said.

"Why are you drinking alone?" she asked as she walked up to him.

Electricity ran through his body as his mother's hand came to rest on his hard abs. Pre-cum leaked out the tip of his cock. The warmth of her soft hand against his skin felt, at that moment, like the greatest pleasure he'd ever experienced.

Why didn't he spend more time with his mother? She was beautiful, no matter that she had harder features than his sister and a prominent nose that some might call beak-like. Those full lips, lush eyebrows, long lashes, dark eyes and gorgeous skin more than earned her the right to be called "beautiful" rather than "handsome" or any other less flattering term. And she had one hell of an amazing body, however muscular it might be.

"No reason," he replied.

"Nickie," she said.

She never called him that. Not since, what, middle school? Somewhere around there. In Mom-tongue, that was the opposite of calling someone by their full name.

"I'm fine," he said, running a few fingers through her hair.

It was thick and soft and radiant. It was also blacker than black, with the exception of a handful of grays that he only noticed when she stood close to him and had light shining on her. Both Veronica and Grandma Flori had the same hair beautiful black hair, but it stood out so much more on his mother. Not only was her hair longer than either that of her daughter or, especially, her mother, but she had thicker eyebrows too. That shouldn't have made any difference, but it made it harder for anyone who looked at her to fail to notice how thick and luxuriant her hair was.

"Come to bed then," she said. "Grams won't mind."

"Okay." He kissed her forehead.

And then downed the shot he'd just poured.

His mother made no move to leave the kitchen. She stared at the empty shot glass, frowning. When she did that, the lines etched in her face became clearer. Particularly around her mouth, but the ones at the corners of her eyes stood out too.

Those lines should have marred her beauty in Nick's mind. But they did not. They were but a visible reminder of how experienced she was, and that she was a real flesh-and-blood woman, no matter how much she looked like a living fantasy.

"Seriously," she said. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

His mother sighed. "If we do this, are you going to be with us, or lost inside your head?"

Nick didn't reply.

Hopefully, they'd keep that from happening. Help him forget about all those unwelcome thoughts. But he couldn't, with a straight face, tell her that he wouldn't be distracted.

"Personal or political?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Is this about you and Veronica or does it have something to do with your father?" Her fingertips brushed his cheek softly, taking his breath away. "Do the rest of us need to be worried or should I just pretend that I don't see you brooding like some vampire heartthrob in a movie pitched at teenage girls?"

Nick laughed. "The latter."

"So we're done sulking then?" she asked. One smooth, meaty thigh slipped in between his legs and gently slid back and forth, generating sweet friction against his cock. That would have felt good if he was wearing denim or cotton. In silk, it felt amazing.

"We are," he said breathlessly.

With a thought, he removed the alcohol from his system.

"Good," his mother said, withdrawing her leg.

She went up on tiptoes, kissed him lightly on the lips, then settled back on her feet. Without another word, she took him by the hand and led him up to her mother's bedroom.

As they ascended the stairs, his eyes instinctively went to his mother's ass, and there they remained. Her backside was absolutely, unquestionably, perfect. Before he'd laid eyes on his mother, the real her rather than the mortal version he'd known growing up, he'd never have guessed it was even possible for an ass to look that good.

His grandmother was in bed, lying on top of the covers, reading a paperback bestseller. Though he doubted that she actually needed them, she wore a thick pair of reading glasses. If not for her impossibly proportioned figure, racy lingerie, and youthful face, she could almost be mistaken for an ordinary grandmother.

Unlike his mother, his grandmother's face probably was better described as handsome than beautiful. Her tomboyish haircut only further defeminized her. In contrast, her figure was plenty womanly. Her breasts were bigger than Veronica's, and the tight bustier she wore made sure that you'd notice. She didn't have the same insane waist-to-hip ratio his mother did, but she was much thinner than a woman with that kind of bust should have been. The legs encased in sheer black were not as shapely as his mother's, but they were still plenty nice to look at. Of course, most legs were, when thigh highs were involved.