by Aldrea Alien
Guilt bubbled in his gut. Nor mine. Looking back on it… I’m an idiot. He really didn’t deserve Tracker, not after how he’d treated the man in the past four days. “You never thought that I was using you?” How could he have actually believed that?
“You recall I spent some time as a whore, yes? It would take a great deal to make me feel used.”
Dylan draped an arm around the man’s shoulders, tipping Tracker against his chest. “Like leaving your tent almost as soon as we were done?”
A soft, amused huff escaped the elf’s lips. “I hold no ill feelings about that. You were not ready to share with the world what we both already knew. I understand that sort of reluctance.”
Dylan tightened his hold on Tracker. “How about a pact? To never hurt each other again?”
Tracker squirmed against him, positioning himself so he could lift his head without clocking Dylan’s chin. “And no more secrets? No matter how painful the truth may be?”
“That too.” He didn’t have any left for the man to eke out, but that was bound to change once the army marched.
Tracker settled back against Dylan’s chest. “It is quite the commitment to make, yes? Almost serious?”
“Like this?” Dylan fingered the garland. A burst of lavender scent wafted between them. He tipped his head back, letting it brush the wall. Above them, the lights at the windows had gone dark. It would be tough to keep either promise once they reached the border, but if it kept that dreadfully troubled look from the man’s eyes… “I’m willing to try, if you are.”
Tracker was silent for a long time, and Dylan thought the man had fallen asleep when he laid his cheek on Dylan’s shoulder. “I am,” he murmured. “And I do believe we will have a lot to talk about. But not here.” In one smooth movement, Tracker stood and offered Dylan his hand. “Come. Let us find a more suitable place to discuss our future.”
Ours? Dylan clasped the man’s hand. Never had a word sounded so enchanting.
It’ll be dawn soon. The thought meandered through Dylan’s rather preoccupied mind. And with the rising of the sun came his reassignment as the army’s new weapon. In the foggy depths of memory, he knew he should be sleeping. Although, perhaps not in such a luxurious bed as this one.
Tracker had snuck them in here several hours ago and, after a flurry of activity, of hot bodies and swallowed breathes culminating with mutual release at the other’s hands, they’d fallen asleep when they should’ve perhaps sought their own beds.
But then, if they had, he wouldn’t have this sight before him.
So he was to join a platoon on its way to the border. He’d be there come sunrise, when the army sent his warden to collect him. Until then, until reality hammered at his door, his world consisted only of the expanse of bronze flesh beneath his fingers.
It was a world of beauty, of contented purring. His hands glided over the warm plains, moulding the pliable landscape lit by the distant sun of a solitary candle. He gently kissed along the subtle rises and hollows that was Tracker’s abdomen whilst the elf’s fingers tangled in Dylan’s hair, their soft grip encouraging his descent. His tongue traced every scar, every line of the images adorning the surface, his quest falling ever south.
Finally, his fingers brushed the base of this land’s single monolith. He wrapped his hand around the width. A faint smile curved his mouth at the pulse of it against his palm. It still bore the scent of their combined essence, an unforeseen outcome of their prior exuberance in just being together.
He licked his lips. Already, uncertainty bubbled to the surface.
“As much fun as this has been,” Tracker drawled, his voice carrying the heavy richness of desire. “And do not mistake this for complaining, but you are going to do more than stare at it, yes?”
His gaze lifted, locking with the elf’s gorgeous honey-coloured eyes. They gleamed, reflecting the low candlelight. How often had he lain like Tracker did now with his head propped on one arm, basking in the pleasure that was so freely offered? He’d lost count.
“Give me a moment.” Dylan grinned, hoping he looked far more confident than he felt right now, and tucked his hair behind his ears. “I’ve not done this before.” A strange thing to realise after everything else they’d experienced together. And funny, how the most terrifying thought was the possibility of disappointing his lover.
Lover. The word skittered about his brain like a stunned pigeon. It was a word he’d never dared to think before. But it’d seared itself into his soul sometime in the night. Whispered into every sigh and groan, affirmed in their cries as they reached the edge.
This man was his lover.
Tracker’s hand slid down Dylan’s neck to knead his shoulder. “If you are uncomfortable doing this, you do not have to. You are always free to stop at any time.”
He knew that, but this wasn’t a matter of what he had to do. He wanted to do this, for quite some time, wanted to give Tracker the same pleasure the man gave him. He’d just never gathered the courage until now. Knowing that his lover was watching him didn’t exactly help. “Just stay the word, right?”
He ran his thumb up the underside of Tracker’s length and over the tip, eliciting a gentle huff from the elf’s lips. Dylan kept slowly stroking to the sound of the man’s soft, appreciative murmur. This was the easy part. He couldn’t do all the tricks that left his lover keening for more, not with his power locked away, but he could still please Tracker. He could. He wasn’t certain if he did this as reminder to himself or Tracker, but he intended to make use of the fact.
His tongue tentatively snaked out to flick the tip of the elf’s length just as he’d seen and felt so many times. Tracker’s breath hitched. The fingers gripping his hair tightened for a second. Dylan repeated the act, letting his tongue glide up and swirl around the tip. Again, the man’s fingers tightened.
Emboldened, he flattened his tongue to slide it up and down the underside. His lover moaned, Dylan’s name trembling in the chords. Out the corner of his eye, he spied the elf’s fingers digging into the blankets. Tracker’s hips started to move. Gentle rocks that hindered more than assisted.
Dylan shuffled further up the elf’s legs, putting his weight onto Tracker’s thighs. It didn’t halt the motion, but his lover began to move at a more manageable pace for what he had planned. Sure, he seemed to be doing all right so far, but he’d rarely given this act little more than a passing thought. His knowledge came down to personal experience from the other end and, in those times, he hadn’t been in much of a position to take notes.
How did this work after he took it in his mouth? There were his teeth to worry about and breathing, all whilst keeping a rhythm. It was a lot to think about at once.
I can do this. He took a deep breath, desperately trying to banish the fluttering in his stomach, opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the tip of the elf’s length.
“Gods,” Tracker groaned. “Dylan.” The man’s body squirmed beneath him. Tracker’s hips rolled ever so slightly, pushing himself that little bit deeper into Dylan’s mouth.
Dylan dared to glance up. How he wished he’d the power to snuff the candle burning merrily on the table near the top of the bed, to shroud his insecurity in darkness.
His lover watched him, those honey-coloured eyes dark and half-lidded. Tracker stroked the nape of Dylan’s neck, drawing his hair to one side. “Look at you,” he purred. The back of his fingers ran over Dylan’s cheek. “All flushed and so utterly gorgeous.”
A fresh surge of heat hit his face. He released the man with an obscenely loud pop. His hand took over, moving in gentle strokes. “Flatterer.”
Tracker chuckled, low and breathy. “I speak only the truth.” He propped himself onto his forearms. “So, how do you want me?”
He pushed the elf back onto the bed. “Who says I’m done here?” His tongue ran up the underside of Tracker’s length, making the man’s breath hitch.
“This is not…?” The question fell away, disintegrating into a groa
n as Dylan moved to kiss the very tip. “If you wish to keep going, I certainly will not insist otherwise.”
Dylan sniggered. He rather thought that’d be the case. The first few inches of his lover’s length slid back into his mouth easily enough to the accompaniment of the man’s encouraging murmurs and caresses. It was slightly amusing how eager Tracker was and, after everything they’d done together, how easily the elf could be undone by this simple act. It almost made him wish he’d tried it sooner.
The queasy knowledge of being watched slowly seeped away, leaving a hot thrill that pooled in his gut and stoked his ego. How far could he go? All the way? There was still a generous fistful left. Dare he attempt to swallow it?
Track would. He squared his shoulders, fresh determination seeping in. If the man could take all of him, then he could manage all of Tracker.
Taking a deep breath, Dylan lowered his head. The elf hit the back of his throat. He gagged and pulled away, a hand covering his mouth as he fought to swallow the bile. Tears filled his vision, blurring the world, he blinked them back.
His lover sat up, quietly kneading and rubbing his arm and shoulder until he at last convinced his body to stop trying to retch.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, shrinking from the man’s touch. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at the elf. “I kind of screwed that up, didn’t I?” A complete and utter mess. Perhaps slightly less of a mess than it could’ve been. Still, he braced himself for the laughter.
Tracker drew them closer, pressing their foreheads together. “You were doing all right. Up until the end.” One side of Tracker’s mouth twitched into smile. “If I may offer a bit of advice? Do not try taking it all in one go.”
He grimaced. Idiot. What had he been thinking? I want to please him. Wanted to hear the man he… loved… cry out in a voice soaked in ecstasy. But he’d no magic. He couldn’t do the usual tricks Tracker enjoyed and he’d too little experience to adequately pleasure the man in the more mundane sense. Plus…
“You can.” He’d handled both the elf and himself enough times to know they were of a similar size and not once did his lover show any difficulty in swallowing all of him.
A brief chuckle passed Tracker’s lips. “Yes, but I have had years of experience.” His hand drifted up to Dylan’s ear. A finger lazily traced the outer curve. “Just take it slow, I do not mind. In fact, let me stand up.” The elf slid his legs out from beneath Dylan to shuffle across the bed. “It will be easier.”
Dylan followed, slinking off the mattress. The heat in his cheeks steadily engulfed his face and neck as he knelt before the elf. This was fast becoming wholly embarrassing. Worst still, he could stop this right here and pleasure Tracker another way without a word of complaint from the man. Only his idiotic pride stopped him from suggesting an alternative.
Tracker’s fingers combed through Dylan’s hair, coaxing his head back. “You do not have to continue. I am pretty much game for anything right now.”
His gaze lowered to the man’s length, his lover’s arousal blatant and teasingly close. He reflexively licked his lips, the lingering taste on them both familiar and foreign. If he stopped now, he might never get another chance and he’d always wonder. It would fill his dreams until he woke aching for the man.
“If you truly want to do this,” the elf continued, “you do not even need to take in much. Like this.” Tracker bent over and enveloped a few inches of his own length.
Dylan’s mouth dropped open. “Track,” he rasped. By the gods, it should not be physically possible for a body to bend that way. Why did his lover even need him if he could do that?
He watched, stunned, as Tracker’s tongue snaked up the top side of his length, stopping only to swirl around the tip before gliding down again. The pressure on the back of Dylan’s neck increased as Tracker continued to lick and suck down one side, urging him closer.
Dylan mimicked the man until they had the elf’s length between them. His lover’s fingers wove themselves into Dylan’s hair, clutching at the strands, drawing them back and keeping them free of his face.
Eventually, his lover straightened, leaving Dylan to continue alone. He licked and sucked up and down the elf, letting the pressure of Tracker’s hands on the back of his head guide him.
And it was only his lover’s hand that moved. The elf’s body practically vibrated with the effort it took for him to remain still. And he was silent. So very unlike the man who usually made his climb to the edge known. Dylan dared to look up. Tracker even had his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth clenched.
He released the elf, a horrible thought bubbling to the surface that he desperately hoped wasn’t true. “Am I hurting you?”
“No,” his lover breathed. Those honey-coloured eyes opened, glazed and full to the brim with pleasure. Tracker smiled, his free hand smoothing back Dylan’s hair. “You are doing fine.” A note of pleading crept into the words. The hand at his neck tightened, silently begging for him to continue.
Dylan wrapped his hand around the elf’s length and, taking the tip of it in his mouth, sucked. Gasping, his lover bucked, Dylan’s name spilling from the man’s lips. His body stirred at the tone. So rich and lilting, the hint of pleasure dripping from each syllable just that little bit intoxicating. He could listen to it for the rest of his life and never tire of the sound.
He kept up the pace, growing steadily drunk on the whisper of his name. It came loud amongst obscenities and hushed pleas to the gods; the elf’s mantra for when he was close.
“Dylan…” The way his lover spoke changed. A note of warning hung off the word. There was the softest of hitches in the elf’s quickening breath, a sound he’d exulted in many times before. Tracker’s grip on his hair tightened. “St—” The word disintegrated into a cry as his lover tipped over the edge.
Before he could think to move, warm liquid hit the back of his throat and filled his mouth. Dylan swallowed, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, but there always seemed to be more. He pulled back, gasping.
“Sorry,” Tracker puffed. “I rather misjudged the timing.”
He leant back on his heels, trying to catch his breath. I did it. He never thought he’d ever want to and yet, here he was panting in the aftermath. “I didn’t think it’d seem all that good after… everything else.”
His lover’s lips twisted, clearly constraining a smile. “Well, I do like to show my appreciation. And I do tend to give more than get that particular treatment.”
“Unless you do it yourself?” A snicker caught on the last word as the memory of the elf various little tricks flit through his mind. Yes, he could believe some were more willing to receive than give. “They probably didn’t want to risk wasting your talented tongue.”
Tracker grinned. He cupped Dylan’s chin, tipping his head back. “Hold still.” His tongue snaked up Dylan’s cheek before he drew back, licking his lips.
Dylan wiped his cheek dry on the back of his hand. “Did… did you just lick yourself off my face?”
The elf smirked, one russet brow cocking. “I would offer to clean up the rest, but you have rather beaten me to it.” He sat on the bed, leaning back on his arms. “That was most impressive. Especially as I can assume it was your first time.”
A small flush of pride crept up his face, fast consumed by embarrassment. He glanced away.
Tracker brushed a cool thumb across Dylan’s flushed skin. “And still, he blushes,” he murmured.
“Making up for lost opportunities, most likely. I rarely did… until I met you.”
“And what makes me so special, hmm?” Tracker turned Dylan’s head, coaxing him to face the elf. “I quite like it. It is cute. Almost… innocent.”
Innocent. The way Tracker spoke the word, as if nothing could ever be rarer or more precious. “What a relief, I was aiming for ‘cute’.”
Chuckling, Tracker bent down again, this time for a simple kiss. Their tongues played. He’d become familiar with the taste of himself on the man’s tongue, for it to
be the elf’s own essence was oddly arousing. Not that he needed any assistance in that sector; the fire in his gut was hot enough as it was.
“You know,” Dylan murmured when they parted to breathe. “When you said you could make your own fun, I didn’t think you meant being able to do…” He waved his hand, trying to find the words. “Well… that.” He still couldn’t believe he’d actually seen it. No one could really be that flexible.
“Just another one of my tricks,” the man whispered against Dylan’s lips.
“Another?” he echoed, his voice rising a few octaves. Just how many of these tricks did the elf know?
The breath of the man’s laughter slipped down his throat. “It would take a lifetime to show you all of them. If you are so inclined.”
A lifetime? The warm churning in his gut stilled. “Tempting, but I don’t think I’ll have that long.”
The elf slowly kissed along Dylan’s jaw. “I swear, with me at your side, you will have.”
“That…” The way the man spoke, the hushed silken tone of his voice. An echo of what he’d said in the garden. It— “That almost sounds like a proposal.” Which meant it was some twisted joke. Tracker had to be aware that marriage and spellsters didn’t exactly mix. He wasn’t sure if it was illegal, he’d never thought to ask and the guardians would have certainly discouraged such inquiry. And him as a husband? A lover, certainly. More seemed quite a leap.
“I…” Tracker drew himself up, his chin lifting. “If you want it to be.”
All the heat drained from his face. That had not been the answer he’d expected. A soft, nervous chuckle slipped through his lips. “I-it’s all right. I know you didn’t actually mean it that way.” This wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare. He had to be still asleep in the barracks and some sick part of his mind was tormenting him with the things he couldn’t have.