by Aldrea Alien
His lover nodded. Whether in agreement or reassurance, Darshan wasn’t quite sure. “Of course you will be,” Hamish mumbled as the skin beneath Darshan’s fingertips grew steadily warmer. “I was thinking, since the rest of the competitors are taking tomorrow to recuperate, that you might be willing to join Gor, the lads and me for a little stroll through the forest. Maybe practice hitting a few targets?”
Darshan lowered his arms, gently returning them to dancing in a slow, meandering pace around the mezzanine. “Sounds prudent.” Wandering unfamiliar forests with subpar vision was a risky ordeal. If he had a point of reference beforehand, then he might stand a chance of sticking to the appropriate section.
Hamish ducked his head, peering at Darshan. “And you’re all right with the lads joining us?”
He cocked his head, dread quietly starting to bubble in his stomach. “Any reason why I would not be?” He hadn’t done anything to make Hamish’s nephews uncertain around him. “I rather missed their opinion on the duelling.”
“Really? I didnae think you’d be all that keen on spending time with them.” His gaze slid from Darshan to a spot far in the distance. “What with your lack of a desire to have bairns of your own.”
What had he said about children that’d given the impression he disliked being near them? “I have plenty of younger sisters. Dealing with them takes a little more finesse than that rowdy lot. I—”
“But having your own would be—how did you put it?—horrific?”
Darshan gnawed on his upper lip. His preference to remain without a direct heir wasn’t some clear-cut topic. And it was certainly not a conversation he wanted to have. Be it here or later on.
He had railed against his father’s insistence of him siring children for so many years that refusing the idea was almost second nature. However, if the right opportunity, with the right person, presented itself? Maybe. It was dependent on so many other factors that he had barely given it a passing thought much less decent introspection.
“Dar? Did you even hear me?”
Jerked out of his contemplation, he stared up at Hamish. They had halted in the middle of the room. The music had stopped at some point. When? He wouldn’t dare to guess.
“Forgive me, mea lux. It would appear my thoughts are unwilling to settle on anything more than light conversation.” He shook his head. “The hour is late and this is a topic I would prefer not to talk about.” Or even think on. “But is it not a bit premature to think of children?”
Why did he wish to speak on it? Did Hamish even think it would be possible for them outside of adopting? Not that the idea didn’t hold some merit. It wouldn’t satisfy his father’s insistence on it being of Darshan’s blood, but it seemed plausible enough on the surface.
Hamish bent to collect a tankard Darshan hadn’t even noticed sitting at the foot of the railing.
Well, that certainly answers the question of when he last drank. Although, how many his lover had consumed was a far more pressing concern.
Hamish tipped back the tankard, shaking it to drain the last drop, and sighed in one blustery blast. “You’re right. We should focus on getting you through the other trials and…”
“See you settled in Minamist?” Darshan finished when his lover’s voice trailed off. “You are going to love it. The palace is set a little further back from the shore and we rather lack the imposing stature of your cliffs, but you can see the Stamekian shoreline on a clear day and—”
A new melody started up, livelier than the last and loud enough to jangle his hearing. Had those blasted shrieking instruments returned?
Still, Darshan took hold of his lover’s hands. He probably had enough in him to twirl for a bit. “Care for another dance?” he asked as if Hamish’s foot tapping to the beat wasn’t answer enough.
“Do you want to lead this one, too, or should I?”
Grimacing, Darshan ducked his head. “I admit, I am unfamiliar with this dance. Lead away.”
Hamish swept him into the middle of the mezzanine as the deep boom of a drum resounded through the great hall.
The dance started off quite simple. Although they held hands, Hamish remained at his side with one arm behind Darshan as they marched forward then back again to a steady, reedy tune.
In the distance, Darshan fancied he heard a voice calling out to the dancers below. Just as they’d done during that nightmare of sound and the crush of bodies he’d been unable to escape until finding himself here.
With one flick of his wrist, Hamish had Darshan twirling on the spot. He had taken perhaps three rotations before his lover grasped his hand and guided Darshan through a move akin to the four-step he had led them through earlier, only much faster.
The music picked up pace, the screeching of that dreadful Tirglasian instrument and the tattoo of drums overtaking the lighter notes. Hamish hooked his arm into the crook of Darshan’s elbow and they cavorted in their little two-man circle as the music swelled.
Having been forced into a similar move earlier, Darshan was able to keep his balance a little better this time. The heady beat, a combination of drums and stomping boots, thundered through his body nevertheless. His own feet pounded out the same tune as he did his best to match pace with Hamish.
Magic tingled through his body, temporarily ridding his muscles of weariness. That would eventually take its own toll.
He lost all sense of time, barely registered the music fluttering between the heart-stirring pounding and the lighter trills of flutes. Each change demanded a different action, but he somehow managed to follow along with Hamish.
Despite the weariness threatening to gnaw at his bones, he couldn’t help smiling. He had caught only glimpses of his lover dancing throughout the evening, but Hamish hadn’t displayed even a fraction of the unadulterated glee that now adorned his face. Such a sight was his alone to behold.
Hamish grasped him around the waist as the music climbed its way to an almost deafening crescendo. He deftly guided them as they twirled across the mezzanine, growing ever closer to the wall opposite the railing.
The drums stopped with a single echoing bang just as Darshan’s backside lightly connected with the brickwork surrounding the mezzanine’s window.
Darshan leant back against the ledge, breathless. His legs wobbled at the point of collapse. “I should take you dancing more often.” Getting caught up in the music was one of the best parts of Udynean soirées. The orgies that generally followed often being the other highlight.
Hamish chuckled. He also leant on the ledge, albeit with his arms on either side of Darshan. “As long as you’re nae as distant in public as you were tonight.”
“It appears I play my part as the uninterested foreigner all too well.”
Another tune started up, soft and slow, clearly meant as a breather between more exuberant dances.
Rather than suggest they participate in a third spell of cavorting around the mezzanine, Hamish seemed content to merely stand. “It’s nae that, you looked like your thoughts were out to sea.”
“Did I?” His mind was abuzz with so much, it could barely steady itself for more than a few minutes. Perhaps if they were to retire to some place a little quieter. “Is there somewhere we can be alone?”
“We are.”
Darshan shook his head. “Really alone. Just for a little while. It does not have to be physical,” he added in a rush when Hamish’s brow rose. He rather doubted he’d be good for more than just sitting there and that wasn’t acceptable. “I just… I hate all this hiding.” In a few more days, that would be over. Nevertheless, his nose wrinkled at the thought of having to continue this act for another moment. “There will be no more of it once I win.”
“Aye,” Hamish breathed, drawing closer. The scent of alcohol lingered on his breath, even after dancing for so long. “That would be nice.” His hands roamed almost idly down Darshan’s side.
In one clean move, Hamish fastened his hands onto Darshan’s hips and hoisted him up until he sat on the
window ledge.
“Mea lux!” Darshan managed on the wings of a gasp before his lover’s lips were on him. Still, he persisted as Hamish drew back for air. “What if—?” Again, his voice was muffled by that sinful mouth.
Weaving a few of his fingers into his lover’s beard and gently tugging was enough to garner Hamish’s attention. “What if they discover us?” He didn’t think Gordon would allow even his own mother to pass, but it had been risky enough dancing in the shadows.
Surely, they’d be tempting fate to do anything more?
Grinning, Hamish swept their lips together in several slow kisses that tied Darshan’s insides into a knot. “Then they’ll ken I’ve already picked me a favourite.” He pressed his hand against Darshan’s chest. “Which I will announce once you make it through the forest course.”
“No pressure, then?” Darshan quipped, rather conscious of the effect all this kissing was having on his nethers. Not now. If he could just extract himself with some dignity—
Hamish’s hand slunk lower, cupping the steadily growing bulge in Darshan’s trousers.
“ ‘Mish,” Darshan breathed. “Are you drunk?” All the evidence pointed to such a possibility, although the same could likely be said of himself and he had imbibed very little in the pursuit of keeping his wits about him.
“A little,” Hamish murmured, trailing his fingertips over Darshan’s groin. “I think I ken exactly what you want.”
Darshan remained still. As much as he wanted to entwine his fingers into his lover’s clothes and tear them from Hamish’s body, he steadfastly kept his palms firmly against the ledge. Being drunk was no invitation to paw at the man, no matter how much he believed Hamish would enjoy such reciprocation. “Please do elucidate.”
Chuckling with a wicked delight that prickled Darshan’s skin, Hamish slowly undid the ties to Darshan’s trousers. “I reckon you’re after a big, burly kind of man like meself to pin your arse against whatever surface there is and have their way with you.” Hamish nuzzled at Darshan’s neck, his breath hot. “Am I aiming close enough to the mark?”
Against his better judgement, Darshan tipped his head back. By rights, he should remove himself from the situation altogether, but he couldn’t will himself to tug his lover’s hand free of his trousers. “Dead centre, in fact.”
“Is that all I am?” Hamish asked, the huskiness of his voice all but melting the last of Darshan’s resolve. “A fantasy?”
“Only to begin with.”
His lover rocked back. Even Hamish’s hand shifted to rest on Darshan’s thigh, allowing him a breath of reprieve.
“Was I not that for you?” he pressed.
Hamish’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.
“Neither of us had known the other existed for more than a few days before I kissed you.” Gods, had it really only been the better part of a month since then? It felt more like a distant memory. “In all honesty, if things had gone the way they do back home, we would have spent one night, maybe two, together and that would have been it.”
His lover offered up little more than a harrumph.
“And it would have been a terrible waste.” He caressed Hamish’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. “To miss knowing you, mea lux.”
Hamish pressed his lips to the heel of Darshan’s palm.
“So yes, I do imagine you doing those things you mentioned—and even the naughty thoughts still swimming through your mind that you dare not voice—but I fear it is only because I cannot imagine doing them with anyone else.”
“Naughty thoughts?” Hamish whispered, his lips brushing Darshan’s palm with every word. “Like this?”
Before Darshan had the wherewithal to grasp what his lover was doing, Hamish had already tugged Darshan’s trousers down. The fabric pooled at his ankles, neatly trapping him should he dare to think of immediately vacating the area. His drawers were also swiftly worked down, releasing Darshan into the night air.
His lover’s fingers, their grip firm but gentle, wrapped around Darshan’s length.
He sagged against Hamish. “You might be a while there.” Getting off on manual manipulation wasn’t always a given. Darshan had to be very close to the edge first. Had they such time?
Darshan dared to glance at the stairway entrance. Would they hear anyone entering in time to not be caught?
Hamish chuckled, soft and low. “I dinnae think I will be.” He cradled Darshan’s jaw. His scarred thumb brushed along Darshan’s cheekbone.
He obeyed the gentle request for him to turn his head and meet Hamish’s gaze. A strange warmth flowed through him at the sight. He sat here, half naked, barely having Hamish’s hands upon him.
Should he really feel so… loved?
“You are breathtaking,” Hamish whispered.
Had this been any other time, any other man, Darshan would’ve been quick with a witty reply or flippant retort. He’d had plenty of men flatter him or speak his praises. But faced with such a vision of raw adoration…
Words failed him.
“Consider this as a reward for your little victory.” Hamish sank to his knees. His breath ghosted across Darshan’s exposed groin.
Darshan’s lips parted, a protest on his tongue. Nothing escaped beyond a gentle groan.
Wetting his lips, Darshan rallied his senses for a second attempt. “And if someone hears us?” All it would take was for one moan to leave his throat a little too exuberantly and anyone could just wander up here to investigate. Not without barging past Gordon, of course, but there was little else to stop a person. He was not some exhibitionist, exposing himself to all and sundry. Not without a great deal of alcohol, at least.
“They willnae hear a thing if you’re quiet.” Hamish lowered his head. His lips closed over the tip of Darshan’s length. He slid down a ways, not enough to engulf him, but it—
Gods.
Thankfully, the ledge supported his weight or he would’ve dropped. Darshan pressed his fist tightly against his lips, the rings digging into his skin. Silence wasn’t his forte. Especially when the mouth in question was this damn talented and… Magical. Maybe it actually was. Glorious and warm. A talent that had been utterly wasted for so many years.
His lover’s head bobbed in earnest, making good on his prediction that he was definitely not going to be at this for long.
Darshan bit hard on his lip, fighting to keep even a single moan from escaping. His breath panted through his nose. His head flopped forward, the light from the hall below further obscured by his hair. He shut his eyes, squeezing them tight.
When Hamish chose to swallow Darshan’s length in its entirety, he couldn’t stop the inelegant jerk of his hips.
His hands slapped either side of the window frame to keep himself steady. Magic flared through him. The stone beneath his fingers grew hot, groaning as he dug his fingers in. In the darkness behind his eyes, his head spun. Raw power continued to pour through his fingertips. Everything inside him grew taut.
Darshan tumbled over the edge like an avalanche.
He opened one eye, assessing the mezzanine for whatever damage he might’ve caused. Slowly, he extracted his fingers from the holes they had moulded into the window frame. It seemed otherwise intact. As did everything else.
Good. His body trembled, drained. He had almost expected to find he’d blown out the windowpane or the wall, or that the floor had caved in.
All acts he had inadvertently done in the past.
Hamish stood, half-tugging Darshan’s clothes up with him. He pressed close for a chaste kiss. “Sleep well, me heart.” Then his lover was off down the stairs before Darshan could think enough to respond, never mind make himself publically presentable again.
Darshan hastened to pull up his clothes. He rushed down the stairs after the man, still securing his trousers and barely halting in time to miss colliding into Gordon.
Of Hamish, there was no sign.
Well now. What was he to do? Chase his lover down or find a somewhat gentler p
ursuit to calm his still thundering heart? One thing was definitely certain, he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon.
Hamish grumbled under his breath as he paced between the roots of the two giant yews, waiting for Darshan to show. He had specified morning. Hadn’t he? Did the man not realise that meant daybreak? It was well past that now, although the forest floor still clung to grey light.
His fingers idly trailed across the yew trunk before he ground his heel into the dirt and marched back to the other yew. The trees were rumoured to be over four hundred years old and supposedly marked the spot where the young prince had lost the usurpers looking to destroy the last of his clan. Of course, the truth behind the tale was always a matter for debate, the story having become more myth than history.
Hamish tipped his head up as he passed the midway point between trees. The branches were gnarled. They wrapped around each other, eternally connected. Until one of them dies. Perhaps the connections forged through the centuries of growth would be enough to hold the other up.
“Do you think he’s gone and gotten himself lost?” Gordon asked, neatly snapping Hamish’s thoughts back to the present.
Hamish paused for a step in his pacing to glare at his brother. They had only been waiting in the forest for a short while. The fog hadn’t even shifted from beneath the canopy. “He said he would bloody be here and he will come soon enough.” Was his lover having difficulty getting to the tunnel unnoticed?
With Gordon’s key in Darshan’s possession, they had been forced to circle the cliff. But, in bringing his nephews along, their travels came with a plausible story of taking them out to practice their archery.
The three boys stood nearby, firing arrows at a tree one of them had marked with shallow slashes.
Hamish halted by the second yew, leaning against the trunk to watch the trio. They jostled each other between draws, sometimes biffing leaves or dirt to throw off their brothers’ aim. Just like we used to. That little trick Bruce did to flick debris behind his back was almost identical to the one Nora had used on him as children.