by Amy Lane
Areau groaned and fell to his knees, looking at her with a combination of recrimination and awe as he shuddered and came from the blow alone. “Mistress!” he whined, and she looked down at him.
“Did I give you permission to be aroused?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Did I give you permission to touch yourself?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Did I give you permission to climax?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Follow me, then, and we’ll discuss terms of punishment.”
Areau made feeble attempts to stand, and Krissa looked down her nose at him. “Don’t. Bother.” She turned on her heel then, and Areau followed, wretchedly, on his hands and knees. The idea that he had to crawl up three flights of stairs might have made Taern’s day.
But first he had to fix the man in front of him.
“Nyx!” he snapped, and Dorjan launched a right hook that would have shattered someone’s jaw if they’d been in front of him, followed by a left cross that would have had an opponent biting off his tongue. “Nyx!” Taern screamed, and he realized that Dorjan was in the same sort of trance Areau had been, except—and Taern checked to make sure—he was not aroused.
“Dorjan!” Taern shrieked, and he coupled the name with a low tackle to the man’s knees. He rolled away as soon as the two of them hit the ground, because he wasn’t sure what was coming next, and rose to a crouch, panting.
Dorjan crouched, facing Taern, hands balanced in front of him. He was clearly ready to rush Taern and take him out. Taern leapt as Dorjan pitched forward, and literally vaulted over Dorjan’s shoulders, but Dorjan was quick. He pivoted on the very next step and swept his leg out—if Taern hadn’t been ready for it, he would have gone sprawling.
As it was, he executed a dive roll and a quick turn and came up facing Dorjan, who had resumed his crouch. They circled for a few moments, and Taern grinned fiercely. This was fun!
Suddenly Dorjan leapt on top of him, pinning his hands above his head and straddling his torso. Taern struggled beneath him for a moment and felt—
He smiled up at Dorjan lasciviously, and Dorjan wiggled his hardening cock against Taern before letting go of Taern’s hands in surprise. Taern rolled, throwing him, and they both rose to their fighting crouch again in no time. Taern shifted for a moment, adjusting himself, and realized that his cock was half-hard from the thrill. He was watching Dorjan the entire time and knew exactly when Dorjan saw that too.
Dorjan sat down suddenly, wearily, all of the fight out of him, his breath coming in hard pants. “Go bathe,” he said gruffly. “Go bathe and dress and go down for dinner. Tell Mrs. Wrinkle I won’t—”
“The hell I will!” Taern said, standing up fully. “That woman is cooking something special for you, I just know it!”
Dorjan smiled faintly. “As kind as that is—”
“What got you? Was it noticing my cock? It’s all right, Dorjan. We’re sly. I don’t mind if you notice. Was it that you were hard? We were wrestling together—I know you like my body. I took it as a compliment.”
Dorjan cringed and looked at him with hurt eyes. “I would never force myself on you!”
Taern closed his eyes and swallowed. “I know you wouldn’t,” he said softly, and then his hands went to the drawstring waistband of his soft pants. He unknotted the drawstring and pushed down his pants, knowing his cock would be hard just from being bared in front of Dorjan.
“Does it look like I’m afraid?” Taern asked, making sure Dorjan held his gaze. “Does it look like you were forcing me?” He took a step closer. “Look at it, Dorjan. It’s my manhood.” Taern grabbed it from the base and stroked, then tilted his head back and closed his eyes because it was hard, and it was good, and because Dorjan was watching him. He felt the little bit of wetness at the end, and he rubbed it with his thumb. Catching Dorjan’s gaze again, he popped his thumb in his mouth and suckled.
Dorjan’s lips parted, and he licked them without seeming to notice.
“Do you like my cock, Dorjan?” Taern asked slyly. He nodded, knowing that Dorjan would do the same.
“It’s beautiful,” Dorjan whispered. “But I am not the man who—”
“If not you, who?” Taern took another step forward. “I’ve had hundreds, you know. If I’d stayed on the streets, it would have been thousands. I know men, have held them and fucked them and been fucked by them.” He wrapped his fist around the base again and heard Dorjan suck in a tortured breath. Taern stroked himself enough for more fluid to spurt out, then stepped close so he could feel Dorjan’s breath shiver across the end.
“I am aware,” Dorjan said, but he was now as mesmerized by Taern’s cock as he had been by his own violence moments before, and Taern considered that an improvement.
“Blow on it,” Taern urged. “You’re the only man I want to see it at present, the only man I want to touch it. The least you could do is… ah, yes….” Because Dorjan obediently pursed his lean mouth and was blowing gently across the wet head. Taern closed his eyes and stroked again, drizzling precome at the pressure. He felt the whisper of something soft and wet, and his eyes flew open so he could see Dorjan sticking out his tongue to catch it as it dripped.
“Lick it,” he begged. “Please, Dorjan. It feels so good, and I’m longing to feel your tongue.”
Dorjan looked perplexed for a moment, as though he’d never done this before. Taern thought perhaps that was true. He wasn’t a virgin, technically, but he’d never done this—tender, exploratory, gentle experimentation—before.
“C’mon, Dorjan,” Taern whispered. “Pleeee—oh, Karanos, yes!” The flat of Dorjan’s tongue swirled around the head of his cock, which was peeking from his foreskin hood. Taern pulled his fist back, exposing the head entirely. “All of it,” he said. “That’s right, around the… oh, yes, the crown. The slit at the top… oh, yes. That’s special, right there. Mmm….”
For a few moments, it was enough to let Dorjan explore with his tongue. Dorjan pulled back and Taern almost wept; then he realized Dorjan was pushing up so to sit back on his knees to make his angle better. When he opened his mouth again, Taern said, “Now suck it in… there you go. Careful of the teeth….” Although the edge of a tooth could sometimes make him hotter, that wasn’t the point of this exercise, not if he wanted Dorjan to feel good about it. “Ahh… that’s right. Deeper,” he murmured, and very lightly, so lightly he wasn’t sure if Dorjan would feel it, he rested his hand on the back of Dorjan’s head. Dorjan pulled him deeper, and Taern thought he would die from the exquisite slowness of the whole act.
“Now pull back,” he ordered, massaging Dorjan’s scalp very gently through his shorn hair. “Good, now swirl your tongue….” He shuddered, because Dorjan was good at that. “Nice,” he gasped. “Now suck me deep. That’s right. So good. You’re making me feel so good, Dorjan,” he said deliberately. He pulled his hips back and thrust forward, pleasured when Dorjan swished his tongue like Taern had begged.
Dorjan looked at him, those brown eyes expressive and hopeful and eager to please.
“Yes,” Taern murmured. “I’m gonna….” He pulled back and thrust forward because he had to, and tried to finish the teaching thought. “I’m going to just fuck your mouth, if that’s all right. Keep swirling your tongue if it’s good.” Dorjan did it again when Taern pulled back, and Taern let out a sigh of satisfaction. “Feel free to… ahhhh… yes. Improvise. Wrap your hand around my shaft or cup my bollocks… yes!” Because Dorjan did both. First he wrapped his hand around Taern’s shaft and stroked up when Taern thrust forward, and then he used his other hand to gently, gently…. Oh, Taern yearned for it harder. He liked a stiff, rough, violent fuck as much as any whore in Thenis, but not today. Today it was enough that Dorjan was fondling his balls and sucking his cock and—Karanos!—doing that magic thing with his tongue, and Taern’s hips jerked hard and his fingers tightened in Dorjan’s hair.
“It’s good, Dorjan. So good. I love your mouth on
my cock. Just… just keep doing that. I’m going to come in your mouth, yes? You may swallow or spit it out or wait for me to kiss you and get it back—ahhhhhh!” That last thought must have aroused Dorjan beyond measure, because he sucked on Taern hard, and oh, that edge of pain did it. Taern closed his eyes and hurtled toward the black-exploding-white of oblivion, pulling Dorjan’s head to his groin and spurting, urgent and thick, into his mouth.
Dorjan’s throat worked once or twice, and then Taern felt him holding the spend hotly around his cock head. Dorjan pulled back slowly, suckling as he went, and Taern spurted twice more, responding to the extra pressure. When he was done, Dorjan looked up at Taern, his eyes wide and limpid and hopeful, and Taern sank to his knees and kissed him, taking his own spend and swallowing, and then kissing more, and more, and more. He licked the inside of Dorjan’s mouth, cleaning his come from every corner, and Dorjan let him in, allowed him access, allowed Taern to clean him and suckle on his tongue and take care.
When Taern pulled back from the kiss, he reached into Dorjan’s lap to finish him off, and he was met by a spreading wetness across the front of Dorjan’s pants. He looked at Dorjan in wonder, and Dorjan broke away, stood up quickly, and grabbed a swath of linen hanging from the side of sparring ring to wipe his mouth and then to dab at his soft-knit long underwear.
He was looking anywhere but Taern, and Taern, after spending those precious moments having Dorjan’s thoughts mirrored in his eyes, was not going to let him turn his back again.
He didn’t say anything, he just walked into Dorjan’s heat until their chests touched, and cupped Dorjan’s cheeks between his palms.
Dorjan looked up, surprised, and Taern pulled him down for another kiss. “I really enjoyed that,” he said against Dorjan’s lips. “It would destroy me if you were ashamed of it.”
Dorjan didn’t say anything, but he nodded in understanding and kissed Taern again, roughly and quickly. Then he grabbed the towel and looped his arms around Taern’s shoulders.
“We need to shower for dinner,” he said, his voice almost apologetic, and Taern nodded. “Should we tell Krissa and Areau?”
Taern shook his head, unwilling to explain. “I think we should have Mrs. Wrinkle bring them a tray,” he murmured. Did that little interlude count as slow? He hoped so—it was apparently as slow as he could go without jumping his personal cricket over the bloody bridge. Besides, if Krissa was right, it could be the sweetest moment Dorjan had for a couple of days. Perhaps slow was not as important as teaching lessons when the opportunity arose.
DORJAN was quiet as they took their turns at the shower and then dressed for dinner. (Taern insisted on them using the same bathroom, enjoying Dorjan’s discomfiture immensely.) Dorjan was polite and courteous and didn’t argue at all with Taern’s decision to move his belongings into Dorjan’s room. Of course he was also extremely distracted, but Taern figured he was allowed to be. The thing that had set him to beat the sand out of the poor defenseless leather bag had not gone away. But when Taern got out of the shower, he found Dorjan trying to tape his own knuckles, and he decided to put a stop to that right quick.
“Here,” he said shortly. “Sit down before you hurt yourself. Move.” He pulled on his third-best suit (since the second-best suit was still in a puddle in the gymnasium) in an all-fired hurry, leaving the smallclothes since he didn’t see what the big deal was to be dressing so close to when you were supposed to be going to bed anyway. Especially when he slept naked, which wasn’t the point. The point was, he didn’t want Dorjan confusing what he was about to do with sex—not this time.
“Here, I’ll button the shirt in a moment,” he muttered in exasperation.
Dorjan sat patiently, his mind most assuredly elsewhere. Taern caught his attention, though, when he picked up his one hand and daubed antiseptic on it from a brown bottle. Dorjan hissed and Taern shrugged. “You could have avoided these,” he admonished. “I have no pity for these. The next time something heinous happens, come home and talk to me—don’t beat up helpless gymnasium equipment.”
“I’ll do whatever I bloody well please,” Dorjan said, but he said it without heat.
“Oh yes, because that’s what you always do—what you bloody well please.” Impatiently, Taern started wrapping gauze on the clean scrapes. “It’s why you risk your neck on the streets and why you risk your family’s holdings living a double life. It’s why you keep Areau here, although it must have crossed your mind more than once to send him back to your father’s keep—”
“I need him,” Dorjan muttered. “His armor, his training—”
“You could live without,” Taern said smartly, finishing the gauze up on one hand and moving to the other. “You could live without being the Nyx—but you bloody well please to try to make it up to Areau and you bloody well please to try to fix your festering province when it should probably just be allowed to self-destruct, and you bloody-well please to live like a monk—
“I do not—”
“Except for that abomination with Areau, of which we won’t speak for a moment. Yes, Dorjan, you bloody well please to throw away your life. You bloody well please to continuously flog yourself for things which are not your fault. And you will bloody well please to do that mentally and I can’t stop you, you will bloody well please to not beat yourself against helpless gym equipment to the point where you hurt yourself!”
Dorjan glared. “I’m not going to stop doing it just because you yell at me,” he said patiently. “I’m not a child.”
Taern knew it. But Karanos, it hurt him too. “Well, could you at least tell me what it was all about so I can think that maybe it was worth it?” Taern finished the gauze, and Dorjan sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands.
“During dessert,” he said after a moment. “I’m hungry, and I need to gather my words.”
DINNER really was good. Served in the dining room, at one end of the long table, it was the most formal thing Taern had seen about Dorjan’s mansion. He smiled at Mrs. Wrinkle as she brought out their covered plates, and although she winked at him, she didn’t smile back, apparently taking her role as servant/matchmaker very seriously this evening. The meal itself was wonderful—stuffed pheasant and rice, with a cucumber salad and warm soup beforehand. Mrs. Wrinkle had baked fresh bread, and it was crusty on the outside and soft on the inside, and there was fresh butter to go with it. Taern loved the old girl all over again, just eating her food—especially because he knew the food had been made for Dorjan.
Taern dug in and ate with enthusiasm, and he saw Dorjan watching him from the corner of his eye and then joining him. Good. During his time on the streets, Taern had not always been well fed. Even at Madame M’s times had been hard and they’d had to pool their resources sometimes simply to afford thin potato soup. But Dorjan’s family keep was one of the best managed in the province—even Taern had heard that. Very often, if there was a shopkeeper who had food in a time of want, he was supplied from Dorjan’s keep, and the prices were kept low too. Taern knew that more than one of those vendors had slipped him an apple when he’d first arrived in this city, and those apples had been the difference between an alive Taern and a dead one.
He appreciated the food, and it was nice to know he could spread that sort of joy.
Mrs. Wrinkle brought them apple pie and ice cream for dessert, and it seemed like some sort of a sign. Taern refused to speak during the apple pie, because it was sublime and required his full attention. Dorjan didn’t speak either, but after they’d cleaned off their plates and Taern had licked his finger of the last sticky bit of syrup, Dorjan pushed his chair back and sat for a moment.
“Do you know the names of the six provinces, Taern?”
Taern blinked. Schoolroom stuff.
“Karanos, Biemansland, Conrad, Gretzky, Davanos, and Corian. Biemansland has the asteroids as its main asset but also a lot of pastoral farmland and the river to help with transport before the millipedes were adapted to be powered from the lumium. Karanos has�
�.” Taern rolled his eyes. “Swamp gas, mostly—marshland. Lots of hieters—those big, scaly prehistoric land-roaming ichthyosaurs that like to eat people. My father once told me that he made the entire keep’s food money exporting those skins to Thenis so ladies could have fashionable boots.”
Dorjan nodded. “Good. Your father ran a tight schoolroom in his keep.”
Taern smiled, lost in memory. “He used to remind us all the time,” he said, thinking. “He would remind us that the provinces were founded by the men who found the world. Each one of them took their portion of colonists and set up a government and a trade, and their one goal was to trade equably and fairly. They were not”—Taern’s eyes found Dorjan’s face, and he felt as though this one thing was of great importance—“not to be confused with gods.”
Dorjan nodded. “Your father was a wise man. That’s what my father said too. He told us to swear by them all we wanted—but to believe that there was a force in the universe stronger than men and stronger than commerce, and that good and evil were defined by that and no other.”
“They would have spoken well together, our fathers,” Taern said softly, and Dorjan nodded and leaned forward.
“Alum Septra—one of our Triari—was the stratego who ordered the assault on Kiamath Keep. He told us—told the Triari, told the Forum—that we were assaulting a cache of weapons. When he was asked why Karanos would be stockpiling weapons, he reminded us all that Karanos didn’t have the resources that Biemansland did and that instead of trading, your government was thinking about taking it by force.”
Taern wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t remember politics that way,” he said politely. “But then, I was only nine.”
Dorjan closed his eyes, and when he opened them, there was the faint memory of their moment in the gymnasium in his expression. “Yes, Taern, you were only nine,” he repeated and grimaced. “And now you are only nineteen. And I am—”