by Aldrea Alien
The man bent over him, laying a hand on Hamish’s thigh. “If we are doing this, I would prefer no barriers between us. So, either you take that shirt off.” That grin was back for a heartbeat. “Or I do.”
Nae barriers. Not even linen. Just bare skin wherever they touched. “I think I can manage that.” He stood with Darshan backing away to give him room. With the buttons at his neck already undone, it was a simple matter of untucking the shirt from his trousers and pulling it over his head.
The action was met by Darshan’s whispering gasp.
“My word.” The man’s gaze ran over Hamish. Barely-restrained lust burned in those hazel eyes. The tip of his tongue brushed across his upper lip ever so slightly. “You are practically a walking rug.” His fingers reached out, returning to clench at his side before they could land on skin.
Hamish looked down at his chest and shrugged. Yes, he carried a dog’s-worth of dark red hair there, but it was hardly anything noteworthy. “I guess it’s a Tirglasian thing.” All the other men he had ever been with—the only exception being that one ambassador from Dvärghem—were native to his country. And even the dwarf had been just as hairy as himself, if not more so.
“Yes?” Darshan cast another hungry glance over Hamish and sighed. “I rather think I grew up in the wrong kingdom. Minamist lacks men like you.” He bit his lip, seeming to consider the statement. “Well, maybe the docks, but I suppose I cannot count the few Tirglasian sailors who make port.”
Frowning, Hamish paused in untying the cords of his trousers. Had he imagined that jittery note in the man’s voice? “Do you usually talk this much?” His past experiences had all been rather quiet beyond grunts, and the occasional pained hiss from himself upon their entry.
The man’s cheeks darkened. “Not generally.” One side of his mouth hitched up. “But then, I have never been nervous about this before.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Which is surprising in itself seeing that this is most definitely not my first time. But I am afraid you might find me rather lacking in certain departments. I am no sparsely-haired elf, but I am hardly a rug either.” He laced and unlaced his fingers, toying with a ring or two along the way. “I hope you actually do find me to your taste after all this.”
“You’re a man, you’ve a pulse.” Too late, he clapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn’t actually said that out loud, had he? Well, there goes me chance. When the words weren’t immediately met with Darshan’s departure, he lowered his hand. “I dinnae mean you were—” He fisted his beard, tugging at it slightly, letting the pain help clear his head. “What I meant was—”
Darshan’s laughter stilled Hamish’s his tongue. It was a dark sound that seemed to relax the man’s shoulders. “Oh dear,” he murmured, laying a hand on Hamish’s chest. “Is the bar truly set so low?” His other hand slunk up Hamish’s side, the faint brush of nails digging in as the man’s touch wandered across Hamish’s back.
Heat flooded his face. Of all the corners to back himself into. “I’m nae exactly in a position to be picky.”
Pity flashed in those hazel eyes and flattened Darshan’s mouth for a heartbeat. “Well, neither can I, since we are being honest. But even with a choice, you would have been high on the list.”
“Likewise.” If he had ever been given that mythological chance to choose, like his siblings had, it would’ve been someone bold enough to chase him even knowing the consequences.
“Since we seem to be getting our tongues horribly tangled.” Darshan wrapped his arms around Hamish’s neck. “How about we go back to something a little easier on them?” He coaxed Hamish down, their lips brushing each other for but a breath.
Hamish drew back to eye the man. “You’re really nae bothered?”
Sighing, Darshan’s fingers returned to roaming Hamish’s neck, sliding up to thread into the thick hair near the nape. “No.” Those hazel eyes lifted. The hot and wanting glaze to them had vanished, replaced by something far softer. “I am not exactly a stranger to being… a port in a storm as it were and if that is all you require, I am happy to oblige.” His hands slid down to the waist of Hamish’s trousers. “But I do find these being still on as bothersome. Allow me.”
Before Hamish could speak either way, the man set to work on the cords. Hamish’s trousers dropped at a phenomenal rate.
Darshan’s gaze slunk down Hamish’s body, clearly tracking the very direct passage of his fingers. A soft groan escaped the man’s throat as he caressed Hamish’s length through his smalls.
Hamish’s legs trembled at the touch, threatening to dump him where he stood. It had been far too long since any but his own hand had ventured so close. “Wait,” he gasped, breathless. He was almost naked whilst Darshan, bar his boots, was still fully clothed. “Do I nae get to undress you?”
Darshan grinned. “If you like. Allow me to make it easier for you. These buttons can be fiddly.” He waved his hand down the sherwani and the front unfurled like a butterfly.
More magic? The man had clearly just used some to undress himself. Was there anything those spellsters didn’t use as an excuse to show off their power?
Shrugging out of the sherwani, Darshan tossed it to one side and spread his arms in open invitation. “When you are ready.” Underneath sat a short tunic very similar in design to what the farmers wore out in the fields. Likewise, the trousers—although cut in a manner that hugged the man’s legs and tented eagerly at the groin—were merely fastened by a simple cord. Removing both would be an easy matter.
Hamish’s fingers fumbled to untie the knot at Darshan’s waist and failed. Focus, you idiot. He could perform better than some novice. Sucking on his teeth, he tried again to similar effect.
His gaze flicked to the door as he finally loosened the ties, it helped keep the heat dominating his face in check, but brought back far more sinister thoughts. “I dinnae suppose you’ve a spell that can keep that shut.” He indicated the door with a jerk of his chin.
Darshan wrinkled his nose. “Excusing the fact I do not do spells—” He all but spat the word. “—I am going to say yes… and no. I could place a barrier in front of it,” he continued before Hamish could ask, tugging himself free of his trousers as he spoke. “Very easily, in fact.”
“But?” Hamish pressed.
The spellster offered up a smile that bordered on embarrassed. He laid a hand on
Hamish’s arm, steadying himself whilst freeing his other leg of clothing. “It would fail once my thoughts turned to other matters.”
“Ah.” It had never occurred to him that, whilst spellsters could weave incredible and terrifying feats at a whim, it was intrinsically linked to their thoughts. Or what that really meant when distracted. “Bit like archery, then. Part instinct, part focus.”
“You could say that.”
Hamish made swift work of discarding the man’s tunic. He rocked back on his heels. Rather than be faced with a man clad only in his smalls, there was another tunic beneath. “Just how many layers are you wearing?”
Darshan lowered his gaze, but not before Hamish spied him blushing. He fingered the tunic as if surprised to find it there. “Only the three.” He hauled the final article off over his head. A faint shudder ran through his body. “Tirglas is a touch colder than back home.”
“Aye?” Hamish drew the man closer. Their chests touched at every breath, Darshan’s vaguely hotter. He tipped the man’s head back, caressing Darshan’s chin with a thumb and struggling to think of anything beyond kissing the spellster senseless. “How about I help you warm up, then?”
Humour creased those hazel eyes and a brief chuckle shook Darshan’s torso. “I thought you would never ask.” He leant hard against Hamish, rocking them off-balance.
With one hand, Hamish gripped the bedpost. “That was more of an offer than a question.”
Snickering and shaking his head, Darshan gave a gentle tap on Hamish’s chest that had him landing back onto the bed. “Are you really going to quibble over semantics right now?”
He grasped the waistband of Hamish’s smalls, tugging the front down just enough for the afternoon air to slink its way into his short hairs.
His length strained against the soft linen. Crawling a little way up the bed allowed his smalls to slide off that little bit more. He tugged them down further still.
A faint whimper greeted him being fully naked to the world. Breathing heavily, Darshan assisted in fully removing the smalls, tossing them to one side. Those bejewelled fingers gently wrapped around Hamish’s length. A soft groan parted Darshan’s lips.
Hamish fisted the blankets, fully reclining as Darshan’s hand moved. His touch was soft and warm, definitely practised at jerking off another man. Just as I’d imagined. He pushed the thought away, letting it slink back into the forbidden depths. This wasn’t the time for thinking. This was only about the moment.
Darshan silently withdrew his presence.
With an objection fighting its way along his tongue to be heard, Hamish sat up only to discover the man was pausing merely to remove his own smalls. Now that Darshan stood there, completely naked like himself, Hamish finally took in what his roaming fingers had already told him. He had thought the spellster might’ve been a weedy man beneath all those layers, but he was pleasantly toned. Just the sight had his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth and set his heart pounding.
“Shall I take that look as your approval of the view?” Darshan enquired as he crawled onto the bed to sit upright, straddling Hamish’s thighs. The cocky smile was back, but quivering slightly at the corners.
“Aye,” Hamish managed, his voice thick and his mind very much focused on how the man’s semi-hard length brushed across his own with every breath. He reached out, running a finger up the spellster’s arm. Each brush tingled. Was that more magic? Or just his imagination?
He had thought the olive-brown tone of the man’s face and hands might’ve been sun-darkened, but Darshan was a similar shade all over, not even a hint of the sun-lines he’d seen on paler men. And, true to his word, Darshan wasn’t all that hairy, but Hamish’s questing fingers found a pleasing amount as they ventured across the man’s chest, especially heading south.
His length certainly wasn’t typical— it seemed to be missing the usual bit of loose skin near the tip—but it reacted no differently at his touch, growing harder under his ministrations.
Darshan rolled his hips. His bejewelled hands landed firmly on Hamish’s chest, digging into his hair as the man thrust against Hamish’s palm. His breath rasped. A word slithered out his lips, heavy and rough. Then, as his breath was beginning to grow erratic, he gently removed Hamish’s hand and leant over him, curls of dark brown hair framing his face.
Their lips met and parted as the man moved on to roam Hamish’s neck and shoulders, leaving messy, wet kisses along his path.
A small sound escaped Hamish’s lips. Not quite deep enough to be a moan. He didn’t think he had the breath for it. Was Darshan trembling? Or was that himself?
Slowly, clearly reluctant to stop, Darshan pushed himself upright again. “Before we go any further…” He bit his lip. “I know you are of age, but I need—”
“Of age,” Hamish echoed, incredulous. Just how young did Darshan thing he was? “I’ve bloody seen thirty-seven summers. I’m of age twice over.”
Darshan’s brows shot up. He mouthed the numbers, then smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well now. I do not believe I have done anything with an older man for some time. Not since I was in my teenage years, anyway.”
“You dinnae look much younger than me.” Yes, the lack of a full beard had thrown him for a while when they’d first met, but there couldn’t be that much of a gap between them.
Darshan scoffed. “Oh, the difference is negligible. Four years, give or take a few months. But that is not what I was going to ask you. And I probably should have done so before we got this far. I just—” He rubbed at his neck, his whole face flushing. “I need your consent before we go any further.”
Hamish peered at the man, then laughed. Darshan had to be having him on. “I’m lying naked on me bed.” And just about ready to explode before they’d gotten very far. “How much more consent do you need?”
“A lot more.” He breathed deep before the words rushed out. “Granted, you already know what I want, and I believe we are in agreement there, but I need to be certain.”
Hamish shook his head, still unable to control his mirth. “You Udyneans have some strange rules.” Not a single man had actually asked for his consent. Tearing off each other’s trousers and wrestling him over whatever was handy generally counted as that.
Darshan closed his eyes. His brows lowered, encroaching on the metal edging of his glasses. “This is a little more personal,” he whispered. “Anything less than an empathetic yes from you will be taken as a no.”
“Bad past experience?” He had more than his fair share of those.
A faint hum of agreement thinned the man’s lips.
Hamish grasped the man’s hand. “Look, I’m nae drunk. Me wits are about me. I fully understand what’s happening and I want it. Is that enough for you?”
Those hazel eyes opened. Smiling, Darshan lifted Hamish’s hand and gently pressed his lips to the back of Hamish’s fingers. “More than enough,” he whispered. He returned to his previous position, stretched out atop Hamish.
Darshan’s hips rocked, slow at first, then with a determined rhythm.
Hamish followed suit, although it was a bit difficult with the added weight. He hadn’t ever had the hot press of another atop him. Not like this. The needy contact of skin on skin, rubbing against each other as they shared breath. Their broken moans and half-swallowed murmurs ate up the quiet.
The spellster’s kisses wandered, sharp and quick down Hamish’s neck, then open and sloppy along the shoulder. A sudden bony pressure spoke of teeth sinking into the flesh where shoulder met neck. Not enough to be painful, but strong enough to wrench a guttural sound from Hamish’s throat and set a fresh wave of desire through his gut.
Darshan reached down between them. His fingers wrapped around Hamish’s length. That hazel gaze lifted, eyeing Hamish. Gauging his reaction, he was certain of it. Darshan’s hand moved with practised speed.
Try as he might, Hamish could do nothing else but thrust into the man’s hand, utterly compliant to Darshan’s firm and steady touch.
Before too long, the only sounds escaping him were small, rather telltale, pants. Nae now. Nae like this. With great effort, he clasped Darshan’s wrist, stilling the man’s hand a little too late. Already, his body emptied itself, spilling into the afternoon air.
Bugger! He laid there, burying his face in his hands even as he continued to twitch in the spellster’s grip.
Darshan’s weight shifted.
Cold air filled the gap between them, sending a shudder through Hamish’s stomach. Darshan hadn’t left, but Hamish didn’t dare lower his hands. He didn’t want to see the man’s face. To see the disappointment. The derision. The utter disgust.
“Did you just…?”
“Aye.” His cheeks burned against his palms. For the first time, in a good long while, he had finally found someone as willing to be with him as he was with them… and he’d blown it. Wetness soaked his fingers. Tears? Was he actually crying now? Aye. A few, but well too many. He squeezed his eyes tight and sniffed in an effort to contain them. Shit. Turning into a sodden, blubbering mess over all this was the last thing he needed.
Soft and lean fingers curled beneath his, lifting his hands. “Hey, now.” The words were light and carried no hint of what he feared.
Hamish peered through his lashes, opening his eyes wider once he was certain of the expression he was faced with.
Darshan knelt next to him, his brows scrunched and raised in the middle. “It happens to everyone now and then.” That hazel gaze continued to evaluate Hamish. Did it pick out signs of tears? “We can always give it a little while and try again, right?”
Hamish s
crubbed at his face. Had he heard right? The man was willing to wait and make another attempt?
If only. He wanted nothing more than to spend more time with Darshan, but if his judgement towards the angle of the light through his window was correct, they would have nowhere near the amount of time they would need to get the man out unseen before the guards arrived. And once the guards had taken up their positions in the hall directly outside his door, Darshan would be left with the choice of being caught in an hour or in the morning.
Still, he couldn’t have the man leave without something.
He silently rolled them over, marking how Darshan’s demeanour changed as the man was pushed deeper into the mattress by Hamish’s weight. Of the way he bit his lip and flushed right down to his neck. Even his gaze suddenly seemed more interested in settling on anything but Hamish.
Propping himself on his elbows had Hamish witness the man’s cocky grin and daring stare return, along with his feather-light touches down Hamish’s sides. Did Darshan like being pinned down? Hamish gently lowered back onto the man to a similar effect. He does. If he just had the time to play with that bit of information.
Sighing, Hamish slid off the spellster and the bed to kneel on the cold floor. Darshan sat up in his wake, one brow raised in silent query. Hamish answered by parting the man’s legs and caressing Darshan’s length in soft, slow movements of his thumb, eking out the man’s trembling moans.
Hamish wet his lips. This should be easy. Whilst he had orally pleasured men who could choke a horse—and weren’t exactly gentle with it to boot—Darshan was in the range that Hamish had labelled as pleasant. It was almost a shame that this was likely to be a one-off. “Just so you’re nae expecting miracles from me, it has been a while.”
Darshan laid a hand on Hamish’s shoulder, kneading with his thumb. “And exactly how long is a while?”