by Aldrea Alien
Hamish huffed and rolled his eyes. “And it’s a sapphire, nae doubt.”
“Nae at all, your lordship,” the jeweller blurted, the deep-set wrinkles on his pallid forehead lifting in alarm. “That there is the finest aquamarine. I had it imported all the way from Udynea.”
Darshan smiled. He had thought as much. Aditi, his youngest half-sister at ten years of age, had once commissioned a hair comb incorporating a vast array of aquamarine stones. Although, none of them could compare to this blue beauty. “You should buy it,” he murmured to Hamish.
His lover looked from the ring to Darshan and back. “I dinnae believe me allowance would be enough for such a bauble.”
“Allowance?” He scoffed. “You are not a child. Why are you still stuck on an allowance?” Darshan hadn’t been able to count his years in double digits the last time he had been restricted in such a fashion. Yes, he had private coffers—all his unmarried siblings did—but even that held a sizable amount.
Hamish opened his mouth.
Darshan waved his hand, stalling him. “No, no. Do not say another word, something tells me the reason will only serve to upset me and it is too nice a day for that.” He rummaged through his coin purse and tossed a handful of gold on the counter. “That should be adequate.”
With the jeweller’s mouth still gaping soundlessly, his eyes bulging enough that they might very well pop, Darshan grabbed his lover’s left hand and went to thread the ring onto Hamish’s middle finger.
His lover gently shrank out of Darshan’s grasp. Hamish remained silent, the faint darkening of his cheeks the only clue as to his discomfort.
“Is something wrong?” Did people not buy each other gifts? That seemed unlikely. Or was it the type of gift? Clearly men wore jewellery or there wouldn’t be such a demand for a ring so large.
A small tug at his sleeve drew his attention to Ethan. “That’s the wedding finger,” the boy whispered, cupping a hand over his mouth as if revealing a great secret.
“Oh?” Heat took over his face. Why hadn’t he considered that? He glanced at the jeweller to find the man still fussing over his payment. “Forgive me, I did not know. Back home, it is the one next to the little finger on the right hand.” Instead of trying to guess what was acceptable, he placed the ring firmly in his lover’s open palm, much to Hamish’s obvious consternation.
“Is that why you’ve nae rings on that one?” Mac asked, holding up Darshan’s right hand as if he had forgotten what his own fingers looked like. Surrounded with an abundance of gold, silver and gems, the third digit was conspicuously naked.
“Sort of.” How could he explain to the young boy that it was a silent protest against his father’s persistent nagging about him marrying some young woman and getting down to the business of siring a son? Over the years, his father had conceded to only harassing him about the fatherhood portion, but Darshan’s refusal remained strong.
“It’s lovely,” Hamish murmured, turning the band over to examine the design. “But you shouldnae have bought it for me.” He held out his hand, trying to offer the ring back to Darshan.
Darshan clasped his hands behind his back. “It is my gift to you, mea lux. I shall not accept its return.” Hamish would have no choice beyond keeping the ring or selling it. Whilst he would’ve preferred his lover kept the trinket, either way suited him fine.
The man’s bushy brows lowered slightly, furrowing the skin between. But he made no more effort towards relieving himself of the ring. His gaze dropped back to it, his thumb caressing the stone. “You dinnae think me eyes are like sapphires?”
Darshan shook his head. “If I was to make an accurate comparison, I would say they remind me of the crystal blue waters of Minamist’s harbour.”
Hamish eyed the ring, then him, before slipping the band onto his right hand with a grunt.
Well aware his face burned, Darshan attempted to remain casual. The ring truly did fit quite nicely on the third digit. It’s just a finger, he sharply reminded himself. Doesn’t mean anything here. Not like back home.
“We should return to the horses and meet up with me brother.” Hamish swung back to the shop entrance and was out it before Darshan could think to follow.
The children were far quicker, disappearing after their uncle and leaving him alone with the jeweller.
“He your piece?” the man asked, jolting Darshan out of his stupor.
“Of course not,” Darshan scoffed. Had the jeweller been listening to them the whole time? That couldn’t be good. What if Queen Fiona finds out? That was a thought he wished would’ve surfaced sooner. It was just a ring, but it had been just a kiss, too. “Just a friend eager to see me enjoy the festivities.” He scooped up his coin pouch before the man could pry further and trotted after the group.
Hamish lay flat on his bed, twisting the ring back and forth on his finger. His room was the black of cellars and sealed tunnels. Not even the moon dared to show its face in this early hour. He had barely slept all night, despite the journey ahead. He did so better in a tent anyway and would rest well during the next fortnight.
Memories of last night’s dinner floated before him in the dark. So vivid that the minty scent of roasted lamb still tickled his nose.
Darshan had opted to join them that night, the first since his arrival dinner. His lover had settled at the far end, right beside Hamish. That had likely drawn his mother’s attention. It had certainly given her cause enough to be caustic about his sudden appearance.
If the spellster hadn’t been there, would she have noticed the ring? The silver band had shone brightly in the candlelight, but not enough to draw the casual eye. Still, he should’ve known she would spot it. His mother was like a hawk in that respect.
Hamish lifted his hand before him. In the dark, he saw only the faintest impression. The crush of her fingers as she had twisted his hand one way then the other still lingered in his mind. He’d only himself to blame for being cloth-brained enough to keep wearing it. He could’ve removed the ring before entering the hall and avoided any queries.
Why had he let Darshan buy the accursed thing in the first place? Especially blue. She knew he hated the colour and its presence on his hand had drawn her attention all the more. “Exquisite,” she had called it. And it was.
Then his mother had asked the very question he had been dreading. Those piercing eyes had dug deep into his soul, seeking to snatch up the answer like a gull did fish. How had he afforded it when they were both aware Hamish had no access to that amount of coin? The very moment the question left her lips, he knew he had screwed up.
Fortunately, Gordon saved him from their mother’s scrutiny, just like he always did, by owning up to purchasing the ring. His brother had seen it well enough back in the Roaring Stag to describe it.
What would he have done had Gordon not stepped in? I dinnae ken. He could only be thankful that his brother chose to stand by him over and over.
In the stillness, the faint shuffling of guards outside his door was like rats scuffling through the rafters. They thought their job of keeping him in was almost done for the night. Little did they know he had visited Darshan in the early evening at a time usually reserved for mingling with his family. Whilst he couldn’t bear their presence at that moment, he could spare his lover the time.
Hamish rolled onto his side, in an effort to find even a brief moment of proper sleep. His arm hit the little wooden box Darshan had gifted him. The toy still lay within. He had originally returned to his room with the intention to use it, but settled for the familiarity of his hand.
He wrapped his fingers around the box, drawing it close to his chest, and let his mind slip away into the far more pleasant recollection of last night. Bring the toy. Hamish closed his eyes, his skin prickling at the memory of Darshan’s voice; silken and dripping with wisps of promised pleasure.
An oath his lover had most certainly upheld.
Hamish slunk his hand down to his groin, letting his fingers massage himself through
the soft linen of his smalls until the simple act was no longer enough. Untying the drawstring, he slipped a hand beneath the cloth to fist his length as the image of the man’s little demonstration tumbled over and over in his mind.
Darshan sat in the middle of the bed with Hamish perched half-off the side near the foot. Wetting his lips as he opened the box, his lover removed the toy in slow, almost hesitant, movements. Need or nerves had Darshan’s fingers trembling. Or perhaps it was…
Shyness? Hamish silently re-evaluated the way his lover glanced up at him, that hazel gaze not quite hidden by the rim of his glasses. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
His lover’s already faintly ruddy olive-brown cheeks darkened further, noticeable even in the dim light of the fireplace. Despite having the time to, he had apparently opted to keep the candles unlit. “Yes,” he breathed, taking up the bottle of oil and pouring a generous amount over the toy’s head. “It just occurred to me that I have never done this with an audience.”
“Really?” The man had sounded so confident just this morning whilst suggesting he gave Hamish a demonstration. “I thought you’d—” He clicked his teeth shut on the rest of the sentence.
The faint, upward twitch of his lover’s brow took away any hope that the man hadn’t understood what he had intended to say. “You thought what? That I had done everything under the sun?” There was a hint of a barb beneath the sweetness of his tone, a veneer of geniality much like his toothy smile.
“Nae every thing,” Hamish mumbled, scratching at his jaw. His mind frantically searched for the right words and came up sadly lacking. Darshan had quite a bit more experience than himself on a larger number of topics, but that didn’t mean he thought the man was of loose morals.
Darshan’s shoulders shook in silent laughter, the previous tension in them draining. “I suppose in comparison…” He sat back, critically eyeing the toy. It shone in the light like a freshly-waxed boot. The leather had taken much of the bottle of oil to turn slick, but there was no sign of resistance as Darshan stroke the toy’s length. “It is a pity you lack magic or you could use this to its full effect.”
“Such as?” Most magic in Tirglas fell under two categories, dangerous and curative. He couldn’t see the first being applied, but the latter option seemed even less viable.
“The casing holds a metal core. Not all the way, you understand? Just near the base. See?” He tilted the toy and revealed a metallic disc. There were scratches all around the leather base and crescent-moon imprints that could only be done by nails. “Here, feel for yourself what it is capable of.”
Curiosity had him shuffling further onto the bed to kneel just before his lover. Darshan wordlessly took up Hamish’s hand, entwining their fingers and wrapping them around the toy. The leather was vaguely warm, but the simple touch of a hand could do that without any magical involvement. “I feel nothing.”
Darshan smirked. “Because I have yet to do this.” He pressed a finger to the metal disc and a soft buzz ran through Hamish’s hand. The hairs on both their arms stood upright as if they were on a hill during a thunderstorm. “Or this.” A second digit joined the first.
Hamish jumped as the whole toy vibrated in their grip. A little on the violent side for something the man planned to have inside him. Surely, the strength of it would turn his pelvis to dust.
Something must’ve shown on his face, for the intensity ebbed until only a pleasant tingling ran against his palm. Reminiscent of the early morning massage Darshan had offered back in the library.
He gently untangled his hand from his lover’s. “That’s some trick,” he murmured, the words coming out a lot hoarser than he had expected.
“I could always sneak into your chambers and assist you there?” There was a cheeky light to his eyes. They both knew he’d never get that far. Not again.
“But if I had you in me chambers, why would I need anything else?” Even without using his power, the spellster had proven capable of showing him a magical time.
“You say that now, but I warn you: It can become quite addictive.”
All the more reason nae to start. Especially with the prospect of the source of such addiction departing for the other side of the continent. When? He didn’t know. If Darshan chose to join them on their excursion to the cloister, then two weeks was a given. If not, then he could return to find the man already on his way home.
“Are you going to give me this promised show of yours or nae?” The question came out rougher than he had intended, but he didn’t want to stand another session clinging to the outside of the castle wall whilst his lover chased away the guards.
Biting his lip, Darshan rocked back and onto his side. With his fingers still slick from the oil, he slowly prepared himself.
Hamish shuffled from one knee to the other, his smalls already quite a bit tighter. His lover hadn’t insisted he remain fully dressed, but Darshan hadn’t suggested otherwise either and this display wasn’t meant to involve Hamish doing anything more than watching.
“You are welcome to participate in this part, if you so desire.”
He silently shook his head, afraid that any word he voiced, however brief, would give away his true feelings on the matter. He hadn’t any experience with this type of intimacy. What if he inadvertently hurt the man with his fumbling?
Shrugging, Darshan reached for the toy. He let forth with a soft moan as it entered him. The languid way his eyes closed, the lids fluttering, and that petite bite of his bottom lip almost had Hamish forsake his personal resolve to remain a spectator.
When the toy had only a handful left to go, those hazel eyes snapped open, fastening on Hamish as his lover slowly started working the toy in and out with one hand gripping the base like a lifeline. Darshan’s hips lifted slightly at every inward stroke, a grunt escaping, before he let it gently slide out.
That hazel gaze remained fixated on Hamish, even as continued pleasure glazed the outer edges. Darshan held out his hand imploringly.
Hamish crept closer, gasping as his lover latched onto his wrist. Rather than the expected guide of where his fingers should touch, Darshan pressed his lips to Hamish’s knuckles.
Nuzzling his palm, his lover’s hand slunk up Hamish’s arm to settle behind his neck. The gentle pressure of those fingers at the nape coaxed Hamish closer still until he practically lay stretched out atop the man. Darshan sighed as he placed a chaste kiss on Hamish’s nose.
Words tumbled out his lover’s mouth, a whisper that could barely be heard above their breaths. It carried a tangled air of promise and hushed desire.
Hamish desperately wished he knew what any of it meant. “You’ve nae taught me a word of your language, you ken.”
Smiling blissfully, Darshan smoothed back a stray coil of Hamish’s hair. “I imagined you, you know.” He took up Hamish’s hand and guided it down to the toy, wrapping their fingers around the base. He moaned as, together, they resumed his previous motion. His breath grew fast and hoarse like a stag in autumn.
The heat in Hamish’s cheeks grew with each sound. “Imagined me?” he mumbled.
“Taking me just like this,” his lover panted, releasing Hamish’s fingers to leave all movement of the toy entirely up to him.
Hamish continued in a similar motion, keeping the rhythm steady even when Darshan’s hips started to move along with him.
More words poured from the man, obscene even without translation. Hamish took that as the cue to take matters into his own hands. He grasped Darshan’s length, working it in tandem with the toy, to the surprised gasp of his lover.
With his mind still fixed on Darshan’s panting figure, Hamish continued to stroke himself. Slow at first, then faster as the man in his thoughts neared the end of their time together, his lover bucking and cursing in what Hamish suspected had been several languages.
In the darkness of his room, his breath rasped loud in his ears. Between the memory and his hand, the edge didn’t sit far from reach. Once he was spent, he laid
still upon his bed whilst waiting for the furious pounding of his heart to slow.
Three heavy thumps connected with the door.
Hamish launched himself upright in the middle of the bed. His heart hammered anew, fear driving each quivering beat. He sat there like a cornered mouse, staring at the door, waiting for someone to throw it open and find him with a hand still down his smalls.
Who wanted him at this early time? Not the guards, for they would burst in with nary a care. Nor would Darshan be lingering on the other side. He doubted the man would bother with knocking, either. His brother? It couldn’t be time to saddle the horses yet, could it?
When no one immediately burst through the entrance, he slunk off the bed and padded across the room. Opening the door revealed only the trio of guards. Two of them eyed him with their usual disdain until Ranulf cleared his throat.
“I thought I heard a knock,” Hamish mumbled. Was he that far gone to be hearing things now?
“Your brother,” replied the swordsman who Hamish still hadn’t caught the name of. “Prince Gordon, your highness,” he added as if Hamish had somehow forgotten the name of his sibling. “That is… I meant to say, the knocking was his doing. Said a few bangs would be enough to wake you. Also said to let you ken the guards are readying the horses for your journey.”
Nodding and thanking the man, Hamish closed the door and set about his usual morning routine, bemoaning the lack of a fire in the hearth and some warm water to bathe in. Still, nothing chased any residuals of sleep from the brain like freezing water on the essentials.
He had gotten quite good at finding most of the items in the dark, too. His personal pack of clothes and other travelling effects were already packed and waiting, leaving him with only the need to don his warmest clothing and be off.
Except there was one thing he hadn’t done earlier…
Scooping up the box from the bed, he tucked it into his private chest of effects. Unlike the rest of his quarters, only he possessed a key. If his mother sought to rummage through his belongings whilst he was gone—and he was in no doubt that she did just that—then the toy would be safe.