by Aldrea Alien
Dylan inhaled deeply, his head spinning from the sudden influx. “Unless what?” he whispered.
“You wish to stop here.” The man’s hands brushed over his buttocks, grasping them, moulding them. Rubbing himself along the crease between them in a slow, rocking motion. “There are other ways I can pleasure you, it does not have to be this.”
Dylan shook his head. Stopping wasn’t what he wanted. He tried to do as the man instructed. He gulped down a great mouthful of air, letting it out in one long and slow exhale. Over and over, he drew in another lungful, held it for the count of four and breathed out.
At last, he was finally able to relax. “Do it.”
The elf repositioned himself and the pressure increased, greater than previously. Subtle pain and pleasure wove themselves into one glorious, tangled bundle.
Dylan’s mouth dropped open, a strangled gasp passing his lips. His jaw moved silently, the cry that roared through his lungs dying as it reached his throat. Just when he thought this wasn’t going to work, when the call to stop almost touched his tongue, he felt the hound enter him.
On reflex, every muscle in his body stiffened. By the gods. Dylan knelt there, his legs shaking. It felt…
Well, that was a bit of a muddle. Different, certainly. A little uncomfortable, but more stretched then painful, like a limb that’d been overworked the previous day. Already, the initial ache was beginning to fade. Overall it wasn’t… bad, just… odd. He swallowed dryly, straining to hear every sound escaping the man.
“Try not to move.” The hound’s voice was strained, tight. His trembling fingers shifted from Dylan’s hips. “Give yourself some time to adjust.” Those sure hands caressed his lower back and the tops of his thighs. One slipped beneath them to stroke Dylan’s still hard length.
Dylan remained still, unsure if his immobility was due to the man’s words or some unheard desire to stop. He resumed the slow breathing, trying to relax and, eventually, the last of his tensed muscles turned pliant under the elf’s ministrations.
“There we go.” The hound’s hands resumed grasping his hips. “Would you like the rest of it now?”
He dared to glance over his shoulder. His legs almost gave at the sight of the man kneeling behind him, the torchlight backlighting a head tipped to one side in question. The light illuminated his ears, turning them ruddy. “You mean it’s not all in?” He already felt like he was going to burst. Surely the elf was joking.
Tracker shrugged. He held up a thumb and forefinger, squeezing them together until they were roughly an inch apart. “You are new at this, I thought you would prefer slow. We can stop now if you wish, but I have yet to reach the good part.”
Now his body had become accustomed to the hound’s presence, there was a certain gentle comfort that fluttered in his gut at every breath. Not exactly mind-blowing, but… nice. How could this not be the good bit? “There’s more?”
The elf gave a small, gasping laugh. “There is indeed, although it would be easier to show you.” His grip on Dylan’s hips tightened. “I promise, I will be gentle.”
“All right,” he mumbled. “Show me.”
The pressure increased. Not as sharp as the initial push. There didn’t seem to be much hindrance as there’d been at the beginning, the hound had either oiled himself to dripping or done a fine job preparing him.
Nevertheless, Tracker was true to his word. It was slow going, he paused with each breath, taking his time to work himself deeper. Until finally, the elf stopped and, as Dylan readjusted to the incredibly full sensation of having the man in him, he became aware that the cessation of forward movement was only because Tracker couldn’t go any further.
The warming brush of lips danced up his spine, lingering on each vertebra. “Are we still all right?”
Dylan nodded and hummed. ‘All right’ didn’t quite define what he was feeling, but it would do until his mind could remember enough words. If this wasn’t the part the elf meant, then he was almost hesitant to discover what was.
“Would you like me to continue?” His hips rocked against Dylan experimentally. Shallow. Tentative.
Glittering spots danced across Dylan’s vision. A moan escaped his lips as heat flooded his body. Not quite sure his tongue could be entrusted to utter a coherent word, he grunted another affirmation and nodded violently.
Tracker drew back until he was all but free, pulling a deep groan from Dylan’s throat. The elf drove in again in one smooth movement and, despite himself, a dreadfully high-pitched gasp escaped Dylan’s lips. No, not a gasp. A squeak. He had squeaked.
Their bodies shook with Tracker’s rich laughter. “Shall we try for a manlier sound?”
He glared over his shoulder at the man, but it only made Tracker laugh harder. Fresh heat surged across his face, giving him the strength to speak. “You ought to talk what with the way you’ve yelled.” The cooling thread of healing tugged at his power, soothing him as much as the elf’s hands travelling up and down his back.
“I feel… You are… doing something.” Concern, poorly veiled by amusement, slipped out as he spoke. “Magic?”
Dylan’s face grew hotter still. He hadn’t thought the hound would notice this. “It feels a little… strange,” he mumbled, hoping that was explanation enough. He lingered just slightly on the edge of unpleasant, the elf’s re-entry a little rougher than the first. Not pain, at least not now. Still, his innate ability continued to search for the cause of the initial burn.
“Strange?” The elf echoed, outright humour tinting the word. “Well, that is one way to put it. Not painful, though?” The mirth faded from his voice at the question.
Dylan shook his head. Any lingering tenderness, no matter how small, had been banished by his magic almost as soon as it appeared. He was very much aware that Tracker was in him, but that was it.
“Good.” Those soothing fingers were back, running up his spine, their tips gently raking over his shoulder blades. “The strangeness does not tend to last long, but if it is too much for you…”
“No.” If he gave the order to stop before they took this to its ultimate conclusion, he’d be kicking himself in the morning. “I can handle it. Continue.”
Tracker resumed grasping his hips. “As you like.” The hound gave a few shallow thrusts, as if he wasn’t quite certain whether to believe Dylan.
When Dylan didn’t object, the man began moving in earnest, driving in and out. The thrusts were slow at first and shallow before becoming longer and deeper, the pace gradually increasing as the elf found a rhythm that suited both of them.
Dylan buried his face into the bedding, his teeth clenched as he struggled to contain the sounds that fought for release. This was what the elf had meant earlier. The flushes of heat, the molten fire where their skin touched, the spikes of pure pleasure that set his head to spinning, each one building on the next…
Over his muffled moans, he caught other noises. The slap of their bodies meeting, the ragged huff of Tracker’s breath, their steadily combining moans and grunts… All of it filled his ears, feeding his hunger. Desire for more burned through his core, overpowering any other thought.
Dylan kept his face in the blankets, biting the rough weave and panting through his nose. His whole body pulsed to the beat of his frantic heart. White rimmed his vision. He was so close to the edge that it hurt. And it still wasn’t enough to tip him over.
He leant on one arm and pushed against Tracker, helping to maintain the pace the elf had set. With the other hand, he searched to relieve the building pressure.
Dylan barely felt his fingertip upon himself when the man swatted his hand away and took up his twitching length. A whimper tightened his throat. The touch he’d craved so much bordered on painful.
“Track…” he gasped, the word cracking as it escaped his lips.
The hound’s fingers squeezed in response and, for a heartbeat or two, blackness filled his vision. He faltered, left temporarily dazed and panting. Blindly, Dylan thrust into the ha
nd as the elf worked him with a skill that made his previous efforts seem pathetic.
Tracker hooked his free hand around a hip. The man’s fingers dug into Dylan’s flesh, holding him fast. He felt the elf shift beneath him, repositioning. Heat from the man’s chest burrowed into his back like magma, eating it way to his core.
Before he could object, the hound set a faster pace. Tracker’s hoarse pants filled the room, each movement accompanied by a grunt. Dylan’s or the elf’s, he wasn’t certain anymore.
Faced with such an onslaught, Dylan could barely keep himself in place. Each thrust had them inching up the bed. He stretched out his arms, uncaring that the act left him fully at the man’s mercy, and searched for something to anchor them.
His palms slapped the headboard, eliciting a hiss. It was far closer than he had anticipated. The wood creaked alarmingly as he pressed against the panel, but keeping his arms braced stopped them from moving any further. His legs shook, threatening to dump him on his stomach. If he wasn’t already half straddling the elf, they very well might have.
Still, Tracker persisted. By the gods, what does the king feed his hounds? The man had to be as close as he was and he’d just as clearly been holding back earlier on.
Then, as this whole act started to grow uncomfortable, Tracker went rigid, arriving with a shout. He leant against Dylan’s back, panting. Only his hand continued to move.
He needn’t have bothered. Dylan’s body was already buzzing at the sound of the elf’s completion, the molten fire burning in his gut digging deeper. He teetered on that glittering edge. All he needed was a… little… bit… mor—
White flashed across his vision. The elf’s name left his lips in a cry, repeated over and over amongst a stream of expletives and blasphemies, control lost as he rode out the orgasm.
Eventually, reality swung back around and he caught the edge of Tracker’s chuckle. The man’s weight shifted, lifting, clearly having come down from the peak of his own height. “Did I not say I would have you screaming my name?” he mumbled, collapsing on the bedding, his chest still heaving.
Dylan rolled onto his side. The dregs of euphoria left him drunk and happily delirious. It tugged at the corners of his mouth, drawing his lips into a grin. I could get used to this. He brushed the hair from his face and snickered. That was one thought he didn’t think he’d ever have.
They lay there, the elf’s head resting on Dylan’s outstretched arm, both silent as they slowly regained their breaths. Dylan ran a finger over the man’s skin, idly tracing the snake tattoo encompassing Tracker’s shoulder and running part way down the elf’s upper arm.
Humming softly, Tracker shuffled closer, his leg hooking around one of Dylan’s, until their bodies were flush. The elf nuzzled into Dylan’s shoulder, his warm breath gently skittering across Dylan’s neck.
A small smile curved his lips. He enjoyed snuggling after sex, and would whenever he’d the chance. Yet, this felt different. Almost… Peaceful. Dylan’s eyes slid shut. Lulled by the warmth emanating from the elf, he slowly began to nod off.
With his mind no longer addled by pleasure, his thoughts sleepily turned to those he’d lost. Images floated before his eyes. His friends, his guardian… Ness.
Guilt flooded his veins, jolting him awake. He stared at the ceiling, tears blurring his vision of the wooden beams. Throughout all of their fooling around, he’d barely given a thought towards the people who had died here.
His past lay in tatters, the bird-pecked bones of it all around him. And what did he do with that knowledge? The Seven Sisters are going to put me in limbo for this. Eternally floating along the river without judgement was all he could hope for now. Endless stretches of darkness all because instead of honouring the dead by respecting the place they had fallen… He rutted in its very ashes.
He was worse than a whore. What’s wrong with me? Sniffing back his tears, Dylan cleared his throat in some attempt to banish the sobs welling in his chest.
And what of Authril? She claimed she’d no interest in him beyond the physical, yet had clearly been upset over the hound kissing him. He’d given no thought to her at all. Was he really so eager to offer up himself that he couldn’t remain with one person for any longer than a few weeks?
I am. No point trying to sugar-coat it.
He was too used to the way things were in the tower. Everyone there understood that sex was a game. It couldn’t be permanent without heartache. But he’d been leashed, would be again once they reached Wintervale. He could never be a part of the tower again, even if there still was a tower.
At his side, the hound stirred. “Dylan?” The word came softly, almost tender. “Are you all right?” Tracker propped himself up, the edges of concern moulding his face. He brushed the pad of his thumb across Dylan’s cheek. “Does it still hurt? It is perfectly normal to be a little uncomfortable the first time, but if you are in pain—”
“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head in the off chance the man hadn’t heard. “It’s not that.”
Tracker gave an oddly relieved little sigh. “What then?”
“It’s not exactly pillow talk.” And what comfort could the hound possibly offer except for more sex?
A soft chuckle, absent of mirth, left the elf’s lips. “I am sure I can cope with a serious topic.”
“I—” His chin wobbled as he went to speak. He bit his lip and remained silent. If he uttered a single word now, he was likely to wind up bawling like a newborn.
“Oh.” Long fingers caressed Dylan’s temple, brushing back the hair that’d fallen across his face. “I was beginning to wonder how long it would take to fully sink in. It seems I am too perfect a distraction from your thoughts. Come here.” The hound wrapped his arms around Dylan, pulling them close.
He pushed the man back. Or, at least, he tried to. “You don’t have to—”
“Hush,” Tracker breathed. “I have not seen you cry a single tear since we discovered this atrocity.”
“I don’t need to.” Crying wouldn’t bring anyone back. What he needed was a target.
“Do not be so foolish. Of course you do.” The man’s arms tightened, tucking Dylan’s head beneath his chin. “There is no reason to fight it,” he murmured, his cheek pressed to Dylan’s crown. “To mourn is not a weakness.”
Dylan tried to protest further, that he wasn’t some babe in need of coddling. But having the soothing press of another being against him was the final chink in the barrier he’d been so desperately trying to keep everything bottled into. Tears poured down his cheeks as Tracker tucked his head against him. Dylan buried his face into the elf’s warm chest and sobbed.
He didn’t know how long he cried. All he was aware of was the hound’s gentle touches. The soft circles on his back, the caresses down his hair, the minute rocking and barely audible whispers of assurance.
By the time he’d no tears left to cry, the hound’s skin was saturated. Dylan tried to shrink out of Tracker’s arms, surprised when the man’s grip held fast. “I’m sorry,” he croaked. His throat felt far too tight. He coughed, hoping to clear it, to no avail. “I didn’t mean to blubber all over you.”
Tracker made no move to disentangle them. The hound continued to stroke Dylan’s hair and the wet press of lips brushed his crown. “My dear spellster,” he breathed. “There is no need to apologise. Besides, it is not as if this is the first time I have been cried on.” His long fingers caressed Dylan’s jaw, tilting it. “But I swear to you, I will find the one responsible for what happened here and I will make them pay.”
Dylan wiped his face dry as best as he could on the back of his hand. “You don’t have to do that.” He knew empty promises when he heard them.
“On the contrary, this is something that cannot go unpunished. The king will have questions as to how this came to be. I do not believe for a moment that they did this to themselves, so that leaves only outside forces.”
“Like the one your prostitute friend mentioned.”
“Ye
s. Where did they go? A force large enough to do this cannot just up and vanish. There has to be a trace, somewhere. I intend to find it and see that they are dealt with.” The man slowly untangled himself from Dylan’s limbs and slid to the side of the bed. “But for now…”
Dylan watched in silence as the hound slipped off the bed, too cowardly to speak further. The removal of the elf’s warm presence left him far colder than he should’ve been.
Rather than leave, Tracker carefully removed the soiled blanket bunched beneath Dylan, using bits of it to clean the night’s exertion from their skin.
Dylan froze. Usually, this part of sex was something he did to himself, in private. Warmth washed over his face. He turned his head, heeding the strange thought that he could somehow regain control over his blushing if he didn’t look at the hound. It certainly didn’t help that Tracker continued in silence.
Done at last, the elf sought out another bed, stripping the frame of its bedding before returning to dump his pilfered hoard on top of Dylan.
The man clambered beneath the blankets, drawing Dylan back into his arms without protest and pressing Dylan’s head against his hairless chest. The elf’s heartbeat hammered in Dylan’s ears, strong and so very real. “Try and get some rest. Authril is likely to push for our departure as soon as the sun’s risen.”
Quite likely. Fresh guilt bubbled to the surface at the woman’s name, clashing with his newer feelings and making a sour mixture in his empty stomach. I’m a monster. A damned, sex-crazed beast. Fresh tears threatened the spill down his cheeks. He hastily sniffed them back.
Over the hurried thump of the man’s heart, he caught the gentle buzz of the hound humming. The tune seemed familiar. An old lullaby, he was certain of it. Was the man actually trying to sing him to sleep?
He closed his eyes. Hemmed in by warmth and the elf’s song, sleep should be an easy goal. He’d attained it earlier, before he… remembered what waited outside this room. The death. The loss. How he could’ve been here to help if he hadn’t been so selfish.